Chapter Text
The house is quiet.
Belinda isn't used to quiet; it's a foreign concept to the mother of a toddler. Especially once as inquisitive and adventurous as her daughter. Her days are filled with shrieks of laughter, tearful meltdowns, and the cacophony of too many flashy Christmas and birthday gifts. Even at night, she's always prepared for a tiny little head to pop up over the arm of the sofa, asking for another drink of water, another bedtime story, another lullaby.
Belinda wouldn't miss any of it for the world, but she can't deny that it's exhausting. So when her mum offered to take Poppy for the night, just to give her a little bit of a break, she'd gladly taken it.
She should be grateful for the time to herself. A chance to be Belinda instead of just Poppy's mum.
The problem is that she doesn't know how to do that.
Belinda sits on the sofa and wrings her hands together. Wasn't she thinking about watching a movie the other day? There's an entire shelf full of books that she swears she was going to read one day.
Instead, she gravitates towards the toys scattered across the floor. She picks up all of the toys and places them into their bins. She picks up the blanket that Poppy likes to play on and places it on top of the washer.
How did all of this happen?
Belinda stops short. She shakes her head as if to dislodge the thought. "Don't be silly," she scolds herself. Belinda Chandra knows her life. She knows how she ended up here. She knows that she met Poppy's father when she was twenty-one. She knows that they dated for a while. She knows that he wasn't ready to have a child and left a few months after Poppy was born. She knows that she moved into this house in—
Belinda frowns. When did she move in? She knows when she met Poppy's father, but not where. And what was his name again?
These are things she should know.
So why doesn't she know them?
Why does she keep forgetting important things?
"Stop it," she says, breathing deeply to keep the panic from rising. "Just sit down. Relax. Read a book."
She changes into some joggers and an oversized t-shirt that she assumes belonged to Poppy's dad, then grabs her own blanket and curls up in an armchair.
She can't focus. The silence feels like the universe playing a trick on her. She finds herself thinking what are you up to? several times before remembering that there's no one else in the house.
She switches the book for TV, settling on a movie she wanted to watch, but it's not long before she runs into the same problem. She just can't focus on anything if Poppy isn't involved.
She's just about to give up and go to bed when the whole house lights up with a blinding white light and a resounding boom rattles the walls.
Belinda freezes in place, one foot on the stairs, gripping the railing like she expects to be ripped away from it at any moment. Invisible hands wrap around her throat as she remembers giant red robots and spaceships and star certificates and a planet called Missbelindachandra One. Possessed cartoons in the 1950's. An alien planet haunted by an enemy that she never saw but fills her with terror to this day. A barbershop on the back of a massive spider. The 803rd Interstellar Song Contest.
And then, Poppy.
No, not and then Poppy.
Poppy was always there.
Poppy was always there.
Another boom shakes the house. Belinda smells smoke. She backs up off the stairs and rushes to the window overlooking her back garden.
There's a shed in her garden. There are two things that strike her as strange.
One, it's a completely diffferent shed to the one that's already there.
Two, the new shed is currently wedged about a metre into the ground, tilted at an angle that makes it look like it was dropped from a great height.
"That's not right," she mutters to herself. She grabs a jacket and pulls on a pair of shoes and steps into the garden.
"Hello?" she calls out as she approaches the shed.
The air around it seems to shimmer, distort, like it's trying to hide from her. Eventually, though, the illusion breaks down and the shed releases an absurd amount of smoke.
Belinda is torn. Part of her wants to run back inside, slam the door, and pretend that none of this is happening.
But part of her needs to know.
And so, she steps forward.
The shed suddenly starts to groan and shift, changing shape from a generic garden shed…to a blue police box.
Belinda stops moving. She stops breathing. "It can't be," she whispers.
It's been a whole year since she last saw the Doctor. Why would he come back now?
A pained groan distracts her. She grabs her phone and shines the torch over the grass. Her heart jumps into her throat when she finally finds the source of the sound.
A woman lies face down in the grass; it looks like she was thrown from the TARDIS during the crash. "Oh, my God," she whispers. She pushes all other feelings aside as she springs into action, rushing to the woman's side and kneeling beside her. "Hello? Can you hear me?"
She sweeps the torch over the woman. Dark skin, reddish hair, bluish-purple coat, a broken pair of glasses hanging from one ear. She's so alarmingly still that for a moment, Belinda fears the worst. She rests a hand on her shoulder and shakes her gently. "Hey, can you hear me?"
The woman's eyes suddenly fly open and she tries to get to her feet, but her legs won't hold her weight and she falls back to the ground. She scrambles backward, her back hitting the TARDIS with a thud.
Belinda winces and holds up her hands. "It's okay," she says. "My name is Belinda. Can you tell me your name?"
The woman stares at her for a long time, clearly struggling to focus. Maybe even struggling to stay conscious. "…Doctor," she finally answers.
Belinda's gaze flickers from the stranger to the TARDIS and back. "Doctor," she says. "The Doctor?"
"The one and only." The woman wheezes out a faint chuckle. "Well, not really. But you get the point."
Belinda shakes her head. The Doctor. She can't be the Doctor. Unless…
I hope you'll see me again. But not like this.
The Doctor groans, pressing a hand to her side.
"Are you hurt?" Belinda asks. She looks her over with the torch again and that's when she notices the blood trickling down the side of her face, the bruised knuckles, the laboured breathing.
The Doctor coughs, a wet, rattling sound that sends a chill down Belinda's spine. "No hospital," she mumbles.
"But you're—" Belinda stops talking as she remembers a crucial detail. She reaches out and takes the Doctor's wrist, pressing two fingers to the inside. Sure enough, two pulses beat sluggishly under the skin. "Two hearts. Right. No hospital." She blows the air out of her cheeks. "You're lucky you crashed in a nurse's back garden."
The Doctor opens her eyes, squinting at Belinda. "You're not fazed by this," she says.
"No, I'm not," Belinda replies. "I've met another one of you."
The Doctor groans. "Oh, no," she mutters. "Please tell me it wasn't the blonde woman."
Despite the situation, Belinda can't help but laugh; the Doctor sounds so offended by the concept. "No," she says. "But that sounds like a story. Why don't I help you inside so I can check you over, and then you can tell me all about it."
The Doctor shakes her head. She winces and presses a hand to her temple. "I'm fine. I just have to get back into my TARDIS, and—"
Right on cue, the TARDIS groans and belches more smoke into the air.
"I don't think your TARDIS is up for it," Belinda says. "Can you walk?"
The Doctor rolls her eyes. "Of course I can walk. Not my fault the ground won't stop moving."
"I think that might be you, not the ground." Belinda stands up and offers a hand. "Come on. Let me help you."
The Doctor eyes Belinda's hand suspiciously. Finally, she reaches out and takes it. She only manages a single step before her legs give out and she sags heavily against Belinda. "Getting too old for this," she mumbles.
Belinda pulls her arm across her shoulders and half-drags her into her kitchen, setting her down in a chair before going to look for her first aid kit. She comes back to find the Doctor holding her broken glasses with a mournful look. She opens the kit and pulls up a chair. "What happened?" she asks.
The Doctor doesn't answer. Her gaze has gone distant, unfocused. Wherever she is, it's not Belinda's kitchen.
Belinda wonders if moving her was a mistake. She wouldn't have considered it with a human, not until she'd cleared the possibility of a head injury, but she's seen the Doctor she knew take worse damage and shrug it off. She waves her hand in front of her face. "Hi, hello," she says. "Did you hit your head? You're bleeding."
The Doctor scowls, as if the concept of bleeding is offensive to her.
Belinda puts on her best kind-but-firm nurse's voice. "Turn your head for me," she says. "I want to look at this cut."
"It's fine," the Doctor mutters. "It's probably already healing."
"No, I'm not having that," Belinda says. "I'm a nurse. I can help."
The Doctor scoffs. "I don't need help, I need to—" She tries to stand up and sways dangerously on her feet.
Belinda jumps up and braces a hand against her chest to stop her from toppling forward. "Doctor," she says firmly. "Sit. Let me help you."
"I don't need—"
"I get it," Belinda says. "You think you're too tough to need help. But you're hurt. Your TARDIS is messed up. It's not going to kill you to let me help you."
The Doctor sighs and sits back down.
Belinda moves her chair closer and gets to work. It's a shallow cut, but head wounds tend to bleed more. She carefully cleans the wound and bandages it up. "Anything other bleeding I should know about?" she asks, turning her attention to the bruised knuckles, checking to make sure none of her fingers are broken.
"Nothing on the outside, at least." The Doctor laughs, then groans, clutching a hand to her midsection.
Bruised ribs, probably. Maybe broken. Not much she can do about that here; hopefully Gallifreyan bones heal fast. "What happened?" Belinda asks as she cleans the scrapes on her hands.
"My TARDIS malfunctioned. Tried to snap her out of it, but…"
Belinda hears her voice break and looks up to see her staring out of the window. Is it a trick of the light, or are there tears in her eyes?
The Doctor notices her looking and clears her throat. "Old girl's gettin' older," she says. "Reaction time's a bit shoddy."
"Are you talking about you or your TARDIS?" Belinda says.
The Doctor looks so sad. "Yes."
Finally satisfied that the Doctor isn't about to die in her kitchen, Belinda sits back, trying to think of what to do next. "When did you come from?" she asks. "You can't be after my Doctor, or you'd remember me."
The Doctor chuckles. "Not necessarily," she says. She sighs at Belinda's confused expression. "No, I haven't been him yet. Still trying to figure out the rest." She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands.
"You should rest," Belinda says. "I have a sofa in the other room. I don't think you'd fit in my daughter's bed, given that she's a toddler."
The Doctor's head snaps up. "You have a daughter."
Belinda can't tell if it's a question or a statement. "Yes, I do," she says. She helps the Doctor to her feet and guides her towards the living room. "Her name is Poppy. She's staying with my mum for the night. I'm supposed to be taking a break."
"Oh," the Doctor says. "Sorry to crash the party. Figuratively and literally."
Belinda laughs. "It's all right," she says. "I wasn't doing a very good job of relaxing, anyway. It feels…strange, not having her here. It's like…I don't know who I am without her."
The Doctor stops in her tracks.
Belinda turns to see the other woman gazing at her intently. "What?"
"Tell me about her," the Doctor says.
"Who?"
"Your daughter."
"Why?"
The Doctor groans and sinks onto the sofa, touching a hand to her temple again. There's a sickly tint to her skin now. "I need to lie down," she mumbles, the words slurring together.
Belinda knows she should take the opportunity to drop it, because she can feel that she's not going to like the answer. "Doctor?"
"Hmmm?"
"Why do you want to know about my daughter?"
The Doctor frowns at her, like she's confused by the question. "Temporal distortion," she says. "That's what I hit. The timelines have been deliberately tampered with. That's what made me crash."
"Okay," Belinda says. "And what does that have to do with your random interest in my daughter?"
"It's you," the Doctor replies.
Belinda's heart drops into her stomach. "I don't understand—"
"Your timeline has been tampered with."
Belinda opens her mouth to speak—
—and the Doctor finally loses the battle for consciousness, slumping over onto the sofa.
Belinda rushes forward to catch her before she falls off the sofa, easing her back onto it. She carefully removes the Doctor's coat and unbuttons her waistcoat to stop her clothes from cutting off her circulation. She tucks a cushion under her head and covers her with a blanket to make her more comfortable. She watches her for a few minutes, fingers pressed to her wrist, to make sure her breathing and her hearts are okay.
Then she takes a step back, and gasps as she steps on something that makes her ankle roll. She picks up one of Poppy's toys and turns it over in her hands with a frown; didn't she tidy up already?
The fuzzy memories. Her Doctor's cryptic words. And now this.
What is going on?