Lost in Translation (Doctor Who, Twelfth Doctor)

[angora48]

Lol - you know you're getting the job done if you can reduce your readers to inarticulate flailing. ;-)

Part 13, delivered piping hot to your door!

This could be it. Clara might really die this time. For about the 90^th time, she flexed her wrists behind her back until her tight bonds cut at her. Would the Doctor come looking for her? Could he? He was awfully ill. And even if he could, how would he ever find her? She didn’t have a clue where she was.

They’d knocked her out before they brought her here, wherever “here” was. Taking in shuddery breaths, Clara vowed to keep a lid on her panic. Focus, Clara – you’re on your own. If you’re going to get out of here, it’s up to you. So pay attention!! What’s going to help you?

It was a cellar or a bunker of some kind. Definitely underground; the floor was hard-packed dirt, and a musty, earthy smell seeped between the cement blocks of the walls. She was tied to a sturdy metal chair, which was bolted to strips of metal embedded in the earthen floor. A single bulb overhead glared harshly, making her eyes smart, but the edges of the room remained shadowy. “ALMS,” “Akjereli Freedom Now,” and “Death to Humans” were graffitied on the walls, and the heavy-looking metal door was draped with a tattered flag. One or two grim-faced Ajkereli would enter from time to time, carrying what looked like state-of-the-art guns, and she could sometimes hear voices on the other side of the door.

A network of tunnels, maybe? How far did the complex go? Did they have tunnels all over the city – is that how they accessed the stadium? Had they planned on Frantishko taking the fall, or did it just work out that way? Cowards. Monsters. Killers. No, Clara, don’t get emotional. Focus! She swallowed a sob.

Boots. Someone was outside, at least two people. Clara lifted her chin and prepared herself. Other than the nasty bang on the head, they hadn’t hurt her badly, not yet, but she knew that could change anytime.

The door scraped open and two Ajkereli shuffled into the room, dragging an unconscious Doctor between them. Clara had a desperate urge to sigh, but she wasn’t sure if it was in relief or despair. On the one hand, she wasn’t alone! The Doctor was there, and she had yet to find a situation she and the Doctor couldn’t get out of. But on the other, there was the Doctor’s pale, sweat-streaked face. He moaned a little as he let out hard, choking coughs. How much help would the Doctor realistically be in this condition? Had she just acquired an accomplice or a liability?

As they had with Clara, the Ajkereli unceremoniously deposited the Doctor into a chair, one of them shoving him back up as he slumped forward. They bound his feet first and then pulled his hands behind his back.

“You might want to tie his hands in the front, so he can cover his mouth,” Clara spoke up.

“Yeah?” one of the Ajkereli, a female, scoffed. “And why would we do that?”

“He’ll ill,” Clara told her. “He’s got, er, Leopterasian… Fever!” Illnesses always sounded more foreboding when they were Such-and-Such Fever.

The Ajkereli took stock of the Doctor. “He doesn’t look very good,” the woman murmured to her comrade.

“At this point, I’d say he has maybe a 30% chance,” Clara went on, thinking fast. “Unless you fancy being in the same boat, make sure he can cover his mouth.”

The two Ajkereli had a brief conference in hushed voices. “Do it,” the other, a male, ordered the woman. She took the Doctor’s hands, gingerly this time, like she thought the virus wouldn’t notice her as long as she made no sudden movements. She set them in his lap and bound them tightly, flinching as he sniffled.

By now, they seemed to realize that the germaphobic display might have caused them to lose a bit of face with Clara. The woman seized a handful of Clara’s hair and yanked her head back. “Don’t think we’re done with you,” she said, low, in Clara’s ear.

Despite Clara’s efforts to cling to the sliver of bravado that her ruse had won her, she was shaking as the Ajkereli left, the door slamming behind them with an impenetrable-sounding clang.

“Doctor!” she hissed, not daring to speak any louder for fear that they’d hear. “Doctor, wake up!” She tried to reach him with her foot, but she was tied up too tightly, and with the chairs bolted to the floor, she couldn’t budge any closer. For a second, she thought about making a TARDIS sound to rouse him, but it was a bit too ridiculous to seriously closer. “Come on! Doctor!”

With a low groan, the Doctor began to shift, coughing weakly and sniffling. “By head…” he moaned, raising his tied hands to the lump on his crown.

“Doctor!” Clara exclaimed.

He was pretty out of it. He wiped his nose and looked at her, blinking like she wasn’t quite in focus. “Still wadt be takig the dight off?” he asked.

No one should be able to be so infuriating when they were that incapacitated. “I got them to tie your hands in the front,” Clara told him. “Doctor, screwdriver!”

The Doctor cleared his throat, grimacing. “We’re, er…” He looked hazily about him and let out a congested sigh. “We’re tied with cords,” he pointed out. “Duthig to udlock.”

“No, but the chairs are bolted down,” Clara replied. “If we can get closer to each other, you can untie me!”

“Ah – right, sorry,” the Doctor mumbled, rubbing his temple. Clara didn’t like this. He looked woozy, weak, and she had a sneaking suspicion that the screwdriver would be a bit too much for him to lift.

The Doctor fumbled lethargically in his jacket pocket. “Haaahhhhh-ehhhhh-SHOOOOOO!” he sneezed into his shoulder. Then, sniffing, “Okay. Got it.” Clara held her breath as he fiddled with the sonic.

The device’s usual whir was accompanied by another, a slightly clunky metallic whir as the bolts on Clara’s chair turned in reverse. “Cad’t rebebber the last tibe I used it od screws,” the Doctor commented.

Soon, Clara was the tiniest bit closer to being free. As the Doctor gave his own chair a buzz from the screwdriver, she rocked and bucked in hers, moving herself fractionally toward the Doctor.

The Doctor lifted his hands to wipe sweat from his forehead. “Did I ever tell you about by first soddic?” he asked. “Pre-screwdriver. Was id a prisod with a soddic lock. A pitcher of water add a glass, add thed it was just a batter of fidig the right frequedcy.”

“Great, so you’re delirious,” Clara commented. “Good to know.” She’d managed to turn enough that she had her back to the Doctor. He leaned forward, and she felt his long fingers tugging at the cords round her hands. He coughed hard, luckily remembering to turn his head and bury it in his shoulder.

After what seemed like ages, they were completely unbound. “Okay! Now the door,” Clara said.

“Deadlocked,” the Doctor replied.

Clara groaned. “I’m telling you, Doctor, you have got to invent a setting for that.”

“To get roud a deadlock?” the Doctor asked. He sputtered a cough. “That’s like tellig a GP they’ve got to fide a cure for death. It’s dot a thig.”

“So what are we going to do?” Clara demanded. It was possible that she was starting to freak out.

“Sit back dowd,” the Doctor instructed. “We’ll bake it l… hihhhhh… CHIUHHHHHH! Ugh – look like we’re still tied up.”

“Yeah, that’ll really come in handy when they shoot us!” Clara shot back.

The Doctor sighed, rubbing his eye wearily. “Clara, cad you just trust that I doh what I’be doig?”

“Honestly?” Clara asked. “No, not just now, Doctor!”

“Captured is good,” the Doctor insisted. “You cad do a lot of dabbage id the belly of the beast.”

“Doctor, we have to get out of here!” Clara argued.

“Well, we cad’t!” he retorted.

“Then, I’m sorry,” Clara said, “but we’re probably going to die!”

“Which is why we deed to figure out what’s goig od here before,” he sniffed, “before they cad get roud to killig us. Ihhhh-hehhhhh-CHIUHHHH! Ohhh…” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

Every ounce of Clara told her they had to get out any way they could, but as far as she could see, there wasn’t any way they could. So, resignedly, she sat back into her chair, and the Doctor rewrapped the cords around her wrists and ankles. They looked tight, but they’d be able to unravel as soon as Clara gave them a strong tug.

The Doctor followed suit with his own bonds. If anything, their quarrel seemed to have revived him a bit. He looked a little more alert, and his movements weren’t quite as unsteady. Still… “Please tell me the plan isn’t to wait until they come back and then attack them,” Clara said. “I’m no match for them, and if they’ve got a feather handy, they’ll knock you right over.”

“We’re dot goig to attack theb,” the Doctor promised.

“Good,” Clara replied. She felt edgy, antsy, like just sitting there would contribute to her dying. Why weren’t they doing anything?

Over the next few minutes, she tried to urge the Doctor into action, any kind of action, but he didn’t bite. He’d gone quiet (except for his sniffles and sneezes,) and he looked about the room carefully.

Suddenly, he interrupted her, mid-admonishment with, “Have you seed theb?”

“What?” Clara said, startled. “Yeah, I dunno. Four, maybe five of them. It’s hard to tell.”

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. “Add they’re Ajkereli?”

“Are the members of the Ajkereli Liberation Movement Ajkereli?” Clara asked. “Yeah, just a bit.”

“That’s what I thought…” the Doctor murmured.

“What?” Clara asked.

“Just a bit,” the Doctor repeated

Clara sighed. She hated when it seemed like he was only voicing every fourth thought or so. “Doctor?” she prompted. “Just a bit what?”

“Ajkereli…” the Doctor replied.

That’s it – she was giving up. “Are there any screws holding the chairs together?” she asked. “Some way to dismantle them? They’re pretty heavy; maybe we could use the legs like clubs or something.”

“Odly codtribute if you have sobethig relevant to add,” the Doctor told her.

“I’m sorry, is staying alive not relevant?” Clara asked. As terrified as she was, she was slightly impressed that she could still manage that much sarcasm.

“Dot at the bobedt, doh,” the Doctor answered. “Hihhhhh…” He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Ihhhhh… hehhhhh-shi-OOOOOOO! Ahhhhh-SHUHHHHHHH!” Stifling a moan, he sniffled offhandedly. “Hush – I’ve alboste got it…”

Got what, Clara wondered. A way to get the door open? A way to get past the Ajkereli when they came back? She waited anxiously.

“Yes…” the Doctor said, finally. He chuckled, grimacing as it turned to coughs. “Yes, yes! How could I dot have seed it? Stupid! It’s beed starig us id the face!”

“What?” Clara asked, unable to wait a second longer.

“It’s id Egglish!” the Doctor declared, a note of triumph in his voice.

It was so staggeringly maddening that it took Clara a few moments to be sure he’d actually said it. “Doctor,” she said slowly, deliberately, “are you, in fact, talking about acronyms again?”

If he noticed how furious she was, he was actively pretending he didn’t. “ ‘Ajkereli Liberashud Boovebedt… Ssss,’” he recited. “English words put together, spellig out aduther Egglish word.”

“I will smack you,” Clara warned.

“Egglish!” the Doctor repeated, like it meant something. “Dot Ajkereli!”

Clara finally got what he was driving at, and she discovered something else important – the Doctor was definitely going to be a liability in this escape. Completely useless at the moment. “Doctor, that’s the TARDIS?” she reminded him. She knew she sounded condescending; she was okay with it. “It translates alien languages? Ring any bells?”

“What does ‘KGB’ stad for?” the Doctor asked, out of nowhere.

Clara let out an exasperated sigh. “What?” What in the hell did Russian spies have to do with anything?

“KGB – the dabe,” the Doctor urged. “What does it bead? Cobe od, you’re a teacher; teach be!”

Wait – she knew this. “Erm… The Committee for… Sta-”

“Cobbittee for State Security, exactly,” the Doctor finished impatiently. “So why don’t we call it the CSS?’”

Clara was actually, honestly gobsmacked. She couldn’t believe that, with their lives in very real danger, this was what they were talking about. “Because the name didn’t come from the translation!” she retorted. “It came from-” It hit her. “Oh…”

“Yes?” the Doctor encouraged.

She was so stupid. “Russian – it came from the Russian phrase,” she said. Her voice was flat, a little stunned.

The Doctor nodded. “Kobitet gosudarstveddoy bezopasdosti,” he said. “K-G-B. So why would the TARDIS tradslate ALBS as addythig other thad its actual dabe?”

“It wouldn’t,” Clara murmured.

“Spot od,” the Doctor replied. “Add why would a hubad-hatig Ajkereli terrorist group dabe itself usig Egglish words?”

“They wouldn’t,” Clara reiterated softly.

“Gold star,” the Doctor said, sniffling wetly. “So what does that tell us?”

Clara’s mind was reeling. “Are… are you saying ALMS…?”

“Thidk about it,” the Doctor urged. “What does ALBS accopplish?”

Clara made a pained face. “Death, chaos, fear…”

“Doh, that’s what they do!” the Doctor argued. “What’s the result? Are the hubads packig up add leavig?”

“No,” Clara conceded.

“What’re they doig?” he prodded. “Id respodse to ALBS, what happeds?”

“…People hate the Ajkereli even more,” Clara realized. “Want to get rid of them altogether.” She remembered the chant from the attack on Briayk’s shop. “‘Ajkerel for the empire.’”

The Doctor rubbed his nose with his knuckles, stifling a cough. “It’s like you were sayig – ALBS doesd’t bake addythig better for the Ajkereli, odly worse.”

“But…” Something wasn’t adding up. Clara frowned. “But, Doctor, they are Ajkereli!”

“Are they?” the Doctor asked.

What did he think he was getting at? “Yes!” Clara insisted. “I’ve seen them, and, yeah – they’re Ajkereli!”

“All ri… ehhhhh… ahhhhh-SHUHHHHH!” the Doctor sneezed into the back of his hand. “All right,” he accepted. “Have you seed addythig else?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clara said.

The Doctor sniffed a few times. “Dod’t you thidk it’s odd,” he asked, “that the Ajkereli terrorists’ uddergroud base has Earth-dorbal gravity?”

[VoOs]

I swear, this is more clever and more well-written than many actual DW episodes. It's been a very long time since I last read a sneeze fic that had me more interested in the plot than the fetishy elements (even though that aspect of the story is lovely too, don't get me wrong! )

The device’s usual whir was accompanied by another, a slightly clunky metallic whir as the bolts on Clara’s chair turned in reverse. “Cad’t rebebber the last tibe I used it od screws,” the Doctor commented.

Only one of countless jokes that has had me laughing out loud.

Here, have some more inarticulate flailing: LFKJGLSFKJGFSKJG

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

“Please tell me the plan isn’t to wait until they come back and then attack them,” Clara said.  “I’m no match for them, and if they’ve got a feather handy, they’ll knock you right over.”

The feather!!! I swear this just keeps getting better!

“I will smack you,” Clara warned.

this is soooo Clara!

This would be the greatest episode of DW ever! Are you writing scripts? You should totally write scripts.

[NorthernLady]

“Cad’t rebebber the last tibe I used it od screws,” the Doctor commented.

I agree with every comments before mine. This is glorious writing and yeah, that comment about screws killed me... again

[silentdreamer789]

I'm now actually more invested in the plot than the sneezing...awesome fic!

[angora48]

Thanks so much, everyone. When I try to come up with alien plots for my Who stories, I tend to think, "Okay, is it good enough for sickfic?" It's really great to know that people are interested in the story even beyond the sneezy Doctor!

The thing about the screws is actually a Second Doctor reference. Two had the first sonic screwdriver (which basically looked like a penlight,) and he DID mostly use it on screws - I was so charmed the first time I saw him use it. The thing about getting past a sonic lock, pre-screwdriver, with a glass of water, was his, too.

Here's Part 14!

The Doctor had Clara now. “I don’t understand,” she was saying. “I mean, they look Ajkereli. How does that work?”

After muffling a few strong coughs into his shoulder, the Doctor needed a moment to get his breath back – damn Leopterasian head cold. “Percepshud filter, baybe?” he suggested. “Or it bight be a shibber.”

“So they’re disguises, yeah?” Clara asked. “They murder, cause destruction, and the humans get whipped into a frenzy. Think all the Ajkereli are dangerous.”

The Doctor nodded. “Fear is ad excelledt botivator.”

“But, hold on,” Clara said. “What about the people who get killed in the attacks? If the goal isn’t really to hurt humans, but to turn everyone against the Ajkereli…”

“Deterbidashud add a powerful belief id wod’s owd righteousdess,” the Doctor pronounced. “A… hehhhh-ihhhhhh-SHUUHHHHHH!” He gritted his teeth as he wiped his sore nose with the side of his thumb. “A dagerous cobbidashud.”

Clara went quiet for a moment. “You mean those people… They were just collateral damage?”

“You were right,” the Doctor told her. “ALBS are bodsters.”

“Monsters doesn’t even cover it,” Clara agreed. “So what do they want with us?”

At that moment, someone wearing an Ajkereli face walked in. Her gun was slung over her shoulder so she could carry a load of sophisticated camera equipment. Wordlessly, she began to set it up about ten feet from them.

The Doctor sniffled. “I’d say sobewod’s pladdig a little breakig dews.”

Clara took in a few restrained gasps. She did that when she was scared – tried to pretend she wasn’t, which only made her terror all the more evident. The Doctor wondered if she knew that. “But why us?” she exclaimed. “It’s not like we’re anyone important!”

“That’s a good question,” the Doctor told her. “Have we beed gettig our doses a bit too close to the truth?” he asked the “Ajkereli” across the room. When there was no reply, he raised his voice. “Addywo-” he began, making a face as his voice broke. He coughed a few times and cleared his throat. “Addywod out there? Cobe od, we’re dead addyway – doesd’t a last request coudt for addythig these days?”

There was a long, silent pause. “That’s it?” Clara asked. “‘Tell us your evil plan’?”

“Works bore offed thad you’d thidk,” the Doctor replied. “Clever people hate keepig secrets, because they cad’t let od how clever they’re beig. Codfidig id the odd victib here add there takes a real weight o-off their… bides…” His nose was itching, and because it was that sort of night, it got the better of him just as the door opened and someone new walked in.

And so, the Doctor’s standoff with his brand-new opponent started with an explosive “hehhhhhh-CHIOOOOO-uhhhhhh!” into his (made-to-look) bound hands. Not exactly an “Oncoming Storm” moment.

The latest disguised terrorist – even if his face, motives, and goals were all lies, what he was doing was still terrorism – was definitely one to watch. He was dressed in a battered-looking general’s uniform, and the face he wore had a long scar running across it. Everything about him said grizzled, ruthless leader.

Much to the Doctor’s disappointment, the man approached, not him, but the woman setting up the camera. “How long to broadcast?” he asked.

“Another five minutes,” she replied.

“What? Are you dot goig to talk to be?” the Doctor demanded. “That’s rubbish. Where’s the fud id that?”

“And the counter will be ready to air?” the leader went on, ignoring the Doctor entirely.

The woman. “The transmission’s cued up.”

The Doctor stifled a cough and resisted the urge to massage his throbbing temples; it wasn’t the best time to look weak. “What’s your dabe?” he asked.

The leader looked about the room. “Not sure about this lighting,” he commented.

“You doh what? That’s okay,” the Doctor continued. “I’ll bet I cad figure it out, addyway.”

“Oldair thought some shadow would look good on camera,” the woman explained. “Authentic, you know?”

“I’m all for authenticity,” the leader told her, “but let’s not forget clarity. What’s the point of killing them on the air if you can’t see them getting shot?”

“Bide you, I do deed to call you sobethig id the beadtibe,” the Doctor mused. “What do you thidk? Larry? For all I doh, you look like a Larry udder your high-tech costube.”

“Do you have to antagonize the man who’s going to kill us?” Clara whispered.

“I don’t have to,” the Doctor replied. “It just sort of happeds.”

“Get Oldair on the lights,” the leader instructed. “And why aren’t those two gagged yet?”

“On it, sir,” the woman answered subserviently. She stood and hurried out of the room.

“Good!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Dow it’s just us, Larry. How ‘bout tellig us who you are?” When there was no response, the Doctor turned to Clara. “These execushuds are idterestig, ared’t they? Doh politishuds, doh big dabes – doh sybbols of the ebpire. Why go to all this theatricality to kill dohbodies?”

“Before,” Clara remembered, “you said, investigators and reporters?”

“I did, didn’t I?” the Doctor replied. Giving his nose a quick rub, he looked at the leader. “That’s the trouble with coverig your tracks od global televizhud: your patterd’s a batter of public record. Add whed those with the boste persodal deaths are those who’ve beed doig sobe diggig…”

“It means your secrets are more important to you than your so-called politics,” Clara added.

It was a bit awkward with his wrists wrapped together, but the Doctor managed to clamp a hand over his nose to muffle an “hhhhhhhh-kknnnhhhh!” It sent a dizzying sensation through his head, but he powered through it. “So, let’s see what we doh,” he said. “You’ve got sobethig to hide, sobethig worth killig over. You’re well kitted-out – your guds are awfully flash, add that cabera’s top of the radge. That beads buddy, add lots of it.”

“They’re good with high-tech stuff,” Clara pointed out. “Electrifying the pellion pitch, disabling artificial gravity in sky shields, hacking news broadcasts.”

“Right,” the Doctor agreed. “That beads braids add resources. People at your disposal, add techdology that doesd’t properly exist yet for average folk. Plus, you dew we were dosig about, so you bust have had access to the places we’ve beed – that press codferedce, the idvestigashud site… That beads coddected.” He ticked it all off on his fingers. “Secrets, buddy, resources, coddectshuds, what else? A grudge agaidst the Ajkereli… Oh, add doh qualbs about killig iddocedts to further your goals. That beads there’s wod other thig you’ve got: bassive stakes. You dod’t electrocute people over sball potatoes.”

“Someone who thinks what he’s doing is justified,” Clara offered. “Someone who thinks he’s above the law.”

“Or sobewod who thidks he’s is the law?” the Doctor suggested. “Sobewod who’d hit a wall with gettig public support for the subjugashud of all those pesky locals udtil it turd out that those locals were a threat to the gederal safety? Sobewod who’d dabe his phody terrorist group ALBS because he thidks people who wadt to live freely od their owd pladdet are askig for sobethig they dod’t deserve?” He turned to Clara. “How’s that for ibperialisib?” To hell with his nose, which was running badly. He sniffed hard.

The leader smiled cruelly as the woman returned, bringing three more followers. “I want us up and running in one minute,” he said as the woman resumed work on the camera, a man with a keypad fiddled digitally with the lights, and the other two terrorists securely tied gags around Clara and the Doctor’s mouths.

“But that’s doh good – I’ve beed a bit udder the weather,” the Doctor protested as one of the fake Ajkereli approached him. “What if I have to sn-nfffff!” The force (and dusty taste) of the gag going on was almost enough to send him on a coughing spell. With his nose stopped up, his mouth was his only option for breathing, but just the presence of the gag irritated his throat. He took in slow, slight breaths, and his eyes watered with the effort of not coughing. This would be hardly be the way to focus on the task at hand.

Clara looked at him, all her recent boldness evaporated. The eyes of his friend were huge with fear, and the Doctor forced his spent mind into overdrive.

As the leader positioned himself in front of and just to the right of the Doctor and Clara (there was a terrorist behind each of them – the Doctor could feel a gun barrel at the back of his head,) the recording light on the camera switched on.

“You humans,” the leader said derisively. “You just don’t learn, do you? We come into Bracken Stadium, into your very place of pastime, and you still don’t know what we’re capable of. You don’t know that we can strike anytime, anywhere. We can take you out of your homes, we can take you from the streets…”

The thought, we can take you in a box, we can take you with a fox, popped into the Doctor’s head. He let out the barest whisper of a chuckle, which made him cough hard.

The leader, a tense edge to his voice, continued, talking over the Doctor. “Since you clearly didn’t catch the lesson of yesterday’s attack, we’re giving you another chance to acquaint yourselves with what we can do.” He stepped back and made a sweeping gesture toward Clara and the Doctor. “You might even say two chances.”

The Doctor was still coughing; with the gag over his mouth, he couldn’t catch his breath. If anyone ever made a list of his coolest victories, this one probably wouldn’t be on it. The joke was on them, though. As he doubled over, nearly choking on his coughs, he was in a great position to slip the sonic screwdriver out of his jacket pocket unnoticed.

The leader stared coldly into the camera. “Let’s see if we can’t make the lesson stick.”

The Doctor lifted his hands to his mouth to cough, concealing the sonic between them. He pressed the button and hoped against hope that it was a shimmer; the sonic was rubbish with perception filters.

Immediately, the Ajkereli image of everyone in the room flickered, sputtering for a few seconds before shorting out altogether. And every television in Ajkerel broadcast the sight of the leader of ALMS resolving into Viceroy Stavin Peldato.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

o_o...................

LOVING THE PLOT! This would seriously be the best episode ever aired.

[angora48]

Aw, thanks, Pyrus Fangmon! Here's Part 15. :-)

One of the unmasked humans behind Peldato stammered. “S- s-sir?”

The Doctor caught Clara’s eye, then yanked his wrists apart, and the cords around them unraveled in a flash. Clara quickly did the same.

“Get the prisoners!” Peldato yelled, and the “ALMS” members behind Clara and the Doctor, still a bit stunned, hurried to raise their guns.

Clara’s ankles were still wrapped against her chair, but she rocked vigorously, tipping backwards into her would-be executioner. His shot went high, the sound explosive against the concrete walls. “Dice wod!” the Doctor enthused as he bent down to disentangle himself. Of course he’d taken the gag off before he’d got round to his feet; priorities and all.

“Don’t let them get away!!!” Peldato ordered, but his followers were panicked, disorientated, and on their backsides. Clara swiftly tugged at the cords around her ankles. The Doctor helped Clara hastily to her feet, then dragged her along after him as he ran up the camera.

As Clara worked to untie her gag, the Doctor switched on the sonic and waved it at the camera. “If there are addy idspectors out there who are suddedly realizig how baddy iddocedt scapegoats they bust have arrested over their celebrated careers,” he said, “I suggest you hobe id od by soddic device to track our locashud. Catchig sobewod guilty for wodce; could bake a dice chadge.”

More shots came from behind them. Clara stifled a scream as she and the Doctor took cover. “And maybe do it quickly!” she shouted at the camera.

“For our sakes,” the Doctor added. He grabbed Clara’s hand. “Let’s go.”

In all the confusion, Clara hadn’t noticed the open door. Had Peldato and his people left it open? Had someone else come in? Was the “why” strictly relevant right now? “Sonic!” she yelled as they dashed out. She heaved the door shut again, and the Doctor hit the lock with a quick burst of the screwdriver before resuming the cycling whir that would be trackable.

“Wod’t hold theb for log, but it’ll buy us a bit of tibe,” the Doctor told her.

Even as they entered the corridor, Clara could hear boots pounding toward them from round the corner. “Run?” she suggested.

“Rud,” the Doctor agreed. They took off in the other direction and came quickly to a staircase.

Clara took a deep breath. “Going up,” she commented and prepared to run, as usual, for her life.

They’d raced up two, maybe three flights before Clara noticed that the Doctor was flagging. His wheezing breaths were making him cough badly, and he’d definitely been better suited for the tied-to-a-chair portion of the evening – he braced himself hard against the stairwell as his feet stumbled.

Running back to him, Clara grabbed his arm and heaved it over her shoulder. He was shaking, and a sickly heat radiated from his ailing body. “Doh- dod’t be- st- stupid,” he sputtered between coughs. “Ihhhhhhh-SHOOOOOOO! AAAAAAHH-shihhhhhhh! Ohhh… How’r- we b- bedt to rud li- like this?”

“Alive, that’s how,” Clara replied, slipping her own arm round his waist. They continued along, and Clara could tell the Doctor was really trying, but he was in no condition for this.

“This isn’t going to work,” Clara said, coming to a stop.

The Doctor leaned against the wall, gulping in air with one hand gripping the handrail and the other pressed to his head. “Ihhhhhh… hehhhhh-CHIUHHHHH!” he sneezed toward the floor. “Told you,” he croaked.

“Shut up!” Clara demanded. “We need to, I dunno, we need to find somewhere to hide.”

The Doctor sneezed again, a strong “Huhhhhh-ehhhh-CHOOOOO!” into his shoulder. “Good idea – we’ll split up.”

“No, we’re not,” Clara insisted. “You can’t manage on your own.”

“Well, I dod’t wadt you gettig foud add killed od accoudt of by sdeezig or coughig,” the Doctor argued.

Clara sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Hiding’s no good, then. What do we do?”

The Doctor pressed his fingers to his temples. “I dod’t doh,” he admitted. “I deed a bidit…”

“Doctor, we don’t have a minute!” Clara exclaimed.

“I doh, I doh,” he murmured. “Ehhhhh-SHOOOOOO!”

Shouts were coming from below. They were not going to die like this. “Okay,” Clara decided. “We’ll have to take it slowly, but we need to keep going. Are you all right, Doctor?”

His eyes closed, the Doctor nodded weakly. He reached out his hand and Clara took it, bringing him close enough to her that she could brace him up.

They were able to keep at it, but painfully slowly. The Doctor’s feet tripped themselves up, and he leaned heavily against her when he couldn’t catch his breath. In this sluggish way, they made it up another two floors.

They were about ten steps from a door when Clara heard the click of a gun cocking behind her. Instantly, she and the Doctor froze. Holding her breath, Clara turned her head just enough to see Peldato out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s over,” Clara said in a nervy voice, desperate to keep her terror from showing. “You’re finished on Ajkerel, and when Earth finds out what you’ve been up to…”

“You think I don’t know that?” Peldato asked, his voice surprisingly calm. He took a step toward them.

“Word of advice,” the Doctor muttered, gasping, to Clara. “Dod’t rebide a bad with a gud that he’s got duthig left to lose… Hihhhhh-CHIOOOOOO!”

“Bless you,” Clara whispered. The strangeness of it, something so ordinary in the midst of everything going mental, almost could’ve made her laugh.

“Good job catchig up to us,” the Doctor told Peldato. He’d turned round to face the viceroy, and Clara followed suit. “Add you were id a locked roob, too – how’d you baddage to beat all your udderligs?”

“An intimate knowledge of all the secret passageways,” Peldato replied.

“Oh, that is dead clever,” the Doctor commented. “If I ever go idsade add have to build a secret uddergroud base to carry out by sadistic plads, secret passageways are a bust.”

“Doctor!” Clara hissed. “Maybe don’t mock the man with the gun?!”

“Oh, dod’t bide us,” the Doctor assured her. “We’re j-” He stifled a few coughs into the back of his hand. “We’re just chattig.”

Peldato wore a haughty smile as he stepped even closer to them. “You know where you went wrong?” he asked the Doctor.

“Gettig kiddapped by a badiac?” the Doctor suggested. “Although t…” Holding up a one-minute finger to Peldato, the Doctor sneezed a hard “IHHHHHH-shi-uhhhhhh! Ehhhh… hihhhhh-CHOOOOO!” into the crook of his arm. He sniffled, running a finger under his nose. “To be hoddest, I was just followig Clara that tibe.”

“Your mistake,” Peldato broke in firmly, “was speaking up at that press conference.”

The Doctor cleared his throat. “Was it dow?”

Clara had to admit, she was a little impressed. She’d seen the Doctor pull this sort of thing before, the cavalier routine in the face of all-but-certain death, infuriating the person trying to kill them by acting like he was the one holding all the cards. But she’d never seen him pull it off like this. Standing in a stairwell with a gun pointed at his chest, running a fever, wobbly at the knees, and sneezing his aching head off, he somehow made it seem like he was just as much in control as Peldato.

“You still could have gone,” Peldato continued, “and we might have been none the wiser. Hell, you might have even been able to ask a different question, an ordinary one. But when you drew attention to yourself asking about spelling, of all things, Nolrich remembered you from the stadium. He thought you might have had something to do with it, human sympathizers to the ALMS cause or some such…” He chuckled. “But one thing was for sure, you clearly weren’t journalists. I put Nolrich off the scent, of course – though he’s proven remarkably moldable, we wouldn’t want him blundering in – but I put some of my people onto you, to see what you were up to, and my, if you don’t get up to an awful lot of trouble.”

“He’s not the only one.”

This voice came from the top of the stairs. Clara whirled around and saw Inspector Nolrich standing in the doorway, his gun trained on Peldato. “Seems like I’m always coming to your rescue these days,” he commented to the Doctor.

“I stalled hib for you,” the Doctor replied defensively.

“Or, alternatively, ‘thank you?’” Clara suggested.

Nolrich’s eyes never left his quarry. “Stavin Peldato, you are now in the custody of the Ministry of Terrorism.”

The Doctor groaned. “Eb-Oh-Tee is the ‘Bidistry of Terrorisib’? That’s rubbish – bakes it soud like terrorisib is the goverdbedt’s job, although, I suppose whed you thidk about how thigs turd out…”

“Doctor, hush,” Clara ordered. “From here on out, you are not allowed to complain about acronyms.”

“By cobplaidig about acrodybs just udcovered a budch of burderers!” the Doctor pointed out.

“Hush,” Clara repeated. She gave Inspector Nolrich an apologetic smile. “Go on.”

Using his free hand, Nolrich produced a pair of electronic handcuffs. “There will be a trial, of course, but I don’t like your chances,” he told Peldato. “Revealing yourself to the entire planet in a live broadcast will be a tricky thing to refute. Rotten luck for you that ALMS has such a talent for hacking global transmissions…”

[VoOs]

Clara had to admit, she was a little impressed. She’d seen the Doctor pull this sort of thing before, the cavalier routine in the face of all-but-certain death, infuriating the person trying to kill them by acting like he was the one holding all the cards. But she’d never seen him pull it off like this. Standing in a stairwell with a gun pointed at his chest, running a fever, wobbly at the knees, and sneezing his aching head off, he somehow made it seem like he was just as much in control as Peldato

The whole idea of this is so, so, so attractive to me. And, as it has been this entire fic, so utterly in-character for the Doctor. Never completely helpless, even when he appears to be.

Phew, this has been a real thrill-ride. Maybe now the Doctor can get some well-deserved, well-needed rest at last? The poor dear. *cooing noises*

[NorthernLady]

The poor dear. *cooing noises*

Exactly my thoughts! Clara can't just hop into her date with Dany now (or... whatever it was)... gotta force that raggedy doctor to rest, even if she has to tie him to a bed (too soon? ;-) )

[matilda3948]

Wonderful job with this!!

Want to snuggle the poor thing (no matter how grumpy it would make him).

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

You have literally used up all of my words to express my feelings and emotions.

I can't think of any more that I could possibly use to describe how lifted I am with this.

[angora48]

Thanks so much, everybody! And VoOs, I like that moment, too. I love when the Doctor pulls off stuff like that when he's at his most vulnerable - like in "Let's Kill Hitler," when he faces off with the Tessalecta after he's been poisoned.

Part 16 - short one day.

“Do you think they’ll be all right?” Clara asked as the Doctor eased his worn-out self round the TARDIS console, flipping switches and turning dials.

“Dot holdig-hads-add-havig-sig-alogs all right, but who wadts that?” the Doctor replied. He held a hand to his mouth, coughing from the back of his throat. “Cohabitatig a pladdet – really cohabitatig, dot just wod species ruddig roughshed over aduther – takes tibe. Ajkerel still as a log way to go, but it’ll get there.”

“Looking at it now, that seems impossible,” Clara observed.

“Believe it,” the Doctor told her. “A huddred add thirty years udtil ad Ajkereli presidedt.”

“Seriously?” Clara asked, laughing delightedly.

The Doctor nodded, the sneezing building in his nose keeping him from speaking. “Ahhhhhh…” He cupped his hands over his mouth. “…CHUHHHHHH! HEHHHHHH-shiooooooo! Ihhhhh… hihhhh-SHIUHHHHHH!”

When he resurfaced, Clara’s hands were on her hips. That was never a good sign. “What?” the Doctor rasped. He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to rub his throat.

Clara walked toward him, giving him a stern look. “Bad guys caught, world saved,” she said. “Now, I need you to go to bed.”

The Doctor felt sheepish. He rubbed his nose and fiddled with his console. “Baybe,” he half-conceded.

“Definitely,” Clara retorted. “I mean it, Doctor – proper rest, lots of tea, no running for your life. I want the TARDIS parked until you’re feeling yourself again.”

“Aye, aye,” the Doctor replied. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever own up to, but he liked that she wanted to see to him. Felt almost like the old days.

As Clara continued, he needed to sneeze again, drowning out her words with a strong “Huhhhh-ihhhhh-CHOOOOOO! UHHHHHHH-shiehhhhhhh!” He sniffed, still half-bent over. “What was that?” he asked.

“I said, 40 minutes past 9 in the morning,” Clara repeated. At the Doctor’s quizzical look, she added. “Friday – March the 27^th, if you need a reminder on that, too.”

“Oh,” the Doctor said. “Seaside – right.” He cleared his throat, sniffling hard as he turned his attention to the console.

Clara frowned. “You okay?” she asked. The Doctor supposed she’d seen the shadow, brief as it was, falling over his face.

What was he meant to say? I thought you were staying? Don’t leave; I feel awful, and I don’t know how to fix it? Please don’t go?

But that was ridiculous. He couldn’t say any of that. So, he just sniffled again and answered, “Duthig. Sore throat. Thidk you were right – I ought to have a lie-dowd.”

“Listening to me for once?” Clara teased. “Will wonders never cease?”

The Doctor forced something that looked a bit like a smile and pulled a final lever. The time rotor rose and fell its way back to the 21^st century.

“Great!” Clara exclaimed as the TARDIS materialized in her living room. Heading for the door, she looked back at him. “I’m serious now,” she reminded him. “No saving planets ‘till your temperature’s down and you can breathe through your nose.” The Doctor only nodded. “See you later! Feel better!” The Doctor, biting back coughs, looked at where she’d stood in the doorway before a long moment before turning back to the console and starting to wearily, gloomily, reset the dials.

* * *

Clara shut the TARDIS door behind her. As she went back to her bedroom to resume packing, she felt a sudden pang. Out of nowhere, she’d gotten an image of the Doctor ill and miserable, sneezing into his bed sheet because he’d forgotten all about the tissues in his pockets.

She hesitated, hand hovering on the doorknob. It’s not like Danny was going anywhere. She could still be back in plenty of time.

“Docto-?” she began, spinning on her heels.

But the TARDIS was already wheezing and fading off into the time vortex.

Clara almost turned back, almost returned to her bedroom, almost thought, Well, I tried. Lately, it seemed she kept doing things like that with the Doctor, and she didn’t quite know why. But every now and then, she caught herself in the middle of one of these moments and resolved to do better. This was one of those times.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her phone.

Conclusion tomorrow!

[Vongola Undicesimo]

Aw... he's gonna be so happy when she calls!

I can't wait to read the last part, even though I'll be really sad it's over.

[VoOs]

What was he meant to say? I thought you were staying? Don’t leave; I feel awful, and I don’t know how to fix it? Please don’t go?

UGH MY HEART.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Oh god the feels in this one! Hnnnnghhhh......

Why? Why must you play with my heart? WHY!?!?!?!?

[angora48]

'Cause I'm evil, Pyrus Fangmon. ;-)

Thanks so much to everyone who read and commented on "Lost in Translation." This was my first attempt with these two characters, and I loved playing with them. And thanks again for the kind words about my alien plot - I really worked hard to make it feel like a genuine Who story, and I'm so glad that people enjoyed it.

Without further ado, Part 17.

The phone rang a long time, at least eight times, and Clara worried that, after her admonition not to save any planets, the Doctor wasn’t going to answer. Now that she thought about it, that was probably the main thrust of most of his phone calls.

But finally, the ringing stopped, and a husky “Hello?” came from the Doctor on the other end.

“Hey,” Clara said. “Sorry, me again. Can you come back?”

She heard a long sniffle and some muffled coughing. “What – did you forget sobethig?” the Doctor asked.

“Almost,” Clara admitted.

“Hehhhhh-ihhhhh-CHOOOOOO!” came the Doctor’s muffled sneeze, followed by a stuffed-up groan. “Back id a tick,” he told her, and hung up.

Within moments, the TARDIS was reemerging into Clara’s living room. As soon as it was fully materialized, she unlocked the door and stepped back inside.

“You’re lucky I cabe back at all,” the Doctor informed her, rubbing his nose as he edged his way around the console. “I’ve beed givved strict orders dot to go addywhere.” He gave a hard cough into his fist. “What’d you forget?”

“It’s not something I forgot to take,” Clara explained. “It’s something I forgot to do.” Rounding the console to come up to the Doctor, she took him gently by the arm. “Let’s get you settled, all right?”

It was one of those rare times when the Doctor seemed speechless. He stammered a bit, sniffled, and suddenly got very interested in looking at his feet. Clara smiled fondly. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll get you sorted.”

As she and the Doctor started down the corridor, something occurred to Clara. “Doctor, where is your bedroom?” she asked.

But the Doctor had already stopped, first door on the right. “How ‘bout that?” he mumbled. He pushed the door open, and Clara peered into what could only be the Doctor’s bedroom.

“I must’ve walked this corridor a hundred times,” Clara commented. “How could I not have known this was here?”

“Dorbally, it’s dot,” the Doctor explained. He clamped a mouth over his mouth. “Ehhhhh… ehhhh-SHIUHHHHHH! HIIIHHHHHH-shioooooo!” Sniffling hard, “The TARDIS is just givig us a hadd.”

Clara had had her differences with the space/time ship in the past, but right then, she loved it. It was so like the TARDIS, bringing the Doctor’s room closer so he wouldn’t have to walk as far when he wasn’t feeling well. The old girl was all right.

“Mind you, doesn’t look like you get much use out of it,” Clara observed, peering inside.

“What’re you talkig about?” the Doctor protested. “I use it all the tibe!”

Just not for sleeping, apparently. Clara could tell there was a bed in the room, but she had to actively look for it. It was there, against one wall, buried beneath assorted loose papers, complicated-looking gizmos, massive books, and all manner of little doodads and whatnots. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked, jokingly, as she entered and started scooping up armfuls of everything that spent more time on the Doctor’s bed than he did.

“Okay,” she said once she’d made enough of a dent in the clutter that the bed looked more like furniture and less like an eccentric’s yard sale. “I’ll be back in a minute. You get ready for bed.” The Doctor, perched uncomfortably (like a gangly bird of prey) on the edge of the bed, nodded, clearing his throat. He lifted his foot to start untying his shoes and, satisfied, Clara headed for the kitchen.

When she returned, she was a little surprised at how much the Doctor had evidently taken her edict to heart. She’d been expecting shoes and (maybe) jacket off, but he was in fact wearing what passed for pajamas: a long-sleeved T-shirt and loose-fitting sweats. The Doctor’s feet were bare, which for some reason seemed completely bizarre to Clara, like seeing Galileo in swimming trunks or something.

“Cuppa and some toast,” Clara announced, holding up a mug and a plate.

“Dot huggry,” the Doctor replied, wiping his nose on the side of his hand.

“I knew you’d say that,” Clara commented. “Come on!” she urged, bringing everything over to the bed. “You need fluids when you’re ill, and it’ll do you good to get some food in you.”

The Doctor sighed, stifling a cough. “Give it here,” he groused.

“And so grateful!” Clara teased. She handed him the food and drink, then stood back to get a look at him, still sitting stiffly at the very edge of the bed. “You’re rubbish at this, you know that?”

“I wasd’t aware you were ratig be,” the Doctor replied.

Clara stifled a sigh. Well, she’d known going into this that he’d drive her mad about a thousand times. Having accepted it, it was almost reassuring in a weird way. “Budge up,” she instructed. Half-corralling him, she managed to get the Doctor to put his feet up and scoot properly onto the bed. With a sniffle, he took a bite of toast and swallowed it, grimacing.

That’s right; his throat was sore, he’d said. “You don’t have to eat it all,” Clara told him, smoothing the blankets piled in a corner at the foot of the bed. “Just give it a go.” She pulled a sheet and a tattered-looking quilt up to his waist. “How’s that? Need another blanket?” The Doctor shook his head, and Clara took a seat on the bed beside him, on top of the covers.

“Ahhhh…” The Doctor sniffed, his eyes closing. Clara could see where this was going; she grabbed his mug just he rocketed forward with a strong “HAAAAAHHHH-ihhhhh-shuhhhhhhh!” He kept his hand to his nose, saying, “Thadks.”

“Maybe I just didn’t feel like mopping spilled tea off your quilt,” Clara pointed out. Setting the cuppa on the Doctor’s bedside table, she jumped up to raid the pockets of the Doctor’s shucked clothes for tissues. “Bet you forgot all about them – I knew it,” she commented, handing the Doctor a fresh tissue.

The Doctor looked like he had a smart reply, but his nose had other ideas. “Hehhhhh-CHIIUHHHHH! Ehhhhhh…. Hihhhhhh-uhhhhh-CHOOOOOOO!” he sneezed into the tissue, and Clara handed him another to blow his nose.

“Better?” she asked when he finally settled back in, sinking down into his pillow, which Clara had propped against the headboard.

“For the bobedt,” the Doctor replied. He picked at his toast, and they were comfortably quiet for a minute. “The TARDIS is still id your livig roob,” he pointed out.

“So?” Clara asked, handing the cuppa back to him. “Not like it’s in the way of anything.”

“Log as it’s here, tibe will keep boovig outside,” the Doctor explained, then winced, raising a hand to his head. Maybe it was Clara’s imagination, but his expression almost looked more like self-annoyance than pain, like he wished he hadn’t said it.

“Well…” Clara began.

“I doh – you’ve to go,” the Doctor broke in. “Cad’t keep P.E. waitig. It’s fide; I dod’t deed you haggig about, addyway.” He was just a bit too quick, a bit too cavalier, to mean it.

“Hey, did I say that?” Clara asked. The Doctor had gone sullen, closed-off. He rubbed his nose with his knuckles and sniffled. “Look,” Clara went on, softly, “in a few days, you could bring me back here, couldn’t you? To now? It’s just that Danny made reservations and everything.”

The Doctor was turned away, coughing into his shoulder. “What do you bead?” he asked, his voice coming in a croak.

“I mean,” Clara said, “so long as you can get me back, Danny will still be there when we’re through here. Right?”

A smile flitted, briefly, across the Doctor’s face. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure, I could do that – I bead, if that’s what you wadt.”

Clara gave him a little nudge with her shoulder. “That’s exactly what I want,” she told him.

When it was clear the Doctor wasn’t going to make any more headway on the toast, Clara set the plate on the end table and got up so the Doctor could ease himself down on the mattress. She pulled the blankets up to his chin and reached out to feel his forehead.

“Leave it,” the Doctor instructed, turning his head into the pillow.

“Oh, come on, you big baby,” Clara said with a laugh. She got a hand under his cheek and turned him back toward her. He still withdrew a little when she touched his forehead, but he didn’t pull back. “You’ve got a fever.”

“I could’ve told you that,” the Doctor murmured, burying a “hehhhhh-CHIUHHHHHHH! Ihhhhhhh… huhhhhhh-SHOOOOOOO-ehhhhhh!” in the pillow and sniffling wetly.

“Get some rest, okay?” Clara said softly. “I’ll be here.” The Doctor nodded, stifling a quiet cough.

Without minutes, he was out. Clara chuckled to herself as she listened to his slow, congested breathing. And he said he didn’t snore…

Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was almost 11:30. She slipped out of the room, careful not to let the door creak, and moved quietly to the console room. Opening the TARDIS doors a crack, she looked into her living room and saw herself, overnight bag in hand, hugging Danny.

“Why’s the TARDIS in your living room?” Danny asked, peering over the top of her head. “Is it the Doctor?” He sighed. “Are you going somewhere?”

The other Clara, the future one, smiled up at him. “Just to Brighton with you,” she told him.

“But what about-?” Danny started.

“That?” future-Clara asked, turning back toward the TARDIS, and for a second, Clara thought their eyes met. “Nothing to worry about – I’m taking care of it.” She slipped her hand into his. “Ready to go?”

Satisfied, Clara closed the door and headed back to the Doctor’s bedroom. There was a chair in the corner that she was pretty sure hadn’t been there before, a cozy-looking green one. Thank you, TARDIS, Clara thought, settling in and pulling out the book she’d though to slip into her skirt pocket before getting back into the TARDIS. The Doctor murmured a little in his sleep, sneezing a breathy “hiihhhhh-chiuuhhhhh!” into his pillow.

It wasn’t always easy. Balancing regular life and life with the Doctor. Recognizing the Doctor now for the friend she’d had before. Taking the time to look beneath the brusqueness and finding those glimpses of the old Doctor still there, still wonderful. Working out what he meant when he couldn’t say it and just needed her to figure it out. So often, it seemed she got it wrong – they both got so much wrong – and even worse, a lot of the time she didn’t seem to notice she was getting it wrong. But every now and then, things came together, and Clara got it exactly right.

Thanks for reading!

[2SHY222]

Wow!such a great fic...I'm at an utter loss for words. Fantastic

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

its..........is it over? Was that it? that can't be it! I forbid it to end there!

This was such a great piece of art! Thank you so much for writing!

You've managed to write something with every possible feature, and still have a thick plot and an incredible input of references. This by far the best DW fic i have ever read. Thank you so much for contributing your skills.

[VoOs]

I may have shed a tear or two. This is better than anything I could've dreamed of. Thank you so much for sharing this piece of wonderfulness with us.

[matilda3948]

I may have shed a tear or two. This is better than anything I could've dreamed of. Thank you so much for sharing this piece of wonderfulness with us.

I shed a tear! I agree 100%, This was absolutely wonderful

[Vongola Undicesimo]

That was... that was... amazing! A perfect ending to a perfect story!!