The Time of Change

Where the Circle Starts

As if to congratulate itself, the sonic screwdriver twitches in the socket, then promptly pops out and clangs to the floor. I jump violently at the noise, letting out a very slow breath of air. Without a sound, I shrink back to the floor and gently lift the Doctor's head back onto my legs. I watch my trembling fingers replace the sonic in his inside pocket. My mind reels.

I did it.

Some emotion crashes over me with the force of a typhoon. Beaming down at my husband through slightly tear-filled eyes, I chuckle weakly. A part of me knows that Luna's fate weighs on his brain, and he hasn't told me about her because he wanted to spare me from having that burden on my shoulders. Either that or he's forgotten, but I don't know if that's better or worse. Still, I will have to tell him what I've done at some point, but for now—just for this little slice of time—we can be happy and worry-free.

I press an unsteady hand to my lips, sweeping the hair away from my face. I wonder if this is how that death always was, if I was somehow recycled on a continuous loop. Saved, then sent back time and time again. The logic of that does not make any sense, though, because according to everything I've ever read, time exists in a circle, not a straight line. Even a circle must start somewhere, and if that's the case, where did I begin so I could be sent back?

A confused headache starts to push through my excitement. Leave it to me to try and rationalize time-travel.

Suddenly the Doctor's eyes shoot open, and for half a moment, they're alight with pure fright. Pulling myself out of my reverie, I touch my hand to the side of his face. "Shh," I whisper as he splutters incoherently. "It's okay. You're okay."

His face gradually relaxes into a dreamy smile, mixed with a little embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," I reply at once. Then I smirk slightly. "Batteries fully recharged?"

Chuckling softly, he sits up so that we're at eye-level. "I hope so." He holds my hand on his cheek with his own, letting his fingers fall into the spaces between mine. For a minute, we just look at each other, saying nothing.

All at once, I feel a sudden tingling in the hand that is touching his cheek and fingers. Within five seconds, the sensation escalates to scorching. My eyes widen. "Ow," I breathe. He peers at me with furrowed brows. I try to pull my fingers away from his face, but they feel as if they are being fused with his cheek. I notice a bright gold light appearing where our skin meets, and it illuminates his blue eyes.

The Doctor scoots backward when he sees it, pulling me with him. "Don't be scared," he tells me, an advising I don't take to heart because of how pale he's turned. "Everything's alright. Don't be afraid."

"What is this?" I ask with a trembling voice. I finally succeed in pulling my hand away from his face, and I glare at my palm like it's insulted me.

He stares at me, uncomprehending. "I can't hear you!" he says loudly. "Why can't I hear you...?" He reaches out to take my arm, but his hand phases right through me.

I stare in horror at my own body. Where am I going?

"No, you can't do this now!" he yells, his gaze everywhere but my eyes like he's blaming the air itself. "There's no reason! Nothing's hurt you. Don't go!" He shifts onto his knees and tries to grab my hands, but again it's as if I'm not even here. His frightened tone quickly switches to desperation. "Fight it, Annalise. Please, you have to fight it. I know you can. Don't let it take you."

"Don't let what take me?" I half-scream. He watches my mouth move but cannot seem to decipher the words. The edge of my vision grows progressively darker, its haze more spider-webbed and woven than the spots I associate with fainting. I blink several times to wash it out of my eyes, but it doesn't go away. My hands scrabble for the Doctor's, and just before everything turns to black, I realize what's happening.