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CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
EXCALIBUR

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IRIS had always depended on three things above all else in her life:

Her sight, without it, she'd have lost her way (and been far clumsier than she actually was) and been a right chaotic mess.

Her hands, which she supposed were technically a pair, but either way without them she'd have been entirely lost on how to function properly. Not to mention she wouldn't have been able to pursue the career of her choosing with half as much ease as she did.

And her mind.

Even the Doctor regarded her as highly intelligent, someone more clever than anyone he could name in recent companionship.

She was quick-witted and well-read and adept at making difficult decisions in tumultuous situations.

And she'd never, not even once, had a memory problem.

"What was that?"

Iris blinked, looking up at the Doctor, a strange glaze over her eyes that didn't normally accompany her.

"I asked if you're feeling alright," he looked down at her worriedly, kneeling in front of her. "You've just fallen to the ground."

"Have I?" Iris frowned, looking down. Sure enough, there she was on the ground, hands in front of her to break her fall, knees skinned against the rough metal of the ship.

A worried furrow of the Doctor's brow prompted him to pull out his sonic and he scanned her face curiously.

His expression revealed nothing and he tucked his sonic away again, gently taking her chin between his forefinger and thumb.

"Careful, Holloway," he told her quietly. "I can't have you getting hurt."

"Don't worry about me, teach," she grinned, moving out of his grip and using him a bit to stand, then set her hands on her hips. "I'm a-okay."

"Hm," he replied, giving her another once-over before turning and leading her into another room.

—

"What do you think's going on?" Iris asked the Doctor, glancing up at him. "I don't" she was cut off by sneezing again and the Doctor sighed in frustration, stopping the pair from walking.

"Are you ill?"

"No, it's just allergies—"

"—That is eighteenth time you've sneezed since we arrived here and I've seen you with allergies. Your eyes water and your throat gets dry, but you don't sneeze like this. You don't fall over."

"I didn't fall over, I tripped—"

"—You're going back to the TARDIS—"

"—What?" Iris asked, flabbergasted. "You can't just send me back—" she blinked, then frowned, irritation dissipating. "Doctor," she asked quietly. "What's a TARDIS?"

The Doctor froze, face morphing into genuine surprise, then concern.

"Why can't I — I can't remember," she looked up at him with wide eyes. "Doctor, why can't I remember a TARDIS? I — I should know that. I can't — where are we? Where — how did we get here?"

Iris began to panic, looking around and searching for answers as if they'd pop out of the air and be read aloud for her.

Alas, no such revelations came and the Doctor only watched her with wide eyes, seeming as surprised — and possibly as panicked — as she was.

"Come on," he grabbed her arm and began to lead her to the exit. "We're going away."

"We can't just leave," she frowned, sneezing again. "Weren't there people here? Someone...I remember a skeleton? Who was...?"

"Iris, stop," he snapped at her, reaching his free hand into his pocket and pulling what appeared to be an inhaler out. "Breathe from this."

"I don't need that—"

"—Dammit, Holloway, just do as I tell you."

Iris frowned and took the inhaler, struggling with it a minute before succeeding and taking a breath.

Then a cough left her and her vision blurred. Dizziness spread through her head and she leaned against the Doctor.

"Woah," she breathed out, coughing into her arm again as her legs buckled.

"Careful, Holloway," he warned her and let her fall a bit, catching her by the waist and pulling her into his arms. "I've got you."

"And I have you, Sir Doctor!"

The Doctor's jaw tightened when he spotted the knights from before, coming out from different sides of the rooms holding their swords at him.

"Oh, now you've got real ones," he remarked dryly. "Not the time, children, I've got things to do."

"Ah, but who's the cleverest of the round table?" Arthur asked. "Tis I, Sir Arthur! You, Sir Doctor, are the only one not affected by the vertigo!"

The Doctor bit back a growl when Iris shuffled in his arms, a grimace crossing her face.

He really did not have time for this.

"Yes, and there's really a very good explanation for that, which I'll be sure to mail to you," he replied sarcastically and began to walk towards the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my star needs a bit of fixing and I can't do that stuck here with you sorry lot."

"Oh, but what if you're the one poisoning her?" Arthur tsked. "She's quite young, very pretty. And the symptoms only grew worse once you arrived. How are we to let a perfectly healthy young woman be taken by a decrepit fool such as yourself?"

Oh, if River could see him now.

"She's in my care, she's only unhealthy because of this terrible air climate — come again, you've all been having increased symptoms?" He paused, taking the man's words in.

"Why, yes, of course," Arthur nodded, jutting forward a few steps. "Your doing, I presume."

"You presume incorrectly, though I can't expect any less with a brain befuddled by plants," he rolled his eyes. "When did the memory loss start?" He looked around for a place to set Iris down. He'd need both hands for this.

Spotting a small crevice against a wall, he hesitated before gently lying her down, glancing over her unconscious — he thought her breathing had changed, how worrisome — state before turning around and facing the others.

"Why, I'm unsure of what you're inquiring," Lancelot spoke up. "Surely, you're not presuming our Ser King Arthur has maladies of the mind?"

"I am doing exactly that," the Doctor nodded, closing the distance between he and Arthur, ignoring the sword in Arthur's hand, looking into his eyes. "Iris had the same look in her eyes," he hummed curiously.

What was he missing? He'd deduced that it was most likely airborne, and he was immune due to his stronger DNA, but he couldn't figure out exactly what purpose the virus served, where it was coming from, or why.

He knew it was treatable — or, he hoped, a pleading whisper in his mind that it wasn't a sort of bacterial worm traveling through dust particles that ate away at pieces of memories, chipping through a person's life until they were nothing because he would never allow Iris to succumb to such a fate — but he had to get to the TARDIS to find a cure.

And these incompetent men were in the way. What was it Iris and River always said? 'Men were the creators of impracticality, the leaders of impossibility and the masters of self-destruction?'

Oh, he loved his women.

"Are you a wizard, perhaps?" Gawaine spoke up cautiously, eying the Doctor cautiously. "As our dearly departed Merlin?"

Bingo.

"Yes," the Doctor spun around snapping at Gawaine with his finger. "I am. And you'd do well to listen to your superior being. I am highly intelligent, a tad omnipotent and could bring you to your knees with a mere thought."

"Ah, it would seem you're more inclined to my sister, Morgan's beliefs," Arthur rolled his eyes. "Ever the pertinent act of self-righteousness."

"Oh, will you, shut up?" The Doctor rolled his eyes. "If you don't believe in my gifts, then stuff off and turn around because I've far more important things to do than prattle on about inconsequential facts about your obviously very fictional life."

"How dare you," Lancelot gasped, pointing his sword closer to the Doctor. "He is your king and—"

"Careful," the Doctor pointed his sonic threateningly. He knew Iris would laugh at him. She always thought he was funny when attempting to be intimidating.

Lancelot's eyes widened and his gaze darted to Arthur, whose own eyes narrowed.

"You know of a cure?" Arthur asked quietly.

The Doctor could have pulled his own hair out at the slow-moving neurons of this man's brain. As much as he knew he should prioritize these people — they were here for a distress call, after all — he couldn't help but worry for Iris who —

Where'd she gone?

The Doctor's gaze landed on the wall where her body had been only moments before but it was gone.

His hearts sank and a stony look crossed his eyes. He could recall each and every time she'd been taken from him and he'd always trusted she'd find her way back. Always knew she would.

But this was different.

She wasn't in her right mind, she couldn't remember anything about her life — what's to say her most basic comprehension wasn't being sucked away?

If this was a greedy parasitical creature, then it surely would've latched onto her far easier than the others. The men were simple, small and insignificant in comparison to his Iris. Not to say they didn't matter, all humans did, and he'd save them as he always did — but Iris was special.

So special.

"Where's she gone, then?" Lancelot frowned, looking down at the wall, following the Doctor's gaze. "She was here only a moment ago. Anyone see her get up?"

"I must've missed it," Arthur supplied as Gawaine shook his head in response. He glanced around and paled. "Where's Ser Percival gone?"

The Doctor spun to where the quiet knight had been, finding him missing too.

It couldn't be Vashta Nerada, they operated in the dark. Though it was plausible on a planet full of trees, especially one as ancient as this, and he'd probably have to keep an eye out for them as well.

It couldn't be Graske, the bacteria wasn't something they used.

Was it bacteria? Perhaps he was being too narrowed. He needed to broaden his specks, understand the situation more. He needed to —

"Thank you for your hospitality."

The Doctor's face dropped when he spotted Iris, blanket-faced and hazy-eyed, watching him unknowingly.

He knew she'd snap out of it. Knew she'd come back to him. She had to, she always did, didn't she?

"Charge!" Arthur shouted and he and Lancelot lunged towards Iris. "She's been taken like my Gwen!"

The Doctor's hearts could've stopped the second they lunged, but he was faster than the pair, rushing towards Iris and pulling her to him, just out of the way. The two men charged at one another, their swords clinking against the other.

"Give her to us, Wizard," Arthur demanded. "She is to be decontaminated—"

"—This happened to Guinevere?" The Doctor cut him off. "How long? How much time passed?"

He looked down to Iris, who was staring blankly into space, unseeing. It unnerved him. Her eyes so full of mischief and life and brilliance were nothing but glass, a shell of the soul intrinsically tied to his own.

Arthur watched him a long moment before sighing and sheathing his sword.

"Four hours."

Four hours.

"Four hours until she reached full decomposition, or four hours until infection reached her mind?" The Doctor asked, his own racing.

They'd been on the planet approximately two and aboard the ship an hour. She'd sneezed eighteen times before the reaction was triggered. His anesthetic device helped lull her into unconsciousness, and while it would slow her system, it wasn't enough to stop it.

"Her skin began to fall after her eyes glazed," Arthur confessed, looking downtrodden. "She was talking even after, as a skeleton, I—"

"—Sorry?" The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed. That was anatomically impossible, but a possession through nerves wasn't entirely unlikely. He couldn't place the reason behind this parasite, what it wanted. 

"Saying strange things," Lancelot pitched in. "About her old life. A strange life we don't know of. She was talking of flying machinery and the stars so close she could touch them. How she wanted to return to them."

That was easy enough to deduce — as an astronaut, of course that was her passion — but the question was why the parasite would relive those memories. 

It hit him suddenly. 

Of course. 

The parasite couldn't create its own memories so it leeched off others, an attempt to learn and divulge and understand. It was a Bionovorious Transmancer. 

"I have to go," he cut off whatever it was Arthur was speaking about — he honestly hadn't been listening — and rushed past the swords and out of the door. He had to find the roots. If he could find the roots, he could find Iris. Hopefully, she wasn't cocooned already, and if she was that was very terrible indeed because he'd have to burn the tree down to save her and that's the last thing he wanted to do. 

Rushing out of the ship, he kept an eye out for Iris in case she was wandering — Rassilon, even possessed by a parasitic fungus, she was trouble — and he scanned the area with his sonic.

Four clicks to the right. With every ounce of strength he had, the Doctor darted into a sprint — he was getting too old for all this running, he could fondly remember the times where he and Iris would race time itself — passing grass and moss and rivers and —

Ah. 

There it was. 

A seemingly innocuous tree, as strong as an oak and tall as a redwood, peering down at him knowingly. He felt the tap against his subconscious, the gentle prod of telepathy, and his jaw clenched, knowing Iris hadn't been able to defend herself against it properly. 

"I know what you are," the Doctor spoke loudly. "I know what you're doing and why you're doing it. My ship is big, come with me. I'll take you home."

There is no home. 

A voice whispered back, full of longing and pain. It was warm and deep, chilling through the air and twisting vines into his mind, rooting him to the spot. 

"I know how that feels," the Doctor nodded. "But you've taken my home from me and I'd really like her back."

The girl is full of opportunity...of life...of memories. 

Anger sat heavy in his chest, and he pushed aside the recent thoughts of Clara. This wouldn't be like that. He wouldn't let anything happen to his Iris. He'd save her. He'd always save her. 

"She's not finished yet, you can tell, can't you?"

She will last us...for years to come. Do you not wish for an entire species to flourish for the sake of one soul?

"Not hers," the Doctor's face darkened, and he knew they wouldn't come willingly. They never did. Iris was a better talker, better at convincing people to step down. Her pretty smile and effortless charm, it was always easier with her next to him. "Take mine." He spread his arms out, letting out a sigh. 

They wanted everlasting. They wanted a feast. 

Let's see how they like this. 

"My life for my girl. You let Iris go, you have me and this planet."

There was a rush of wind, a gasp from a few feet away and his hearts lifted at the sight of her; his pretty star, rubbing her face in confusion, face contorted in concern. She looked around trying to spot him and when their eyes connected, he felt time stop. 

Just like the first time. 

He'd always see her for exactly what she was: a gift from the universe meant directly for him. 

Before either of them could say anything, he fell to his knees, the digging in his mind stronger now. The tug and pull and thieving of his mind, leaving him bereft and empty. He kept his eyes on hers, watching as she hauled herself to her feet, crying out his name — his real name, oh, he loved hearing it from her lips — and rushed towards him. 

Time felt slower, which was strange for a Time Lord. For a man so accustomed to feeling everything at any given moment, it was odd for time to pass at such a painful pace, a slow and steady thrumming, a minor pulse in the beating of the universe. 

He was so very small in comparison to Iris. 

Memories flashed through his mind as the Transmancer devoured his thoughts and feelings, latching onto everything it could find. Some were his companions, his family, his planet. 

He thought of Rose and Mickey, and of Martha and Jack. He thought of Donna, his hearts aching as the memories shifted to Amelia. His Amelia Pond, and River, oh, River. 

Iris kept her eyes on his as she raced to his side, kneeling in front of him. He let out a grimace of agony as her fingers found his temple. 

"I've got you," he heard softly, a whisper in the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts carressing his mind. "I'm here."

And she was, wasn't she? Always there for him. The best thing he'd ever known. The one person he'd never failed, the one constant in his life. His forehead leaned against hers and he couldn't control himself as his memories breached into hers. 

This was terrible. If they survived, he'd have to wipe her memories, she couldn't know what was to come. 

But it felt so good to have her with him. To have her know and feel and understand everything he did. 

"I love you," he whispered softly, a ghost of his past self, a version he'd long since lost. 

"I love you," she whispered back, their minds connecting as one. She probably hadn't even realized she'd said it, so overcome with the feelings he buried deep inside his mind. 

A groan left him, and he felt it before it happened. The void of emptiness, the feeling of nothingness, before a loud creaking sound. 

He looked up dazedly, slowly, grabbing Iris and shielding her as the tree fell down, landing with a heavy thud a few feet away. The ground vibrated with the aftermath and leaves cascaded around them, branches sticking out oddly in different places. 

The Doctor pulled himself from Iris, looking around at the destruction. His mind was a system rebooting, slowly coming together as thoughts formed more coherently, less disorganized. He carefully tucked away his losses and painful thoughts, pushing back every mention of Clara — that was absolutely not something he needed right now — and looked down at Iris. 

Iris, who, to her credit, seemed fine, excluding a small cut on her forehead and a confused look in her eyes. 

"What happened?" She asked with a frown. "Where are we?"

That was good then. No memory wipe needed. But he couldn't have her lying to him — the sneaky little thing definitely had before — and he kneeled in front of her, placing his finger to her temple. He gently prodded and poked around, making sure everything was in order and no lingering knowledge of his own mind was wiggling around in hers. 

"Nasty parasite," the Doctor stood again, offering her a hand. She took it, and he fought the smile when her fingers remained intertwined with his own. "Takes your memories and consumes them, implanting false ones. King Arthur? He's an astronaut."

"Oh, that tracks," Iris nodded as they walked back towards the ship. "So, everyone should be fine then?"

"Well, not Guinevere," he shook his head. "She's gone, I'm afraid."

"But why King Arthur?" She asked curiously as they approached the long-crashed ship. They spotted figures on the outskirts, looking around in confusion. "Oh, looks like they're disoriented too."

Arthur jogged towards them, a bewildered look on his face. "I don't understand. Who are you both? Do you know why we're wearing armor? Are you the rescue team?"

Iris and the Doctor exchanged a look. 

That's exactly what they were.

—

i hate this chapter so much don't even comment on it i just want to forget it exists. next chapter we get the 14th doctor rahhhhhhhhh