The Time Rotor rose and fell in a smooth rhythm, I watched it glide smooth as silk thanks to my maintenance. The TARDIS was purring under our hands like she was pleased with herself.
The Doctor was practically bouncing on his heels, grinning. Happiness seems to be contagious.
"Right then," he said, flicking up a lever with an unnecessary flourish to it. "Into the past. Some proper history. Naples, Chrismas eve, 1860. Roasted chestnut, carols singing, maybe even a bit of snow if we're lucky. You'll love it."
Rose leaned on the rail, her eyes bright and a laugh creeping into her the corner of her mouth without against her trying. Happiness really is contagious.
The memory of Platform One disappeared from her thoughts, or at least it moved to the back of her mind.
"Christmas in the past," she said practically laughing. "That's mad. Like… it only happens once every year, yeah? But you—she nodded at him—you can just go back. See it again."
The Doctor's grin got softer hearing this.
"Perks of the job," he said. "Now and then I like to share."
I couldn't help but also smile as I watched them talk over the console. I wanted to join in the banter but I felt something tighten in my chest. They actually needed this, having a little adventure just for themselves, finding their rhythm with each other. And I… I needed to not be in the middle of it until they do.
I took in a really deep breath which luckily they didn't notice. The Unquiet Dead. Cardiff, not Naples. I mused in my head about the things about to happen. Gas ghosts, Dickens, and one very overworked undertaker. I know how it ended, I knew the cost one unfortunate medium who deserved better will have to pay.
Unlike Jabe I knew I couldn't help her. And the Doctor and Rose—I looked up to them as they were in their element—they needed to walk this one themselves.
The TARDIS shivered as we entered the vortex. The Time Rotor picked up speed, emerald light strobing the column. I checked the onboard computer for readouts, every value was within range.
"Coordinates set?" I interrupted and asked without looking up.
"Of course," the Doctor turned back to me still smiling. "I'm an expert."
On the environmental tab on the monitor, the little marker representing our landing spot jumped about half a continent away from Naples, and moved somewhere around South Wales. The date also adjusted itself to 1869.
I raised an eyebrow. The TARDIS hummed at me smugly. Clever little thing.
Cardiff. Gwyneth.
My chest tightened.
The engine slowed and the Time Rotor eased. We dropped out of the vortex and begin the materialization process. We locked into real space with a soft bump.
"We're there," the Doctor said. "Naples!"
"Hmm. Sure we are." I murmured under my breath, neither of them hearing it.
He ran to the doors, threw them open and stepped aside with theatrical flourish.
"After you," he said to Rose, gesturing amicably towards the doors.
Cold air spilled in. Rose stepped out and laughed.
"It's snowing!" she yelled back, spinning around as the snow fell on her. "It's actually snowing! Proper snow, not that soap stuff, but proper snow!"
I followed them to the threshold and leaned on the door frame, watching them have fun. I heard horses clopping over the cobblestone, gas lamps glowing in the fog. A man wearing a top hat passed us hurriedly, muttering in a language that was definitely not Italian.
"Well," I said quietly. "Close enough, eh?"
The Doctor took one big breath like he was tasting the air, and frowned for a second.
"Little bit further north than I planned," he said brightly. "Cardiff. Christmas Eve. Ninteen—" He squinted at a passing newspaper boy. "Eighteen sixty-nine. Even better. Victoriana. Smog. Gravely social inequality. Brilliant!"
Rose spun on the spot, arms open, grinning at the…snow? Sky? I couldn't tell. Maybe she was just very excited, or something.
The Doctor clapped his hands. "Right! Town centre, lights, probably a bit of music. Maybe we'll catch a show."
"As long as it's not opera," Rose said.
"Wouldn't dream of it. Come on."
He started striding off into the fog. Rose jogged after him to catch up.
I stayed in the doorway.
"Engineer?" the Doctor called back. "You coming?"
"Actually—" I looked at the console behind me. "—the maintenance subroutines I'd started earlier are still half-finished."
This was their story. Rose's first real adventure. Something to actually enjoy, even for just a little bit.
And I needed… I needed to not watch Gwyneth die knowing its inevitable and there's nothing I can do about it.
"I'll catch up," I finally said. "Someone has to finish the maintenance work. You go. Have your Victorian Christmas."
Rose laughed. "Don't you want to see it?"
"Oh, I can visit as many Christmases as I want later," I said. "I'll be along after I finish here."
The Doctor squinted at me like he was noticing there's more to it than what I told them. After not getting anything he gave up.
"Don't touch anything important," he said finally.
"Too late," I said, and stepped back inside.
The doors shut with a soft thud.
I stood there for a moment, alone in the console room, listening to the TARDIS hum around me.
"Right then," I said to the empty air. "Let's get to work."
***
For a while, I worked.
Fine-tuning, mostly. Re-balancing power relays, trimming feedback spikes out of the telepathic circuits.
The TARDIS was more than happy to help, nudging my attention toward things she'd been meaning to address for quite a while now on her own.
I tried to distract myself with every small thing I could find, but even in here—deep inside the TARDIS—I could feel the Rift underneath Cardiff.
I was struggling to persuade one of the environmental buffer to stop trying to recreate arctic conditions in sector five, but I kept being distracted.
The Rift pulsed like a second heartbeat, slow and irregular.
I suppose that answers one of my question from earlier somewhat.
I could feel the Rift leaking temporal energy into the streets when I was standing outside with Rose and yet the Doctor made no mentions of it, so I can feel more things than your average Time Lord. Or at least more than him.
'Mother. I. Am. Special' I mumbled under my breath, articulating each word separately as I was struggling to replace a worn out manifold gasket.
Doesn't matter if it's Earth Technology or Gallifreyan. Nobody knows how to design proper gasket grooves.
The Rift pulsed again. Stronger this time.
"Not my problem," I muttered. "They've got it handled."
Even the TARDIS thrummed at me, unconvinced.
I resealed a conduit joint, and once again re-calibrated the temporal drift compensating unit for the third time as it kept refusing the new parameters and reset-ed itself every time. I tried to start the calibration process for the fourth time, when I felt another pulse—.
"This is ridiculous— "
I threw down my tools on the floor and pressed my palms flat against the console.
"I know, okay," I said quietly. "I know she's going to die. I know what's going to happen."
I worked with enough TARDISes, I knew they perceived not only time differently, but also the entire fabric of reality itself. I had absolutely no doubts that the TARDIS knew what I was.
It didn't matter me though.
I'm a Time Lord. If I can't even confide in a TARDIS—even if she would throw me under the bus if the situation called for it over her own pilot—what am I even going to do? Dig myself a hole in some corner of the Universe and live in solitude until the heat death of the Universe? Of course not.
"I know what's coming. But if I go there to butt in, if I try to stop it—then what? The Rift stayes open, the Gelth keep pushing through. No. No. That'll be even worse. Maybe everyone dies instead of just her."
The TARDIS didn't answer, but I felt her presence—patient, waiting.
"It's her choice to make anyway." I said, my shoulders dropping. "She chooses to end it. What right do I have to take that away from her. Just because…"
My hands were shaking.
"I remember you know," I said. "Jonathan. I was him. Even If I now consider myself, myself I remember being him. I felt the impact. I know exactly what it feels like to choose to step in front of something and not come back."
I took a breath.
"And then I woke up here, alive again, three lives deep and still breathing. Gwyneth doesn't even get that. She burns and she's gone and I could stop it but I won't because the "script" says she has to die and who am I to argue with— "
I stopped.
"I'm making excuses," I said.
The TARDIS hummed, gentle and sad.
"Yeah," I said. "I know."
I straightened, wiped my hands on my trousers, and made a decision.
"I'm going out." I said. "No, no, I'm not going to the theater. I'm not going to watch her…make that choice. But I can make sure the Rift closes properly. Or something. That the rest of Cardiff survives. That her sacrifice isn't wasted because Victorian gas infrastructure couldn't handle the…load."
I grabbed my coat.
"Background heroism," I said. "That's what I'm good at, right?"
The TARDIS opened the door without me asking.
Outside, snow was falling on Cardiff, and I headed for the industrial quarter.
***
[DOCTOR & ROSE]
The theater was warm, crowded and smelled of old wood and unwashed bodies packed up like sardines in a can. Rose wrinkled her nose, but still, couldn't stop grinning.
On stage, a man with magnificent sideburns and a booming voice gestured around with his arms dramatically, his words rolling out so perfectly, that even the most simplest of sentences felt like literature.
"Ooh, he's good." Rose leaned sideways to whisper, her eyes not even leaving the man.
"He's the best," the Doctor whispered back. "Charles Dickens. That's actually Charles Dickens up there."
Rose's eyes went wide. "What? Seriously?"
"Seriously. Watch—this is the good bit."
But before Dickens could reach whatever climax he'd been building up toward, a woman in the audience let out a piercing scream.
The theater fell silent. Even Dickens stopped mid-gesture, staring.
People looked up to the balcony. A pale figure stood there—an old woman in a nightdress, swaying, her eyes glowing with an eerie blue light.
"The angels," she moaned, her voice hollow and echoing. "The angels are coming…"
Then she opened her mouth impossibly wide, and blue gas poured out, filling the air.
The crowd panicked.
Rose grabbed the Doctor's arm. "What is that?"
"I don't know," he said, eyes locked on the figure. "Let's follow it and find out." he said as a pair of middle aged man and young girl grabbed the old woman and dragged her to a carriage.
***
The old lady was taken away.
The Doctor and Rose followed after them, until they reached a building. They couldn't smell anything, but formaldehyde even just standing outside.
A man with a round-face, sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cold noticed them following him. Not knowing what to do with them, he ushered them into a back room where they could see bodies laying in neat rows under white sheets.
This building was the undertaker's parlor.
The man introduced himself as Mr. Sneed. "It's the third time this week," he said, wringing his hands. "They just... get up. Walk around. Speak despite being dead. I don't know what to do, sir, I'm a respectable businessman, I can't have corpses wandering about frightening the customers—"
"Where's the girl?" the Doctor interrupted. "The one from the theater."
"Gwyneth's got her in the parlor, sir, trying to calm down the lady. Poor thing's half out of her mind."
The Doctor asked to see her, and Sneed led them through. When they entered the room the old woman from the theater, was sitting rigid in a chair, eyes vacant. Standing beside her was a young woman in a maid's uniform with dark hair pinned back, her eyes were kind and worried.
"Gwyneth," Sneed said. "These are... doctors. They're here to help."
Gwyneth looked at them, and Rose saw something flicker in her expression—recognition maybe? Or fear?
"I can feel them," Gwyneth said softly. "The angels. They're so cold. They want to come through."
The Doctor knelt beside the old woman and scanned her with the sonic screwdriver.
"Gelth," he said. "Gaseous entities. They're using the Rift, riding the gas lines, possessing the dead. These bodies are just... shells. For transportation."
Rose felt her stomach turn. "That's horrible."
"They're desperate," the Doctor corrected. "They're refugees. Their world died. They're looking for a way to survive."
"By stealing bodies?"
"No, by borrowing them." He looked up at Gwyneth. "You can sense them, can't you? You're psychic. The Rift's made you sensitive."
Gwyneth nodded, tears in her eyes. "All my life, sir. I see things. Hear things. The angels, they're... they're dying. They need help."
"Then we do that," the Doctor said, standing. "But first, we need to talk to them. Properly."
***
[ENGINEER]
I was practically crawling ahead in a gas access tunnel. It was so small I could barely straighten up into a half squatting posture.
The air was thick with the smell of coal and it was so humid from the damp stone underneath my boots.
I'd found the main junction under Sneed's parlor by following the Rift's signature through the streets. The closer I got to the place the stronger the pull was. Outside the building itself it felt like standing next to a wind tunnel, except it was only my senses.
Down here, the pressure was outright immense.
Orange-tinged gas hissed through pipes bolted to the walls. Every few seconds, a shimmer of blue flickered inside them—Gelth, clinging to the flow, slipping between this world and wherever they were trying to escape from.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the nearest pipe in my mind and letting Enhanced Integration map the entire network.
The system was a disaster. Victorian engineering at its finest—functional but fragile, designed for lighting and heating, not for channeling interdimensional refugees.
Someone had already been tampering with it. Valves were wedged open. Pressure was building in the whole system.
Not good. At all. If this went wrong—if the Gelth pushed too hard—in fact if someone simply lit a spark at the wrong place, the entire block would go up.
"Right," I muttered. "Let's not let that happen."
I moved through the junction, hands working automatically. I shut the valves leading to the neighboring houses. Rerouted excess pressure into relief lines farther down the network.
I basically isolated Sneed's building so that whatever happened here would stay here.
Above me, faintly through the stones, I heard muffled voices. I picked up the Doctor's Northern tones and Rose's worried questions. I could also make out a younger woman's softer tones.
They were probably starting the séance.
My hands tightened on the valve wheel.
"I'm sorry," I said to the pipes, to the Gelth inside them, to Gwyneth upstairs. "I'm sorry, I really am. But you don't get to have this world. I know you're running out of options, but I'm running out of sympathy."
The Gelth presence in the pipes surged—angry, desperate, pleading.
"Hmm. I know that feeling."
I snapped the last isolation valve into place and stepped back.
The system was as contained as I could make it. When the explosion inevitably came, it would burn hot and fast enough to incinerate the Gelth. The Rift would automatically slam shut. And Gwyneth—
I didn't finish that thought.
"This is the right choice," I said to the empty tunnel.
***
[DOCTOR & ROSE]
The séance room was lit by candles making the air smell like wax and roses. Gwyneth sat at the head of the table, hands folded in her lap, eyes closed. Around her sat the Doctor, Rose, Charled Dickens , and old Mrs. Redpath's corpse. Still, silent, waiting.
"I can feel them," Gwyneth whispered. "They're so close now. They want to speak."
"Then let them," the Doctor said gently.
Gwyneth's eyes opened—glowing blue, not her own.
When she spoke, her voice was layered, echoing, full of grief and longing.
"We are the Gelth. We are dying. Our world burned in the great war. We are few. We are fading. We beg you—let us take form. Let us live again."
Rose leaned forward. "You want to possess people? Dead people?"
"Only the dead. Only those who no longer need their forms. We do not wish to harm. We wish only to survive."
The Doctor's expression was solemn. "How many of you are there?"
"Few. So few. A handful. We need only a handful of vessels."
"And if we help you," the Doctor said slowly, "if we open the Rift fully, let you through—you'll only take the dead? You swear it?"
"We swear. We are not monsters. We are refugees. We are you, Time Lord, fleeing the war that destroyed everything."
Rose saw the Doctor flinch.
"All right," he said. "All right. We'll help you."
"Doctor—" Rose started.
"They're dying, Rose. Their world's gone. Sound familiar?" His voice was raw. "We help them. That's what we do."
Gwyneth's voice came again, her own this time, small and frightened. "It hurts. They're pushing. There are so many—"
"Wait," the Doctor said. "You said a handful. How many is a handful?"
The blue light in Gwyneth's eyes flared brighter.
"Billions."
The corpse of Mrs. Redpath lurched to its feet, eyes blazing blue.
"We lied," it said, grinning. "We are legion. We are hungry. And you have opened the door."
***
[ENGINEER]
The Rift exploded.
I felt it through—everything. The pipes, the stone—my bones… A massive surge of pressure as the door between worlds was ripped open and something vast was trying to pour through.
The pipes around me blazed with blue light. The Gelth were flooding in, hundreds of them, thousands, filling every available space, pouring up through the gas lines toward the building above me.
"Oh ho, no you are not."
I grabbed the manual purge lever and yanked it down.
Gas roared through the system, pressure spiking, the pipes screaming. I'd isolated the building, yes, but I hadn't accounted for this—for the sheer volume trying to push through.
Above me, I heard shouting. I also heard something crashing. The Doctor's voice, sharp and commanding.
And then a softer, determined voice of a young woman.
"I can stop them. I can send them back."
Gwyneth.
I didn't say anything. I braced myself against the junction wall, both hands on the main valve, and waited.
***
[DOCTOR & ROSE]
Gwyneth stood in the center of the room, arms spread to the side, blue light pouring from her orifices, eyes, and hands.
The Gelth was screaming. Rage and fear while they were being dragged back into where they came from.
"Gwyneth, stop!" Rose shouted. "You'll kill yourself!"
"I'm already dead, miss," Gwyneth said, and her voice was peaceful and serene. "I have been since I walked in this room. But I can end this. I can close the door."
The Doctor stepped forward, sonic screwdriver raised. "There has to be another way—"
"There isn't," Gwyneth said. She looked at him, really looked at him, and smiled. "You carry so much, sir. Let me carry this."
She turned to Dickens, standing frozen in the doorway.
"Mr. Dickens," she said. "The gas. Light it."
"I can't—I won't—"
"Please."
Charles Dickens, the greatest writer of his age, the man who had spent his entire life crafting stories about redemption and sacrifice and the triumph of the human spirit, finally struck a match.
"Forgive me," he whispered.
The room exploded in light.
***
[ENGINEER]
The world lit up white in a fraction of a second.
The explosion roared through the pipes, a wall of heat and pressure slammed into me like it was a physical blow. I was thrown into the wall behind me, I could feel bones cracking. Well, only felt like that.
As I was being pushed into the wall, I had to recognize a significant drawback of my wonderful sixth sense, or Enhanced Integration gift, or both maybe. I was painfully aware of everything that was happening to me, and thanks to this I knew full well that the pressure on my body was almost enough to break my body, but my Time Lord physique endured it without any actual damage.
I could also feel the Gelth presence in the network screaming in pain. Uh, serves you right. After a second it was gone. Completely.
The Rift snapped close.
The silence after was deafening.
I slid down the wall, sitting down, my back still against the wall. My ears were ringing, I tasteddust, and everything in my body ached.
Despite everything hurting, my mind was only on one thing.
She was gone.
Gwyneth was also gone.
And I let it happen.
"I will mend what I break and leave what I cannot mend," I said to the empty tunnel.
But I hadn't mended anything. I'd just… made sure the explosion was contained… Made sure her death was efficient.
Background heroism, huh.
I laughed, bitter. I spat out some ash on the ground.
***
[REUNION]
By the time I dragged myself out of the tunnels and up to street level, my body stopped aching, but my breath was still ragged. My coat was torn, my face was covered in soot, and I…oh, looks like I'd lost a tooth in the explosion. I hope those regrow…
The undertaker's parlor was essentially a ruin. The front wall had collapsed. Smoke poured from the windows. And in the street outside—also covered in soot—stood the Doctor, Rose, and Charles Dickens.
When Rose noticed me climbing out, she ran to me.
"Engineer!" She ran up to me, then stopped staring at me. "Oh my God, what happened to you?"
"Gas explosion," I said. My voice came out rough. "I was in the tunnels. Making sure it didn't take the whole block with it."
The Doctor turned, eyes sharp, scanning me from head to toe. "You were down there? During the—"
"Yeah?"
"You could've died."
"Hmpf—No…" I pouted. "At most regenerated…"
Rose frowned. "You what?"
The Doctor shot me a sharp look as he said something to Rose. "Later. Not important right now."
He turned back to me, eyes narrowed. "What were you doing down there?"
"I was walking," I said. "Taking a stroll. Happened to sense the gas pressure spiking around me beyond normal, followed it down and found your little interdimensional invasion in progress. Thought I'd make myself useful."
"A stroll," the Doctor repeated, flat.
"Yep. Lovely evening for it. Very Victorian. Atmospheric."
"Through the industrial district."
"Where else would 'I' go to?" I shrugged, trying to look casual despite being covered in soot and missing a tooth. "Sue me, I like infrastructure more than a garden."
Rose looked between us, confused. "Wait, you just... accidentally found the gas tunnels?"
"I'm an engineer," I said, gesturing at myself like it was obvious. "I'm drawn to poorly maintained systems like a moth to a flame. Speaking of which—" I gestured at the ruined building. "—that was some flame."
The Doctor's eyes narrowed, but before he could push further, Dickens cleared his throat.
"Forgive me," he said, voice shaking, "but I find myself rather... overwhelmed. Ghosts and gas and a girl who..." He swallowed. "I think I shall write. Until dawn. There is much to process."
The Doctor eyed me for another long second, calculating something in his mind, but then he decided to let it drop. He turned to Dickens with a softer expression.
"Make it a good one," he said. "They'll be reading you for a long time."
Dickens nodded, managed a weak smile, and walked away into the snow.
We stood there—the three of us—in the wreckage and the falling snow.
"She saved everyone," Rose said quietly, staring at the ruined building. "And nobody's going to know."
"They never do," the Doctor said, his voice carrying the weight of too many names he'd never forget.
I thought about Gwyneth, choosing to be brave and getting nothing but ash for her trouble.
And also about Jonathan, stepping in front of a bus.
He—I'd gotten another chance. She didn't.
My hands curled into fists in my pockets.
Rose wiped her eyes and nodded.
"Come on," the Doctor said. "Back to the TARDIS. Before the locals decide to blame us for this mess."
We walked together through the snow. Nobody spoke. Nobody needed to.
The guilt could wait until later.
It always did.