𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐬
𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐱

from the eyes of
— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄 —

A murky blackness shimmered and whipped behind my gaze as I slowly returned to the land of consciousness. Purples and pinks—sky blues and golden threads were but a memory as my eyes opened.

The room was dim, lit only by a soft blue glow that barely made the shapes around me discernible. No windows, no sunlight, not even starlight.

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Was I still dreaming?

I must be because there is no way possible that a strange albeit oddly handsome man is standing over my bed. My mind caught up, this was no man—this was a TimeLord. A weird TimeLord with 'delicate' brows, floppy hair that appeared softer than silk, and damn twinkling green eyes.

A small scream tore from my throat as I jumped away. He grinned far too happy, clapping his hands and causing the lights to turn on brightly.

I squinted at the sudden change, staring at him in a distraught manner.

He was still wearing the same outfit as last time: the tweed jacket, trousers held up by suspenders, and that damned blue bow tie. Happiness radiated off him like an obnoxiously bright sunbeam.

Gross.

"Ah—good morning, PJ!" The Doctor cheered, much too loud for my sake.

Immediately I knew this man had not slept a wink since I'd last seen him. Right before I went to bed however long ago that was.

There was no true night or day on the TARDIS, therefore time no doubt was kept in the sense of hours. As there was no night then you sleep when you are tired. As there is no day you wake when you wake.

I clutched the comforter to me tightly.

"How long have you been standing there?" I breathed, my raw voice filled with all the judgment in the world.

Either he did not hear me or he did not care for he started to talk my ear off, and nothing of which he said was an answer to my question. His hands moved with every word, eyes gleaming brighter than should be possible.

"Glad you are finally awake! I don't need nearly as much sleep as you lot! Waiting for you and Pond to wake up is so boring. I mean, honestly, you've been asleep for ten hours! Have you been tiring yourself out, dearest?" He seemed to like hearing himself talk—I noticed.

He called me 'dear' a lot. Whether it came out in the form of 'dear' or 'deary' or 'dearest', it was a pet name that he cast toward me easily. Like it was second nature. It was slightly funny because while he truly did say it endearingly, the way he said it reminded me of someone hella old. But then again, he was fucking old.

And that's coming from me.

I finally managed to cut him off, blubbering in disbelief. "Were you standing there for all ten hours? Watching me sleep for ten whole hours?!"

The Doctor scoffed, shaking his head as though it were the most preposterous thing he'd ever heard. "Of course not! I have far better things to do than watch you sleep all night!"

But did he?

Reading the expression on my face, he floundered before continuing.

"I happened to save the entire empire of Kreen in the 12th century while you and Pond slept. All within seven hours, mind you!" He said boldly, his tone cocky.

"Don't get hurt patting yourself on the back," I snarked with a low groan, sinking back into the bed as I relaxed.

This bed was the most comfortable thing in existence.

"Oi! Well, I fully expected you to be awake when I came back, but I was only greeted by Pond in the kitchen! I came in here to make sure you were still breathing!" He seemed to desperately be making up excuses. Only to follow it with yet another compliment to himself. "It would seem that my fantastic presence woke you up, sleeping beauty!"

Fantastic presence? This fucking guy.

One thought stuck out to me.

"Isn't Kreen like a terrible empire with horrible people? Why the hell would you save a place like that?" I was rubbing at my eyes cutting off my sight from the Doctor.

Yet I could still practically see him rubbing his hands and shifting from foot to foot nervously. "Everywhere has its downfalls... doesn't mean a place does not deserve to be saved. Their princess, for example, wonderful woman. She'll make a fine queen. In fact, she was the one who I initially rescued and then she helped free—" I cut him off yet again.

"While I would love to hear you boast and prattle on about how you rescued a princess from a questionable empire, is there a reason you are in my room and standing above my bed watching me sleep for an undetermined amount of time?" I sarcastically questioned.

To be honest, I was absolutely not in the position to judge 'right' and 'wrong'. Let alone snub a trash empire full of shit people considering I am a pretty shitty person myself, but like... I just don't care to hear about it right now.

There ain't no rest wicked, after all. The lifestyle of the wicked is one of loneliness, people don't save you. People don't care about you. If anything, people loathe you and you loathe them and that is just the way it works.

The Doctor pouted. "It was only a few minutes!" He defended. "Stop making it sound so weird... besides you're a lovely sleeper! You still scrunch your nose and snore all angry-sounding."

"It is weird! And I don't snore!"

"Yes you do!"

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Why would you even know all of that if you've only been here a few minutes?"

"Anyway!" He purposefully ignored me. "We have big things planned, so up and at 'em! Me and Pond will be waiting in the console room for you like we have been for the past hour..."

I tried to bite his finger as it came down and he bopped me on the nose. The Doctor was much too quick, touching my nose and bringing it back just before I snapped my teeth at him.

"There is a time for biting but now is not that time, dearest!" He casually informed, resting his hands in the pockets of his trousers before he spun around and left my room with a spring in his step. "Don't take too long!"

When the fuck was there a time for biting in his mind?

With that, the door closed behind him and I was left in the silence of the room. If I listened hard enough I could just barely make out the mechanic whirring of the TARDIS.

"What the fuck?" I muttered, falling back into the soft blankets and running a hand down my face.

The silence of the room hung heavy for a moment as I stared at the ceiling.

A groan escaped my lips, and with one last muttered, "What the actual fuck?" I dragged myself out of the ridiculously comfortable bed, my feet hitting the cool floor with a dull thud.

Stumbling toward the small desk across the room, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror perched on top. My hair was an absolute mess, a chaotic halo of tangles. With a sigh, I grabbed the nearest brush and set to work, pulling it back into two tight braids that at least made me look like a functional human—or whatever the hell I was.

The TARDIS wardrobe, the wardrobe my future self put together, featured an eclectic collection of options, but I stuck to what felt practical.

I slipped into a pair of cargo pants, the many pockets perfect for stashing tools, gadgets, or whatever else I might need. A plain black T-shirt followed, soft and fitted just enough to move easily in. A pair of boots came next.

Not like the Doctor's or Amy's, but more breathable and suitable for running in.

A pair of light and cool-looking goggles sat on the corner of the desk. The Doctor might think bowties are cool, but goggles are the coolest. I slid them atop my head.

Immediately I realized these weren't just any goggles. They were high-tech space goggles... just what I need.

My pistol blaster got tucked into the waistband of my pants and I strapped a knife to my boot.

My gaze fell on the brown leather flight jacket hanging on the back of the desk chair.

Interesting.

The jacket was adorned with patches, each one a small piece of spacefaring history: galaxies, starships, constellations. I slipped it on, the worn leather fitting like a second skin. My mind teetered wondering where the future version of myself had acquired this and why she—or—I, left it behind.

The jacket carried a weight I couldn't quite place, but it felt right. Like it belonged.

The hum of the TARDIS grew louder as I made my way to the console room. My boots clicked softly against the metal flooring, the faint mechanical whirring around me almost soothing. As I turned the final corner, the Doctor's voice drifted toward me.

"Honestly, Pond, it's not a question of if the Spitfires could fly in space, it's how brilliant they'd look doing it!"

Amy's reply was sharp and amused. "I still don't get what exactly they are, let alone how they managed to—oh, look who the TARDIS dragged in!"

I stepped into the console room, and Amy immediately let out a low whistle. She leaned against the railing, her arms crossed as she took me in. She wore an outfit similar to yesterday—a denim skirt with brown cowboy boots.

"Well, don't you look like a proper space captain!" She teased, grinning. "Just like the movies!"

"Captain of what, exactly?" I shot back, though I couldn't help the smirk tugging at my lips.

Amy shrugged. "Does it matter? You look the part."

My eyes darted to the Doctor. He was standing by the console, grinning at me like a kid on Christmas morning. His gaze lingered on the jacket, and for a split second, something flickered in his expression—warmth, nostalgia, something deeper than his usual manic energy.

Through it all, there was a certain sadness that found its way into his eyes momentarily.

"Love the jacket," He said softly, reverently. His usual exuberance returned in a flash as he gestured animatedly. "Really pulls the whole look together. Very... iconic... you wore it all the time! Or from your perspective, you will wear it all the time!"

"Right, glad to know that this is the start of a grand relationship between me and a jacket," I nodded dryly, walking up so I was standing between the two. "Now that I'm here, care to explain what exactly we're doing today? Oh wait, never mind, I presume we're going to try to shoot for Churchill again?"

The Doctor's grin widened, and he clapped his hands. "Exactly! That man is always a hoot—I wonder what he has for me to make him call and request my presence so suddenly."

"We told him we'd be there in minutes nearly five days ago, Doctor..." Amy said in a concerned manner.

The Doctor waved her off. "Time travelers, Pond, you'll get used to it! Sometimes I get phonecalls and it takes me ages to get there—"

She scoffed. "Uhm, yeah, I know, fourteen years remember?"

He cringed. "Yep, well, usually I'm there minutes after they hang up..."

My lips pursed suspiciously. "Uh huh, well..." I clicked my tongue. "I am deeply sorry to have kept you guys waiting for no reason, but I won't actually be joining you today..."

Both of them looked at me so fast I thought they might snap their necks.

"What? Why?" Amy demanded her expression a mix of confusion and indignation. "You can't just skip out! You've got the jacket and everything—you're a proper space hero!"

I was not that—I was no 'space hero'. I was no hero at all.

"What does a jacket have to do with that?" I asked in an amused manner.

"Everything!" Amy said but did not explain herself whatsoever.

The Doctor frowned in frustration. "Exactly! This is Winston Churchill, PJ. Winston Churchill! Now, why wouldn't you want to come meet him?"

Yesterday I was willing to go because it's where they intended to go and I had only been on board for minutes. Thankfully, we turned up in Australia instead.

Not that I'd ever tell the Doctor that I was thankful for the TARDIS taking us somewhere else.

I shifted uncomfortably, avoiding their stares by idly fiddling with the sleeve of my jacket. "I don't like the '40s," I mumbled almost shyly, cursing myself for such a stupid action.

In the next second, I forced myself to stand up straight and meet their gazes dead-on. My eyes were hard—confident.

"What's wrong with the '40s? You always shot down the suggestion when it was brought up." The Doctor tilted his head, studying me like some particularly interesting specimen. "You know, I always thought it was something I did in my future to sour you on it—but I can see now that you've apparently always not been a fan..."

So I don't like the 40s.

Now not and not when I eventually go on to travel with his past self as well.

His words made my stomach clench, but I forced my face into a disgusted mask. My mind; however, didn't comply, spiraling into memories I would rather not think about. Shame started to climb through me against my will.

Ah—the '40s.

I hated everything about that decade. The music grated on my nerves, too cheery for a world teetering on the edge of ruin. The fashion—pin-up girls and victory rolls—was restrictive and suffocating. The culture reeked of performative patriotism and stifling norms. But more than anything else, I hated the '40s because of what it meant to me.

I hated the '40s because I'd done an awful thing during it.

The weight of my actions clung to me like a shadow.

30-something years ago, for me, it was about 30 years ago; I found myself in a dusty New Mexico lab, standing shoulder to shoulder with Robert Oppenheimer, helping to crack the code of splitting the atom.

I was there. I helped. I chose to help.

I told myself it did not matter. That this was one tiny piece of history in one single universe in the grand scheme of it all. Tried to play it off as I had done much worse and I will continue to do much worse.

But I still felt stupidly guilty for allowing myself to be a part of it. For placing myself in it. I knew exactly what I was helping create, even if I pretended otherwise.

I've always enjoyed tinkering, to the extremes, I liked making bombs. And typically, I really don't give a crap who I use those bombs on.

Maybe it's because I, myself, am a walking bomb.

Nevertheless, I did it because I had wanted to, because it was fun to create... at the time.

But then I watched... I watched the bomb get dropped and I saw what it did to all those people. To all those poor and innocent people. All human, all clueless, and nearly all civilian. They did not deserve such a fate.

Suddenly, when I was witness to what I had helped create, to the devastation that creation caused, it was no longer fun.

I realized that I was playing a game. Again.

By helping with that bomb, helping create that devastation, I chose to play a game—a cruel game that I told myself I would stop playing long ago.

It was no longer just placing myself casually in the history of this universe. Of this Earth.

I tried to remind myself that this would have happened whether I chose to include myself in it or not. But it did not matter—because there were so many.

It wasn't like going on a mission when I had been with the Time Agency. It was not like finding myself in a brawl, and it was certainly not for the sake protecting myself. Nor did it have anything to do for the greater good.

It was like playing the grand game of Space Jam. It was disgusting.

The U.S. and Japan may have been at war, but that bomb killed innocents. Not just military officials, not just warriors, not just soldiers. The majority that it killed were innocent men, women, and children.

Hard-working civilians. Lovely little humans who had been living their happy normal lives.

I had helped create destruction... again.

Every time I thought about it, I couldn't help but think of my own destroyed universe, my own devastation. How ironic that I, a victim of annihilation, had turned around and helped create a weapon capable of annihilating entire cities.

Then again, was I actually a victim?

No...

The word whispered from the recess of my mind.

The Polaris Jade does not get to be a victim because The Polaris Jade is too powerful for that. An indestructible machine of creation and destruction.

Therefore, I suppose it was in my nature to help nurture humanity in creating such a thing.

The guilt knotted my stomach. I wasn't sure what I hated more—the '40s or myself.

Shaking myself free of the memories, I forced a sharp breath through my nose and gave them the most dismissive answer I could muster. "Because the '40s is a disgusting period that I really have no interest in visiting."

Amy's mouth fell open. "That's... a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"It's true," I said, shrugging, though my heart pounded. "I don't like it. There's nothing there for me."

The Doctor was staring at me, his bright green eyes sharp, like he was peeling back the layers of my nonchalance in search of the truth. I avoided his gaze, folding my arms tighter across my chest.

He had no clue.

If he really went digging he would figure out my involvement in the Atomic Bomb creation. Him finding that out was one thing. Would I rather him not? Of course. But was it the end of the world if he did? No.

He might just have some choice words for me that I am more than fine without hearing.

But overall, so long as he didn't realize I'd done it 30 years ago and still somehow looked 20-something, then it'd be fine.

Now, if he found out who I really am, where I hailed from, and my current purpose in his universe? That would be a pretty big issue.

"Disgusting time period?" He echoed, his tone hovering between disbelief and curiosity. "You're dodging, dearest. You're a terrible dodger, by the way. But fine, fine, I'll drop it for now!" He threw his hands up theatrically. "If you won't go for the '40s, then come for Churchill!"

I frowned, glancing at him warily.

"He's a delight, really," The Doctor went on, a coaxing grin spreading across his face. "Clever man, brilliant mind, fantastic conversationalist. And! He's got cigars. You like cigars, don't you? I, personally, don't. Actually, they are very bad for you, so never mind that! No cigars, bad cigars. Well, he's got tea! You like tea, don't you?"

Amy snorted. "Doctor, tea is everywhere in the UK."

"Firstly, she's American and I am persuading, don't mess it up, Pond." The Doctor corrected, jabbing a finger in her direction with a pout. He turned back to me, his eyes sparkling. "And I'm very good at persuading."

I arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

The Doctor leaned in closer, his grin widening as he adopted a tone that dripped with exaggerated charm. "Think about it, PJ. This isn't just some random jaunt into the past. This is Churchill! The man who rallied a nation during its darkest hour, stood up to fascism, and delivered some of the most rousing speeches in your human history. You can't pass up meeting him. Not when you're already dressed for it! Look at you—positively oozing 'space pilot captain meets wartime hero' vibes."

Amy rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "She doesn't care about the vibes, Doctor."

"I care about the vibes!" He protested indignantly. "Come on, PJ. You've got to admit, there's something... poetic about it. You, me, Amy, and Winston Churchill. It's the sort of thing they write songs about!"

I narrowed my eyes. "No one's writing songs about me meeting Churchill."

"Not yet!" He shot back, his voice tinged with excitement. "But they could! I might even do it!"

I groaned, running a hand down my face. "Doctor—"

"And!" He interrupted, his tone brightening even more. "Let's not forget the opportunity for proper English tea. They do tea right in the '40s. You wouldn't want to miss out on that, would you?"

Amy let out a snort. "The American is not going to go just for tea."

"Then for the scones!" He declared dramatically. "Oh, the scones, PJ! Warm, buttery, with a perfect dollop of jam and cream—"

"Doctor," I cut in sharply, glaring at him.

He stopped mid-rant, blinking at me with wide eyes. "Yes?"

"You're insufferable."

"I've been called worse." His grin was triumphant now like he already knew he'd won.

"And relentless."

"That too."

I sighed heavily, feeling the weight of their combined stares. Amy wasn't even trying to hide her amusement, and the Doctor looked like an eager puppy, his hands clasped in front of him as though waiting for me to throw him a bone.

I crossed my arms tighter, glowering at the two of them. "Fine," I grumbled. "But I'm doing this under protest, and only because I know you won't stop until I agree."

The Doctor let out a victorious whoop, spinning on his heels before bounding toward the console. "Excellent! Knew you'd come around, dearest. You won't regret it! Oh, this is going to be brilliant!"

Amy smirked, nudging me with her elbow. "He's relentless."

"You can say that again," I fell back into one of the console seats, Amy sitting in the one next to me. "Will you teach me how to fly the TARDIS?"

"No," The Doctor easily lulled as he spun around the large console.

I sank deeper into the seat. No argument came from me at his words, I simply decided I would need to learn on my own since the Doctor said that he wouldn't teach me, not that I couldn't learn another way.

There was a huge gut feeling and common sense that told me that was definitely not what he meant by that... but he should have been clearer with his phrasing.

"And..." The Doctor gave one final spin and a last lap around the console before he pulled a lever. The TARDIS shuddered before falling still. "We are here!" He cheered. "I have a feeling that Winston Churchill is right outside that door!"

"Should we not change before stepping into the 40s?" I questioned.

The Doctor managed to bop me on the nose as he passed by me causing me to growl and swat at him. However, he was long gone by the time my hand came up, already linking arms with Amy and strolling with her toward the door.

"Not this time—Winston Churchill is more than aware of the life I lead!" He explained, pausing at the doors. "We don't need to hide anything... other than the outcome of this war, of course!"

With a sigh, I stood from the chair and wandered to them. We now stood at the door of the TARDIS.

"Mr. Churchill is known for being—ah—rather exuberant... it's best that I check outside first. Just to ensure it truly is safe!" He told the both of us.

Amy and I each took a step back from him but remained on either of his sides.

"Well, go on then," I motioned for him to get on with it.

"Wow—neither of you argued to come with me still?" He joked.

"No." Amy and I spoke in literal unison.

"In that case," He clicked his tongue, but his eyes were amused as he turned and slowly opened one of the doors, popping his head out.

Immediately—like seriously immediately—there was the sound of multiple guns cocking.

Based on the way the Doctor turned his head back inside for a second, his eyes wide as he stared at us, there was no doubt in my mind that he was greeted by guns. However, he still walked out.

Amy and I followed him out slowly, Amy managing to exit the TARDIS right before me.

Outside, we were in some sort of bunker. And it was definitely 1941 with all the neutrals and military tones.

A small group of men stood with their guns pointed at us. Suddenly, they all moved to the side revealing a rotund man with circular glasses.

The funny part about this was I had met Winston Churchill before. During the few years that I had spent by the side of Robert Oppenheimer working to create the most devasting bomb known to man during that time.

It was only one time at a dinner party, and I suppose now what he had said that night made sense. The guy kept talking about how familiar I looked and wanted to make sure we had never met before.

At the time, I waved it off and reassured him we had never met before.

I see now that, at the time, while I hadn't met him before he technically had met me.

"Amy, PJ... Winston Churchill." The Doctor smiled brightly, holding out his arm and presenting the historical figure.

Winston Churchill was wearing a black fedora, the most popular fashion trend for hats from the 30s up until the 50s.

I could not even count the number of fedoras that I had worn back when I was living in this time period. See, I used to have a stylish purple one that I rather liked, but it was long gone.

"Doctor?" Winston spoke, pulling a huge cigar from his lips, smoke coming from his mouth. "Is it you?" He asked, voice tinged with surprise and bedazzlement.

"Oh, Winston, my old friend!" The Doctor spoke happily, reaching forward with his hand outstretched. However, Winston stopped him mid-way before making a grabby motion with a playful smirk adorned on his face. "Hah—every time!" The Doctor laughed.

Amy and I were standing behind the Doctor. My face was plastered in a sulk while Amy appeared more lively and curious. Her wide brown eyes were taking in everything around in amazement.

It was just the 40s, not a big deal. But I had to remind myself and I had to understand that it was much different from her perspective. She was young and she had only ever known the time period that she was born into.

This was her first time exploring the vast galaxies and various histories.

I wish I was like that. To still be amazed by all the little things.

Don't get me wrong, there truly was anything and everything to explore, new sights and new things to learn all the time. It was always different in some way—universe to universe. And I was still astounded by it, by the beauty of it all.

But it still made it hard to be impressed by things like Britain in 1941 during World War II. If anything, being in such a superficial time when it comes to the grand scheme of time and space, made me want to leave.

Then again, that more had to do with the fact that—despite this being such a rudimentary event —I still made myself part of such pointless devastation. But devastation follows me wherever I go, I suppose in a way I am used to it.

It just made it harder to forget when I was with such a kind being as the Doctor and such an innocent person as Amy Pond during the exact time period I helped to enact such tragedy.

However, I have been in this universe for many many decades now—I have made myself a part of numerous histories around the cosmos during it. Some events I am not proud of and others actually turned out for the better.

Traveling with the Doctor, I was bound to run into more of these years and locations that I was a part of. It was something that I had to get used to. Shame, pride, and all.

"What's he after?" Amy asked quickly, bouncing on her toes in excitement.

The Doctor did not so much as look at us, continuing to stare at Winston Churchill in amusement as he answered Amy's question. "TARDIS key, of course."

"Think of what I could achieve with your remarkable machine, Doctor! The lives that could be saved!" Winston expressed.

The Doctor walked back towards the TARDIS, passing by Amy and I. He glanced inside one last time before closing the door. "Doesn't work like that I'm afraid..." He told him, moving to stand between Amy and me.

Our shoulders touched.

"Must I take it by force?" Winston challenged.

The Doctor stepped forward, wordlessly accepting the challenge. "I'd like to see you try." He tilted his head, staring at Winston knowingly.

Winston smiled, holding up a hand to the small group of men who still had their weapons trained at us. "At ease." With his command, all the guns were put down and everyone relaxed.

The Doctor smiled confidently, his hands on the pockets of his trousers as he regarded Churchill. "You rang?"

Churchill nodded, nudging his head. "Yes, follow me—we'll talk on the move...!" He told us, turning around and heading toward a corridor.

The Doctor and Amy were quick to follow after him, and I slowly treaded behind them.

The place shook and rubble fell from the roof as bombs hit the ground from outside. The Blitz—as it was called—where the Germans aimed to break British morale and force their surrender by targeting civilian areas in major cities. AKA London, where we no doubt were now.

As it would turn out, the British are quite stubborn and this did not break their morale in the slightest. They remained strong and withstood such attacks.

"So, you've changed your face... again?" Winston commented as we walked down the corridors.

"Yeah, well," The Doctor rubbed at his chin. "Had a bit of work done."

'A bit' of work is an insane statement considering the pictures of him hanging in my room on the TARDIS feature an entirely different dude physically.

My thoughts wandered. I wonder if regeneration for the Doctor is like stepping into an entirely new life with memories of previous ones, or if it is quite literally just physically changing himself but remaining entirely the same on the inside.

I filed that away as a question to ask him later.

Amy suddenly started jumping as she walked, spinning around with bright eyes.

"Got it, got it, got it! Cabinet War Rooms, right?" She questioned adorably, beaming at everything around.

It certainly put a huge smile on the Doctor's face as he saw her excitement.

Realization settled upon my shoulders. That's the reason he liked to take human companions with him on his journeys.

He was old and had seen most of everything. But humans—especially 21st-century humans—had not. And people from the 21st century were perfect, not as close-minded or naive as they were in the past, but not so advanced that what the Doctor showed them was no surprise.

People like Amy could see it, and they saw it with a sparkle in their eye and it helped such an old soul as the Doctor see it for the first time again too. Hope, wonder, curiosity—all there was to the universe. The beauty in it.

"Yup!" He cheered, arms moving as he spoke and motioned around them. "Top secret heart of the War Office, right under London!" He explained as we continued further down the underground corridor.

I was barely listening to his explanation, staring at him softly.

He saw it because his companions could see it. And now, he felt the same excitement and wonder at where we were because Amy was so exhilarated to be here for the first time.

Perhaps I would be able to be more like the Doctor and take from Amy's excitement in any other circumstance. But despite everything I tried to do, looking around just brought back memories.

It brought back shame and guilt at what I had done.

And those memories brought back flashbacks from even further in my past. Recollections I'd rather forget.

My arms remained crossed tightly over my chest, my footfalls quieter as I remained further back from the trio.

Suddenly, the Doctor turned his head slightly behind him. His eyes widened and he spun further before finally spotting me. His face fell slightly and his eyes sparkled in concern as he took in my form.

My form was currently nothing like Amy's. I exuded no thrill—only a sour face.

He started to slow down, opening his mouth to speak his concerns but he was cut off and his attention was taken to Churchill who thrust his walking stick into the Doctor's hands.

"You're late by the way." He informed the Doctor, greeting an official and very put-together-looking lady who handed him a clipboard.

"Late?" The Doctor asked in confusion, looking at his wristwatch as though that would provide him with the answers he sought.

"I rang you a month ago." Winston Churchill stated. He was not angry or upset, he was just saying it how it was.

The Doctor looked distraught. "Really?" He asked, voice portraying his shock.

It seemed that Amy's concerns were right, because rather than him having called a few days ago as she explained—the man had actually called a month ago before the Doctor pulled up.

I truly am a horrible person. Terrible because that comment and the Doctor's reaction were enough to put a shit-eating grin on my face and have me choking on laughter from behind them.

The Doctor immediately turned his head to me with a scowl. "It's not funny, PJ!" He complained.

Amy hid a laugh by coughing into her hand. The Doctor threw a glare at her too.

"Sorry, it's a Type 40 TARDIS." He explained to Churchill. "I'm just running her in..."

At that moment, the official-looking lady took the clipboard back from Churchill. Her brown hair was tied back, big brown eyes wide and red as though she'd been crying.

"Something the matter, Breen? You look a little down in the dump," Churchill asked the women.

She furiously wiped at her eyes, shaking her head and putting a brave face on. "No sir! Fine sir!" She told him.

Churchill gave her a smile back. "Action this day, Breen. Action this day!"

He told, trying to lift her mood and inspire her.

I didn't blame the woman. World War II sucked.

The Doctor and I shared a quick glance. He quirked one of his delicate brows, standing with the Prime Minister's walking stick still in his grasp. I purposefully looked away from him.

The Doctor scoffed a chuckle under his breath, and I jumped lightly when I felt him move to stand next to me. He was all up in my space, but that was nothing new as he seemed to not understand the concept of the personal bubble.

I tilted my head up slightly as he leaned down, his mouth right by my ear as he whispered.

"Having fun yet?" He breathed.

My eyes met his, and I pursed my lips with all the attitude in the world before turning my head away from him.

"In your dreams maybe..." I clicked.

He groaned from next to me but was not able to say anything else for the Prime Minister turned to us.

"Coming, Doctor?"

Where? I had missed whatever the fuck was going on.

"Why?" The Doctor asked him, moving away from me causing me to let out a breath that I did not know I was holding.

"I have something to show you!" Was the only response we got.

Suspicious.

The Doctor and Amy did not hesitate to follow the man toward a scary-looking lift. I, on the other hand, stayed rooted to my spot and turned my head back in the direction we came longingly.

I swear I could feel the TARDIS pull—hear her calling for me to come back. To race back inside and bask in her warmth.

As though sensing my train of thought, the Doctor was quick to spin around come back toward me.

"C' mon, PJ!" My arm was grabbed by the Doctor as he gently tugged me behind him.

"Release me, Space Lord!" I had whisper-shouted at him.

"Not a chance, peanut gallery!" He whispered furiously right back.

We caught up with Winston and Amy in no time. Unfortunately.

"Ugh, I hate you," I shook my head and he lightly pushed me into the lift next to Amy.

"No, you really don't!" He grinned in an all-knowing sort of way as he took his place next to Winston Churchill.

Amy quirked a brow looking between us. Winston Churchill, well he paid us no mind as he continued to smoke his huge cigar. I snickered as he turned to the Doctor and breathed cigar smoke right in his face.

The Doctor huffed and waved it away.

"We stand at a crossroads, Doctor. Quite alone, with our backs to the wall. Invasion is expected daily. So I will grasp with both hands anything that will give us an advantage over the Nazi menace..." He spoke seriously.

The Doctor tilted his head, briefly turning and making eye contact with me and Amy. Both of us were just as clueless as he.

"Such as?" The Doctor asked him.

Churchill responded with an easy. "You'll see..."

It couldn't be the atomic bomb, he would not be made aware and become involved in its creation for at least another year or two. While Winston Churchill was never super hands-on in its development, he was highly involved in the military and government side of it.

I am only thankful that when I met him the one time, my hair was much shorter and I wore fake circular glasses. While he kept talking about how familiar I looked, he never put his finger on where and I never questioned it that hard.

At the time I just waved it off as him being a silly old man. It turns out he had met me before, just not in the right order.

I was lost in my thoughts, not paying attention to the words the Doctor and Winston spoke as we stepped off the lift. Amy was keenly listening to every word as we made our way to a door that led outside to a roof.

The breeze that greeted us was slightly chilly but nothing to complain about.

London was exactly as I remember it being in 1941... a chaotic war-torn mess.

Not the worst I had ever seen a place, not even close, but it was still not great. Nowhere near utopian.

Sandbags were stacked everywhere, military men held guns and were stationed at nearly all positions of the edges overlooking the city. Smoke was rising from buildings and the sound of bombs falling accompanied by various booms could be heard.

Simple bombs—not the worst in terms of destructive power, but capable of killing and causing damage nevertheless.

"Doctor, this is Professor Edwin Bracewell. He is the Head of our Ironsides Project." Winston had to yell over the noise of the outside world.

A man stood with a helmet on, looking up at the sky through binoculars. He waved toward us as he was standing a few feet away atop a small ledge. The Doctor, to my amusement, proceeded to greet him by throwing up the peace sign with his fingers.

The peace sign technically does not get created until 1958.

"That hasn't been invented yet," I informed him from my place behind him and Amy.

The Doctor proceeded to do his hand in the motion of yapping as he waved me off. "Peanut gallery!" He teased causing me to roll my eyes but saying nothing more.

At that moment there was a loud explosion from somewhere in the city causing the ground to shake and an immense noise to take hold. Amy flinched at the same time I tried to find where the fuck that had come from.

A bomb had hit the ground a few miles away—east.

"Oh, Doctor... Doctor, it's..." Amy began, her face saddened as she stared at the past of the country she lived in.

"History..." The Doctor stated easily, not sounding horribly sad but definitely not happy.

Sirens started wailing and I noticed a new formation of enemy planes suddenly flying toward London.

"This is what I meant to show you, Doctor!" Our attention was caught by Churchill who turned away. "Ready, Bracewell?" Winston hollered to the Professor.

"Aye-aye, sir!" He called back, still looking through the binoculars. "On my order... ready... FIRE!"

I fully expected some early version of the machine gun to rain bullets into the sky. What I did expect was for a fucking ionic laser that definitely should not exist on this planet for another hundred years—probably even more—to get fired straight into the sky.

My mouth fell agape as the laser hit the incoming planes perfectly first try and disintegrated them in their path.

"Holy shit!" I guffawed, not meaning to sound almost amused but the shock that rocketed my veins that is no doubt how it came off. "Holy fuck—did you see that?" My voice was a cross of awe and confusion.

I gripped the arm of the Doctor, my fingers digging into his tweed as I shook him and pointed to where the disintegrated plane was.

"Tell me you saw that?!" I repeated ecstatically.

The Doctor, on the other hand, was horrified. His face was the definition of distraught, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"Yes, of course, I saw that! How could I miss it?!" He cried, grabbing my hand that was digging into his arm.

"What was that?!" Amy was gobsmacked, looking around to see if anyone else was utterly shocked.

No one was.

"That was an ionic laser! That sort of technology shouldn't be on this planet for over a hundred years!" My voice was teetering on the edge of excitement. "How the hell did they make one already?" I breathed, eyes dazzling as a sense of invigoration finally overtook me.

The Doctor whipped his head down to look at me, a scowl resting on his features. "Stop smiling! This isn't good—this shouldn't even be possible!" He was panicking, still holding my hand tightly.

"Well, we just saw it, didn't we?" I motioned to the sky. "Look, they are totally disintegrated! Oh, damn, that's like a good ionic laser too! It left no scraps!"

"PJ!" The Doctor cried, but he did not sound mad. "Stop saying it like it's an amazing thing!"

"But it is an amazing thing! Look around, old man, it's 1941! Nuclear warfare hasn't been invented yet; hell, the atomic bomb hasn't even been finished! How the fuck do they have ionic lasers of all things?!"

The Doctor floundered, turning to face me fully, grabbing me by the shoulders, and dramatically shaking me with him. "Yeah, I guess it is amazing in a very bad way! I don't know how the hell they have access to a bloody ionic laser, but it can't be anything good!"

"Wow, you just swore... you're really worked up over this, aren't you?" I asked. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure it's fine!" I said the last part much too positively for where we were.

"Of course, I'm concerned! This isn't something that's 'fine'!" He stressed. "That can't be an—" He stopped, cutting himself off, eyes going blank before realization settled over his shoulders. "No, that's not an ionic laser—an ionic laser shoots orange... not blue! And an ionic laser sounds more like pew-pew rather fshh-fshh!"

I had to do a double-take, blinking multiple times at the Doctor because of whatever horrible impression came from his mouth.

"I'm going to pretend like you did not just do the worst impression of an ionic laser known to man..." I scoffed and his face changed into one of offense.

"It wasn't that bad—!" He started only for me to cut him off.

"What else could it be though?" I stared at him, now confused and even more intrigued.

If not an ionic laser then what?

Amy was standing next to us, her arms crossed as she tried to keep up with situation.

He was still looking me in the eyes, almost searching for something before he stiffened. A dark energy passed over him as something angry and fierce settled on his shoulders.

It made me flinch back ever-so-slightly, but his grip on my shoulders remained gentle.

"That isn't human technology, it's not an ionic laser... that's... it sounded like... but it can't be. It sounded like..." He was breathing heavier, eyes going crazed and fierce as he suddenly paused. In the next moment, he ripped himself away from me and raced toward Professor Bracewell. "Show me! Show me what that was!" He demanded

The Doctor stood tall, but his facial expression appeared distant.

"Our new secret weapon!" Winston Churchill smiled at the same time that Professor Bracewell ordered out a sharp, "Advance!"

I was staring with pure intrigue from next to Amy. However, my face fell into one of confusion and I once again did a double take as a freaking Dalek rolled through.

"What is that?" Amy whispered, now the one gripping my arm in concern.

The Doctor started speaking with it angrily. Staring straight into its plunger-like eye. I quirked a brow at its greenness along with the British flag stamped proudly to its front.

My head tilted as Professor Bracewell became involved in the conversation and the Doctor started yelling. He very clearly was upset, and the Professor seemed to be doing nothing to help.

"PJ, do you know what that thing is?" Amy once again whispered, flinching at the Doctor's anger.

Even I had to admit his anger was something rather spooky... and hot. Okay, his anger was kind of hot. Frightening but hot.

It's time to burn that thought out of existence now.

"Oh, don't worry, it's just a Dalek..." I easily waved it off as I explained to her. The Doctor would probably have an aneurism if he heard me talking about a Dalek so carelessly. "But it is strange that it's currently here. They usually pop up and cause issues far into the future. Not to mention I thought they frequented the Andromeda galaxy more..." I hummed thoughtfully before shrugging. "Eh, what do I know though? I'm only human!" I cracked up lightly at the end.

Amy was still gripping me tightly staring at the Dalek and the Doctor's reaction to it much more cautiously. She did not respond, her eyes never straying away from the interaction happening a few feet away.

"This doesn't look good, PJ. The Doctor seems very upset..." She said quietly.

I tilted my head before turning to her with an almost manic grin. "He does, doesn't he?" I spoke simply before the grin twisted into a spiteful leer. "Nonetheless, this trip just got one thousand times more interesting."