Andred, Castellan... ah, sort of.

“You know,” he called back. “Chasing Andred across fields was decidedly not on my schedule for today, so thank you, but the grass will be sufficient.” That and the notion of standing up seemed beyond him for the moment. He’d lost his strength.

Narvin’s face compressed into a wince, a reaction she didn’t bother trying to hide since Irving couldn’t see her.  She didn’t like it, but when the future problem was only a potential one and the current problem needed her attention, she didn’t have much choice–never mind that with Andred on the brain, she was very conscious of the possibility that Irving might cosh her over the head while she was distracted and steal the TARDIS out from under her.

“Fine,” she called, through her still-open TARDIS door.  Once she’d sorted Andred, she could always fly to the Citadel, exchange this TARDIS for a fully functional one, and use it to hop back in time, so Irving wouldn’t have time to make an escape of his own.  “I’ll be back in a moment.”

She set her TARDIS to automatically follow Andred’s signal, not closing the doors before she lifted off.  He was on foot, after all, and catching up even without dematerializing took only a matter of a microspan.

“It’s called burning your bridges, Narvin,” he replied. “You think they don’t know about their setbacks? They’re going to raze what they can and start over - more paranoid than ever. They’ll think that there’s a leak where there isn’t one - that’s incredibly dangerous for anyone who seems even a tiny bit ambitious or who has any time not meticulously accounted for.

“If I thought ‘they’d just go up in smoke’, then I scarcely would concern myself. Even you can handle a last desperate punt.”

“I think what they may know, yet, is that Gillestes has been found out.  Beyond that, all they can do is guess.  They certainly don’t have reason to suppose that we already knew exactly who she was, what she was trying to do, what that virus is, what it does, how it’s transmitted.  Our informants in this safehouse are a wild card they can’t possibly anticipate.  We have an advantage to press, and I want to take that advantage for as long as it holds.

“But I can, and will, send someone else if I need to. The potential risks of sending you–the risks for me, for the Agency, for Gallifrey–probably outweigh the benefits, and it’s probably stupid of me to even consider it.  But given that anything I do with you now will be a risk, for both of us, I thought that was the one you might like best, and that might be likeliest to pay dividends.

“This isn’t the only CIA safehouse, but it’s the only one where you’d have any company.  Solitary confinement in a place where Pandora hopefully wouldn’t be able to get her hands on you might be the best option for both of us, and if that’s what you choose, I’ll respect it.”

Narvin didn’t have time to argue all the ins and outs of this conversation, and didn’t want to.  “I need to have a conversation with Brax.  I’ll give you half a span to think it over and choose, or to come up with another alternative you think I’ll accept.”  She trusted that her TARDIS was sufficiently impregnable and her tracking sufficiently good that Andred couldn’t escape that quickly.  “I don’t want you to die, Andred,” she said, the nearest concession to sentiment she could make at the moment, “but you can’t stay here.”

This wasn’t going to be solved by following up dried leads under Narvin’s unimaginative control - it was going to take out of the box thinking and... being a wild card. 

He wasn’t going to be there, he decided. He wasn't going to have to take her TARDIS, merely delay her entrance to it. Simply blocking the door will do that.

He just stared at her in contemptuous disbelief. For someone convinced that he was only whining for the sake of it, that was hell of a positive view of his statement. He let out a sigh of frustration. “I mean, they’re not just twiddling their thumbs hoping they’ll be noticed - they have a plan and they’ll enact it - people will die before I’ll be of any use. We’ve already seen they don’t think small.” 

“We know what their plan was–and they may well not know, yet, just how well informed we are.  We’ve recovered their virus.  We’re working on a vaccine.  We’re ahead of them, not lagging behind.

“Still, assuming they do have some secondary scheme in the works–why do you suppose they’d just go up in smoke as soon as it was hatched?  We’d need an agent on the inside just as much after a disaster as before it.   I’m not underestimating them, Andred.  I think you are.  I don’t think they’re going anywhere, and that’s why we need to plan for the long term, not just think crisis to crisis as we have been.”

“It’s called burning your bridges, Narvin,” he replied. “You think they don’t know about their setbacks? They’re going to raze what they can and start over - more paranoid than ever. They’ll think that there’s a leak where there isn’t one - that’s incredibly dangerous for anyone who seems even a tiny bit ambitious or who has any time not meticulously accounted for. 

“If I thought ‘they’d just go up in smoke’, then I scarcely would concern myself. Even you can handle a last desperate punt.”

He didn’t respond to that. ‘Together’ and ‘together’ were two different things. He wasn’t exactly impressed with her comment. CIA, doing something ‘illegal’? Definitely a reason for dismissal!

“I’ve given you plenty of suggestions,” he sneered back. “You’ll forgive me if I lack the faith that’ll listen to more.”

Narvin sighed.  “Can we pretend for once that you aren’t the only one whose life is difficult right now?  That really would make this conversation a great deal easier for you as well as for me.”

She crossed her arms behind her back.  “Supposing I offered you a chance to begin to put things right,” she said.  “Supposing we both acknowledged that Free Time was when and how your life went wrong, and that infiltrating them would be a significant step in the direction of putting things right.  Supposing I made the frankly insane decision to trust you, and that you made the possibly equally absurd decision to trust me.  Landing a few mutual punches can have that effect.  If you agreed to act as a double agent, I would do anything in my power to secure you an official pardon afterwards.“ 

Narvin was aware enough, just, to sense that mentioning Leela would be more likely to do harm than good.  Andred would think of that himself, of the greater likelihood that Leela would forgive him once he’d made some demonstration of working to correct his own mistakes.

“Even if I caught them in a generous mood, I wouldn’t be in a position to provide useful intelligence in time to do any good. 

“Sorry enough to let me leave?” he asked, his tone breathily declaring his disbelief in that scenario. Why would she let him leave when she could hang him out to dry? Narvin was an honest Time Lord, sure, but she was still a Time Lord. Compassion was written out of the DNA when Rassilon got a hold on it.

“To leave here?  Yes.  You forget that we’re in this together.”  She leant against the wall beside him.  “I’ll have a hard enough time keeping my job over the refugees alone.  Breaking you out was illegal.”

This was not going to be a good morning.  It probably would be a better than last night, but, to be fair, that wasn’t saying much.

After last night’s rain, the mist was rising from the grass when Narvin stepped from her TARDIS, burning away as the suns rose.  There was an eerie beauty in the deserted splendor of it, even for a person as ill-attuned to the natural world as Narvin, and she wasn’t shocked to find someone else awake and outside to watch.

She didn’t rush to speak, just leaned against the safehouse wall on the opposite side of the doorway from Andred’s lurking form.  They stood in silence for a good long moment, not needing to speak, the way only two people who had known each other for so many centuries could.

He rubbed his face, really just worn out. “Yeah, fine,” he said, moving to the door.

Leela, too, was tired.  Still, it was better to move than be still.  She could depend on her body, if on nothing else tonight.

She wished that she were more surprised to see Narvin gone.  The truth was that if nothing Braxiatel could do would change her mind, there was little point in holding her here.  The idea of locking her in a cell had been made quickly, in desperation, but for the Coordinator of the CIA to go missing would have brought still more trouble on all their heads.  That Leela could still remember the other Narvin meant, at least, that she had not yet carried out the plan to cut herself out of time.

What worried her now was Braxiatel: the way he was standing, the look on his face.  “Braxiatel?” she asked–and, not knowing what more to ask (’are you well’ would be a waste of words), left it at that.

“Very well,“ he replied. “I‘m sure it‘ll make the news feed if she tops herself elsewhere, so I’m going to bid goodnight.“ Not that such news would have sat well with him, but the nature of their relationship didn’t allow anything so sentimental, so he just left without apologising.

“Just go away and leave me to my job, then,” he said. “You‘ve distracted me enough and you‘re not about to be less distracting sulking there.”

The years obviously had not been kind to Leela, but expecting him to take it all on himself while ignoring that he was dealing with a lot himself was profoundly unfair.

“If I am sulking, I am in good company,” she retorted, “and this is my job, too.  I said that I would help to watch over this place, and I will.”

She did not want him to take everything on himself–that was exactly the opposite of what she wanted.  Perhaps she should not have lost her temper, but she had only done so for feeling that he was pushing her away on purpose, too lost in his own self-pity to trust even her.  She did not pretend that her own mood played no part; Romana and Narvin were the dearest people left to her now, and watching both of them lose heart so much as to wish for death was too much for one night, even if it was the wrong Narvin and perhaps the wrong Romana. 

Leela she would like very much to help Andred however he would let her.  That was what she had tried to say, if badly.  She would like to be his friend and his ally.  She was used with her own Andred for a degree of ill-temper to be taken in stride and matched, each of them able to abide the other’s grumpiness for knowing the love and respect beneath a bad mood–like an animal snapping at a friend for pressing against a hurt spot, without actually biting.

“Just go away and leave me to my job, then,” he said. “You‘ve distracted me enough and you‘re not about to be less distracting sulking there.”

The years obviously had not been kind to Leela, but expecting him to take it all on himself while ignoring that he was dealing with a lot himself was profoundly unfair.

“If I am sulking, I am in good company,” she retorted, “and this is my job, too.  I said that I would help to watch over this place, and I will.”

She did not want him to take everything on himself–that was exactly the opposite of what she wanted.  Perhaps she should not have lost her temper, but she had only done so for feeling that he was pushing her away on purpose, too lost in his own self-pity to trust even her.  She did not pretend that her own mood played no part; Romana and Narvin were the dearest people left to her now, and watching both of them lose heart so much as to wish for death was too much for one night, even if it was the wrong Narvin and perhaps the wrong Romana. 

Leela she would like very much to help Andred however he would let her.  That was what she had tried to say, if badly.  She would like to be his friend and his ally.  She was used with her own Andred for a degree of ill-temper to be taken in stride and matched, each of them able to abide the other’s grumpiness for knowing the love and respect beneath a bad mood–like an animal snapping at a friend for pressing against a hurt spot, without actually biting.

“My being alive does not grant you ownership and there is a distinct difference between changing the world and meddling in people’s personal lives. Let’s not move the goal posts. You’ve already altered this world, so it’s not a mirror any longer.

“You wouldn’t come into a ‘lost brother’s’ home, put up your feet and tell him what to do, would you? You would not presume you know how he feels. I can’t tell you what to do with your trust.” He shrugged. “Look, do what you like, I have enough to worry about.”

“I might offer him advice if I knew him well enough to know that he loved my own sister,” she retorted, exhausted with everyone in this night, exhausted with this conversation.  “I did not storm away to the other Leela against your wishes.  I have robbed you of nothing, not even control.  I made you an offer.  You refused it.  I have not acted against your wish, even though I think you are wrong.  I am too tired to care that you do not like my tone.  Everyone I care about wants to die tonight, Andred.  I do not have room in my heart to feel unforgivable because I chose the wrong way of hoping you could be happy.”

“My being alive does not grant you ownership and there is a distinct difference between changing the world and meddling in people’s personal lives. Let’s not move the goal posts. You’ve already altered this world, so it’s not a mirror any longer.

“You wouldn’t come into a ‘lost brother’s’ home, put up your feet and tell him what to do, would you? You would not presume you know how he feels. I can’t tell you what to do with your trust.” He shrugged. “Look, do what you like, I have enough to worry about.”

“I might offer him advice if I knew him well enough to know that he loved my own sister,” she retorted, exhausted with everyone in this night, exhausted with this conversation.  “I did not storm away to the other Leela against your wishes.  I have robbed you of nothing, not even control.  I made you an offer.  You refused it.  I have not acted against your wish, even though I think you are wrong.  I am too tired to care that you do not like my tone.  Everyone I care about wants to die tonight, Andred.  I do not have room in my heart to feel unforgivable because I chose the wrong way of hoping you could be happy.”

“’Double dealing’?  Because I would offer to tell her the truth of what happened to me?  Because, as I say, I would not wish her to suffer, because I would wish to speak as a friend to you both?  If that is your idea of ‘double dealing’, it is no wonder this is where your life has led.  What false advantage do you suppose I am trying to gain from this double dealing?”  In spite of everything, a sudden smile trembled for an instant on her lips.  “It is usually to be President, when someone on Gallifrey is scheming,” she said, “but if there is some way that you or your Leela could lead to that, I am not clever enough to know what it is.”

She looked down, curling in closer around herself.  “If you think I am the only one with ‘baggage’, you are dreaming,” she said, calmer and quieter and sadder than before.  “You think of what you have lost when you look at me every bit as much as I do with you.  My temper is a fault, I will own that, and if I was too quick to snap then I am sorry for it–but I cannot hear you say that I would wish you far away and not feel it as an accusation from my own Andred.  And you would not have said it, except that it is what you are feeling towards your Leela, not me.”

“You mean aside from control? You lost it when you lost your Andred and while I’d want to be empathetic to that, you’re making it impossible by your projecting. That’s the difference between us. I’m not trying to control you or have you act a certain way beyond letting me breathe.

“What else would you have us do?  Watch and do nothing as it all happens over again?  That is the kind of punishment that cruel gods inflict on the wicked in old tales.  It is not reasonable to expect that anyone would submit to such a fate without trying to resist it.  But that I should not care, should do nothing, say nothing, as I watch this Gallifrey like a mirror to the past–that is more than is fair to expect of anyone.

“’Double dealing’?  Because I would offer to tell her the truth of what happened to me?  Because, as I say, I would not wish her to suffer, because I would wish to speak as a friend to you both?  If that is your idea of ‘double dealing’, it is no wonder this is where your life has led.  What false advantage do you suppose I am trying to gain from this double dealing?”  In spite of everything, a sudden smile trembled for an instant on her lips.  “It is usually to be President, when someone on Gallifrey is scheming,” she said, “but if there is some way that you or your Leela could lead to that, I am not clever enough to know what it is.”

She looked down, curling in closer around herself.  “If you think I am the only one with ‘baggage’, you are dreaming,” she said, calmer and quieter and sadder than before.  “You think of what you have lost when you look at me every bit as much as I do with you.  My temper is a fault, I will own that, and if I was too quick to snap then I am sorry for it–but I cannot hear you say that I would wish you far away and not feel it as an accusation from my own Andred.  And you would not have said it, except that it is what you are feeling towards your Leela, not me.”

“You mean aside from control? You lost it when you lost your Andred and while I’d want to be empathetic to that, you’re making it impossible by your projecting. That’s the difference between us. I’m not trying to control you or have you act a certain way beyond letting me breathe.

It had been a long night, and full of too many emotions.  Andred’s self-pity was more than enough to bring her temper to the surface.

“You are so stupid sometimes that I could box your ears,” she snapped.  “I watched my Andred die.  I buried him and cried over his grave.  I spent nights without number lying alone in the dark, begging every god I never believed in to see his face just one more time.  But fine.  You must be right.  You must know what I want better than I do.  Oooo, it is no wonder you cannot make your own Leela forgive you.  Have you not thought that I more than anyone might convince her to take you back?  Have you not said to yourself that I above anyone else here am a friend you might wish to make?”

It had been a long night, and full of too many emotions.  Andred’s self-pity was more than enough to bring her temper to the surface.

“You are so stupid sometimes that I could box your ears,” she snapped.  “I watched my Andred die.  I buried him and cried over his grave.  I spent nights without number lying alone in the dark, begging every god I never believed in to see his face just one more time.  But fine.  You must be right.  You must know what I want better than I do.  Oooo, it is no wonder you cannot make your own Leela forgive you.  Have you not thought that I more than anyone might convince her to take you back?  Have you not said to yourself that I above anyone else here am a friend you might wish to make?”

“Leela.” Romana said, her tone half-way between chiding and pleading. “We’re not in some romantic tragedy, you know.”

Of course, if she did things right, she’d have no chance to follow her before she forgot why she wanted to, but expressing that sentiment would only hurt them both. She’d try to find another way; she’d give Leela that.

“I won’t swear on your life for anything. But I do give you my word.”

“Are we not?” Leela asked, a weary wryness in the corners of her mouth.  “I, a warrior woman from the other side of the stars, am about to leave the bedside of the woman I love–once great and powerful, now cast low, fresh from the war that tore us apart and longing for death–to go sit vigil with the ghost of the husband she killed.  If we are not story, then what are we?”

Leela sighed at Romana’s stubbornness, no less now than ever, and trailed her fingers over Romana’s arm as she pulled away.

She made her way back down the corridor to the sitting room, not looking directly at Andred, and sunk into a chair.

“Has there been any change?” she asked, pulling her knees up under her chin and wrapping her arms around herself.

“Leela.” Romana said, her tone half-way between chiding and pleading. “We’re not in some romantic tragedy, you know.”

Of course, if she did things right, she’d have no chance to follow her before she forgot why she wanted to, but expressing that sentiment would only hurt them both. She’d try to find another way; she’d give Leela that.

“I won’t swear on your life for anything. But I do give you my word.”

“Are we not?” Leela asked, a weary wryness in the corners of her mouth.  “I, a warrior woman from the other side of the stars, am about to leave the bedside of the woman I love–once great and powerful, now cast low, fresh from the war that tore us apart and longing for death–to go sit vigil with the ghost of the husband she killed.  If we are not story, then what are we?”

Leela sighed at Romana’s stubbornness, no less now than ever, and trailed her fingers over Romana’s arm as she pulled away.

She made her way back down the corridor to the sitting room, not looking directly at Andred, and sunk into a chair.

“Has there been any change?” she asked, pulling her knees up under her chin and wrapping her arms around herself.