Chapter One - YANA

"We used the new device that you created, Doctor," the young Torchwood agent informed him. He glanced up at her briefly and then bent back over his latest project. Her brow was furrowed and he tried to remember her name. Gloria?

The room was large and airy, even though it was filled with whirring devices and beeping electronics. Against one wall he had a Sontaran trans-mat device disassembled and laid out. Piled on shelves were circuit boards, tools, wires, cables, crystals, and every imaginable type of analytic machinery. In his hands he held the third prototype of a sonic screwdriver, this one designed for Torchwood personnel investigating alien crash wreckage. It was strictly limited compared to the one in his pocket, but he was trying to ease this Earth forward technologically in as gentle a manner as he could. Coming up with less environmentally destructive manufacturing techniques, for instance, was a serious limiting factor.

"Splendid," he murmured back, intent on his work to the exclusion of all else. Glinda? No, that was from Baum.

Pete had been remarkably helpful in limiting the distribution of alien technology. What had happened here before, the creation of the Cybermen, and the misuse of the technology that created them, had made him decidedly wary of risking the new Jackie, the way that he had the old one. He still blamed himself for her death, even if it really wasn't his fault.

"Well, we didn't expect to find much of course," she continued, doggedly trying to capture his attention. Maybe she was called Glynnis?

"Yes, yes," he answered with an absent tone, still fixated on the construction of the screwdriver. The neutron pattern alignment on the filament was simply not correct; there must be a way to fix that. No, her name was something more like Gladys, he was pretty sure.

"So, when we did find something, we were terribly surprised. We went out and brought the woman back, definitely an alien, the scans confirm it, and she had the oddest stuff, things we'd never seen before…"

The Doctor looked up in sudden comprehension and focused completely on the young woman before him. The light pouring in from the wall of windows behind him illuminated her expression of gentle perplexity and he noted the nervous way that she was twisting her hands together.

"Gladys," he began.

"Geneva," she corrected.

"Right, right, Geneva," he corrected himself. "Silly name for a girl, why did they call you that?" he demanded and she sighed.

"Doctor, focus!" she instructed. "We found an alien."

"Right yes, where's she from?" he asked, part of his mind still contemplating her strange name. A tall, strong looking woman with black hair scraped back into a bun and a black suit, like some kind of matron from a reform school, ought not to be called Geneva.

"That's just it, Doctor, she says she's from Gallifrey!" the young woman's voice was as disbelieving as the snort he gave in reply.

"Liar!" he shot back, feeling a welling of grief and mingled fury rising in him. "She's a damn liar, the other me is the only Time Lord left!"

He pushed back from his worktable, tossing his tools down with little concern for them and stormed out of the room.

Geneva waited.

He popped his head back in.

"Where did you say you're keeping her?" he asked with raised brows.

"Cell 6," she answered with no sign of any impatience. He nodded and headed out again.

Behind him, Torchwood Agent Geneva Murray shook her head and smiled. She'd grown used to him a bit, but she did wonder sometimes how his wife ever put up with him.

The Doctor stormed into the cellblock, seemingly oblivious to the guards, security protocols, or anything else. Completely used to his ways, they opened doors, checked his bio-signs, and passed him through with small smiles, or rolling eyes, depending on their opinions of him.

He did notice it all, he noticed everything, but it pleased them to think of him as a harmlessly eccentric inventor and he subtly encouraged that perception. He never wanted the rank and file of Torchwood to see him as a threat.

That would be bad.

He stepped up to the window that looked into cell 6 and frowned. The woman inside was beautiful, in a cool, aristocratic sort of way. Large brown eyes, wavy ginger hair, a pointed chin and an expression of quiet patience. The cell contained a cot, a table, two chairs, and a lavatory off to one side. It was not completely uncomfortable, it was designed for aliens stranded on earth that may or may not be hostile. If they weren't, there was no reason to make them miserable. The woman was looking out the single window, eyes unfocused, as though she was staring at some distant image that was invisible to him.

He'd never seen her before in his life.

He frowned and nodded at the guard, who opened the door and let him in. She turned and looked at him as he entered and her gaze snapped into focus. Her eyes were deep, sad, and far too old for her apparent age. He felt suddenly ill at ease.

"Good afternoon," he chirped. "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?" she asked with a frown that matched his own.

"No, just the Doctor," he told her and she glared at him, brows drawing down and lips thinning to a single slash across her face.

"Don't be stupid, you can't be, you're human," she snapped back. "If this is some sort of sick joke, I don't find it funny!" He could see a tremor in her jaw, but whether it was from anger, grief, or fear, he couldn't tell.

"You told these people you were from Gallifrey. There is only one survivor from Gallifrey and you're not him," he snapped right back and she shook her head.

"This is some trick of the Master's, isn't it?" she replied and he froze to perfect stillness at her words. Her face was filled with anger and sorrow combined and he felt his world tilting under his feet.

"How do you know about him?" he demanded and she glared back at him.

"So, this is a plot of his, I thought so," she replied with a touch of smugness that he found irritating.

"How do you know about him?" he demanded again and she shook her head, refusing to answer. "He's dead, you know, this isn't a plot of his." He wasn't sure why he was telling her that, he had no reason to trust her or even to think that she wasn't herself some sort of danger to him.

"You can't fool me, I know he escaped. He blew a hole in the Time Lock and freed the Dalek Emperor! He's the only one here who could know about the Doctor!" she retorted and he nodded slowly.

"You're not from this universe," he murmured and she frowned at him again. "There is no way you could know about any of this if you were."

"So, how do you know "Doctor"," she asked with a sarcastic edge to her voice.

"I am the Doctor, in a way, there was a Human/Time Lord biological meta-crises and I'm the result of it," he informed her and she stared at him in shock.

"I don't believe you!" she shot back and shook her head in negation. "It's not possible!"

"You say you're a Time Lord, right?" he challenged her and she nodded slowly. "Then look into my mind! Find the truth for yourself!"

She shrank back a bit from him, looking suddenly confused and also rather scared. Then slowly, she moved towards him. He could read the look on her face, the distrust mixed with hope. There was also the yearning, the need to feel the presence of another of her kind, even if he was only half-Time Lord. He felt that draw as well; even in a human body he desperately missed contact with his own race.

"It could be a trap…" she sighed out and he nodded. It was dangerous for him as well, of course. If she was an enemy, letting her have access to his mind was stupid. But… he was so lonely, so alone. If she really was from Gallifrey, then he wouldn't be the last one left anymore.

"It could be, but it's not. Still, only one way to find out!" he grinned at her, feeling the old reckless joy again, and she moved forward across the jail cell. Hand shaking, she reached out and laid trembling fingers aside his face. Her eyes were large and her pupils dilated and he could feel her nervousness as a palpable force.

"If there is something you don't want me to see…" she began and he grinned even larger, knowing the words, hearing the echo of nannies, teachers, professors, and parents, from throughout his childhood.

"I'll put them in a room behind a door," he finished and her eyes warmed with gentle amusement.

Her mind reached into his and he could feel her moving through his memories, sorting through his thoughts, like a careful scholar who knew to put the books all back where she found them. He stayed quiet, even as the warm familiarity of her mind washed over him. He waited for her to understand and to accept.

"Grandfather!" she sobbed finally, and they embraced, tears running down both of their faces.

"Susan," he whispered, clinging to her like a lifeline tossed to him in a raging sea.

He was not alone. Not anymore.