How Fortuna Saved the Universe (11/24)

[earlgreytea68]

Title - How Fortuna Saved the Universe (11/24)
Author - earlgreytea68   
Rating - General
Characters - OCs
Spoilers - Through "A Christmas Carol," just to be safe.
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on. (Except for the kids, they're all mine.)
Summary - Fortuna gets her story. And it's pretty timey-wimey.
Author's Notes - Huge thanks to Kristin, chicklet73 , and lorelaisquared , who all talked through plot points and gave early drafts once-overs. And, last but not least, everlasting thanks to chicklet73   for beta-ing, with flair.    

glory_jean  offered a lovely explanation for Sylvain's name, which is that the mountain called "San Broglio" that I found appears to be a mistranslation of San Braulio, and it can easily be the case that it took a little while for that mistranslation to become a last name that would be Sylvain's. I think I can change a few lines in the reveal and make that work. And you are all very patient readers for dealing with all my insanity.

One last short chapter, and then they get longer, I promise.

The icon was created by swankkat , commissioned by jlrpuck   for my birthday.

Prologue - Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6 - Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 - Ch. 9

Chapter Ten

Sylvain had disappeared. Not that he had ever really been around, but he had always seemed to turn up every so often, where she was concerned. But that stopped now. He was nowhere to be found, and when she asked Madame Richaud about him, she responded in vague terms about family emergencies and things of that nature. Madame Richaud was her new best friend these days, after the escargot had been such a hit with the Board of Trustees. The second most memorable thing at the dinner, Madame Richaud had said, after the exploding Christmas tree.

Fortuna found that her time outside class seemed a little bit dull without the prospect of Sylvain around, but the classes themselves remained engaging. She had gleefully stopped going to maths, and had re-commenced her plan of popping in here and there where it suited her. She felt that her techniques were improving every day. She told Athena that she would be able to cook a grand feast to welcome the baby.

She even got herself a flat. It felt strange, having such a tiny space that stayed in the same place all the time. But it was somewhere to tell people she lived, and she kind of liked it. She kept the TARDIS parked in an alley so it didn’t take up space in the living room, and she took to living in the flat, like it was a camping trip. One of her classes was doing round-robin dinners, so she was happy she’d found someplace to host that wasn’t a multidimensional spaceship.

But having a flat instead of a TARDIS meant that the doors couldn’t withstand the assembled hordes of Genghis Khan. If someone clever wanted to get in, someone clever could get in. She knew that in the abstract, but it was still an utter shock to walk in one evening and find Sylvain sitting casually on her couch. He was dressed in jeans and his not-tweed jacket, and he did not look happy to see her. She stood with one hand on the door she’d just closed, staring at him, trying to think what to say.

He spoke first and saved her the effort. “Cards on the table, Fortuna Tyler,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”

“What?” she said, wishing she didn’t sound breathless at the sight of him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He looked annoyed, standing up and walking over to her. “You know exactly what I mean. You have psychic paper. We both know that’s not something possessed by many people, and even fewer people who aren’t and never have been Time Agents. So. Tell me. You’re not a Time Agent. You have psychic paper. And you detonated a black hole in a Paris railway yard. That is what I mean when I ask: Who the hell are you?” He looked down at her, his eyes dark and frowning.

She narrowed her eyes, not appreciating all the questions, and not appreciating how much he seemed to know, and what she heard herself say was, “Where the hell have you been?”

His eyes narrowed in answer. “Me? Me?”

“Yes. You. I’ve been going to class. You haven’t. Where have you been?”

“You know I never go to class. And you’re the one who pulled the disappearing act,” he accused.

She bristled defensively, pointing out, “I left you a note.”

“You left me a soufflé recipe,” he corrected, scathingly.

“I thought you’d get the message.”

“Oh, was there a secret code? Every third letter would have told me how to get in touch with you?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten in touch with me,” she snapped. “You were leaving. You were leaving because you let a black hole get into a Paris railway yard. I was just saving us from that.”

“Saving us? I had everything covered in that railway yard.”

“You didn’t even know there was a black hole.” She stepped away from the suffocating presence of him, walking over to the kitchen table that now belonged to her and needlessly putting her human set of keys down onto it. She normally kept them in the pocket of her cardigan, but putting them on the table gave her something to do, an excuse to put space between them. “You know about the psychic paper, and you know about the black hole. How?”

“I asked you first, didn’t I?”

She leaned against the table and folded her arms and looked across at him. “You already know more about me than I know about you. I’m playing catch-up.”

“Fine,” he said, after a moment, and then he pulled something out of the pocket of his coat and walked over to her and handed it to her.

She looked down at it. It was a badge. She read the words engraved on it. And then she looked up at him. “Time Agent?” she said. “You’re a Time Agent?”

“I’m a Time Agent. Tracking a timeline anomaly that we traced to here. We thought one of our most wanted criminals was behind it.”

“Valentin?” she asked.

Something flickered in his eyes. “Yes. Valentin. But we were wrong about Valentin. The anomaly traces back to you.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with the black hole. I imploded it because it was the only thing I could think to do to save Paris.”

“How did you implode it?”

Fortuna hesitated. They’d laid low with the Time Agency, as much as they could. Her father and Jack had always warned that the Agency wasn’t to be trusted, and that it was best that it know as little about the other time travelers in the universe as possible.

She handed him back his badge. “I can’t tell you.”

He looked equal parts frustrated and resigned. “You know, you’re wanted for questioning.”

“Are you going to try to arrest me?”

“No, I know better than that. But other people will.”

“I’m good at hiding.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” He leaned down suddenly, his mouth against her ear. “I’ll give you a head start,” he murmured. “I can report back late and buy you maybe ten minutes. Is it enough time?”

She nodded.

“I have a watch that records everything we say,” he continued murmuring.

She nodded again.

He stepped back. “See you soon, I’m sure,” he said, and then walked out of her flat.

Fortuna stood still for a second, trying to get her breath back, and then she sprang into motion. The Time Agency would track Sylvain’s whereabouts, they would know exactly where to find her. He might be able to buy her ten minutes, but that was just enough time for her to get to the TARDIS and get out and hopefully have the evidence of her time machine fade behind her.

She leaped for the door, but it opened on her before she could open it, and for a moment she was seized with terror that she’d miscalculated and the Time Agency was already there.

It was Sylvain. He was holding a watch that she recognized by Jack’s as being Time-Agency-issue, dangling it in the air between them. Then, dramatically, he let it drop to the floor and stepped on it firmly, the heel of his shoe crushing it. It made several dying beeping noises before whirring to a stop.

The two of them stared down at the mess he’d made.

“That’s going to send a distress signal,” said Fortuna.

“I know. No way to get around that.”

“I could’ve gotten around it, if you’d told me you wanted to turn rogue.”

“Really? Well, we’re going to discuss that later.” He looked at her, and his jaw was set in a stubborn line. “If I let you go now, I’ll never see you again. And, sorry, you can’t make up for that by giving me your soufflé recipe. I don’t want your soufflé recipe, you ridiculous creature. I don’t care who you are. I’m in love with you, and I’m French, and it would be doing my heritage a great disservice if I didn’t make some kind of grand gesture in an effort not to lose you.”

She stared at him. All the air had left her lungs. All the air had left the Earth.

“You’re in love with me?” she repeated.

“Yes. That wasn’t obvious? But let’s talk about that later. We’ve only got a few minutes and I just destroyed my ability to travel through time, so…”

Fortuna forced herself to focus. There was plenty of time to think about all this later. “You’re in luck,” she said, and she gave him the most brilliant smile. And then, because she couldn’t resist, she leaned up and kissed him. “I have a time machine,” she continued. “And it’s big enough for two.” She intertwined their fingers together. She knew she was still grinning from ear-to-ear, but she couldn’t help it. I’m in love with you, he’d said. She held his hand, and she said, “Run.”

***

Her sunny yellow TARDIS was a beacon in the otherwise dingy alley, and Sylvain stared at it in confusion.

“But what is it?”

She fished her key out from the chain around her neck and opened the door. “I told you. My time machine. Hurry up, will you?”

Sylvain followed her in, looking a bit cautious. She was already on the other side of the controls, setting the coordinates for the Vortex.

“Close the door,” she called to him.

He did as she asked, and, as she raced around her controls, she watched him as he walked up toward the console. He didn’t look alarmed. He looked more thoughtful.

“It’s bigger on the inside,” he remarked, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling high above them.

“Yup,” she confirmed. She reached past him, hitting a few more buttons.

“Multi-dimensional?” he guessed.

“Yes. Can you turn that dial to the left for me?”

He looked down at the controls in front of him. “This dial?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“That’s good.”

His hands lingered over the controls. He circled them slowly, staring at them. “I know what this is,” he breathed, as Fortuna brought her mallet down. The TARDIS jerked toward the Vortex. Sylvain steadied himself against the console. He looked amazed. Fortuna had wondered, if he knew anything about what she was, if the Time Agency thought about them at all. The look on Sylvain’s face seemed to be answer enough for her. “This is a TARDIS,” he said. He looked up at her, still astonished. “You have a TARDIS.”

She smiled at him. “I have a TARDIS.”

“But that would make you…This can’t be true. They’re…” He trailed off, staring at her.

“Myths?” she queried.

“Fables,” he finished.

“Well, Sylvain. You just met your first Time Lord.” She leaned against her console and grinned. “Welcome aboard.”


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