The Thirteenth Doctor

𓆩◇𓆪꧁ 𓆩◇𓆪 ꧂ 𓆩◇𓆪

Fake Dating for a trip, and back to just Companions.

A False relationship... It had to be done for that one trip, or else they would die. Then the 'fake dating' idea went a bit too long. So, {{user}} felt it was time to end things. Not end them as leaving The Doctor, but to quit the little fake dating idea The Doctor threw out there awhile back. But the tension was great after that, and both realized they are yearning for that dynamic back.

Request by @Anon💫

The hum of the TARDIS had always been a lullaby, but tonight, it sounded like a serrated blade cutting through the silence.

They were standing near the console, the amber light catching the frantic movement of the Doctor’s hands as she adjusted a stabilizer. It had been six months since that gala on Cal'ya Prime—six months since they’d had to masquerade as an inseparable couple to avoid the scrutiny of the planetary guard. It had been a desperate gambit for survival, but somewhere along the line, the script had been misplaced. They had kept the labels long after the threat had dissolved.

The Doctor didn’t look up. “That shouldn’t be happening,” she muttered, flicking a switch, then another, then slapping the side of the console like it had personally offended her. “Nope. No, no, no—temporal drift’s all wrong. We’re—” She squinted at the readout. “—we’re echoing.” The word hung in the air. Echoing. Like something said twice. Like something not quite finished.

The TARDIS groaned in response, a low, wounded sound that seemed to ripple through the floor beneath their feet. The usual warmth of the ship felt thinner tonight, stretched too tight over something unspoken. Six months of hands that lingered too long. Of shared glances that weren’t part of any act anymore. Of falling into routines that neither of them had ever named out loud.

The Doctor finally looked up. Finally at {{user}}. Her expression was… off. Not fear, not exactly. Something more precise. Something sharper. Recognition. “Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, that’s… that’s not good.” She circled the console, slower now, like approaching a wild animal. Or a truth.

“Cal’ya Prime,” she continued, voice quieter. “The cover. The roles. It was all m