#I don't have the file for the frame anymore either with sucks ╯︿╰

[leelreallylikespersona]

Oh goodness who remembers these

[bonnissance]

fic title: don't want it troubling your mind (won't you let it be)

[i said if ya hit me w a fic title and i’d clap back w a drabble]

snippet from a larger post-50th anniversary fic about the lasting effects the Black Archive’s flawed mind wiping tech that removes memories but leaves traces of emotions (suspicion, fear, confusion) behind in that hole. 

Kate/Osgood (Doctor Who/Big Finish Audios), ~1k, teen (fluff to heavy angst) cw: memory invasion, one low!key sexual reference to Kate/Osgood/Osgood

Kate walks into Osgood’s lab, finds her muttering about energy units, turning a clunky collection of circuits over in her hand. Kate smiles as she approaches the workbench; Osgood looks up at the clack of her heels stops.  

‘Should be about half an hour?’ she says before Kate has a chance to ask, turning her head to offer Kate a small smile. ‘I want to finish cataloging this before I pack up, otherwise I’ll be worrying about it all night.’

Kate nods and sits at Osgood’s desk, squirrelled away in the nearby corner. ‘As long as we leave before the chippie closes.’ She settles herself in front of the stack of reports—the ones that haven’t made it out of Osgood’s lab to her office yet—and pouts. ‘I can’t bear the thought of cooking tonight.’ Osgood open her mouth and Kate cuts her off before she has a chance to offer. ‘And I’m not letting you anywhere near my stove,’ she huffs, stern and serious, but no real bite behind her words. ‘Not till we get that tomato stain off the roof.’

Osgood ducks her head to hide her grin, peeks up under the thick frames of her glasses, sees Kate grinning ruefully back at her. She breaths out a laugh and drops her head to the side—it’s a far condition, she’ll admit—nods agreement, promising herself she’ll find time to fix that problem soon.

Kate nods, sharp and resolute, and helps herself to the top of the pile to pass the time. She gets through the preliminary specs for expanding the range of their Sontaran transport system—still miles to go but definitive progress— and sets it aside.

She flips open the next files and skims the brief: the latest in their ongoing attempts to splice bio-tuned Zygon technology with human science. She notes Osgood is handling the bulk of the experiments personally and slows down to read in detail.

They haven’t had much success so far. She frowns at the conclusion: unable to successfully calibrate an amalgam—human testing remains unresponsive and the spliced material won’t even respond to Osgood—and the introduction of organic material appears to cancel whatever functionality their Earth tech had prior to testing. They haven’t had any success at all.

Kate sighs quietly and put the file to one side. Looks over at Osgood, her attention on the object in her hand, her forehead furrowed, nibbling on her bottom lip. Smiles as Osgood mumbles to herself, picks up a pencil, jots a few lines down on the pad beside her. Watches as Osgood looks back at the device, huffs, jams her glasses up her nose. Fells her mind start to wander as Osgood leans on her elbow with her chin in her hand and munches on the end of her pencil.

Kate watches Osgood and feels her mind starting to wonder: feel her nerves start to fizzle, feels her face stop smiling, feels the pinch behind her eyes grip familiar. Feels the churning that’s been growing in the pit of her stomach these past few weeks burble up her throat, feels it catch a question that’s been itching at her throat for months, feels it all fall out of her mouth before she can think better of it.

‘When are you going to stop calling yourself a hybrid?’

The lab goes quiet. Osgood stops tinkering, puts down the device, stares down at the bench; sucks in a deep breath, looks up frowning, confused, hurt. Kate holds her gaze, holds her ground; purses her lips, pushing till Osgood responds.

‘Why would I do that?’

‘You haven’t changed, back I mean, since…’ she trails off and they both look away. Kate looks back see the top of Osgood’s braid, her fingertips playing with the edge of the bench—remembers all the times those fingertips have been on her, all those times those and another set of fingers where inside her—sucks in a shaky breath and continues. ‘So I thought—’

‘I’m not human.’ Osgood looks up, looks Kate dead in the eyes, sees the flash of anger flare across Kate’s face. She rolls back her shoulders, raises her chin, holds herself together despite the roaring in her ears—things can’t ever be the same—and the ache in her heart. ‘I’m not a Zygon, either.’

‘But then…’ Kate blinks, frowns, shakes her head—it hurts—tries to shake the ringing away, tries to breath her nerve calm, tries to piece the jigsaw together. She looks down at the desk. She’s still missing something, she knows she is—her mind is too empty, too full—she’s missing something, she’s sure of it, if she can just figure out what that is: ‘Then what are you?’

Kate looks up and her mouth falls open, realisation dawning at what she just said and for a moment Osgood thinks she might take it all back. Till she sees a shadow flicker across Kate’s eyes.

Kate closes her mouth, swallows hard, mouth pinched and brow furrowed; leaves the question in the air, turning it thick, stifling, suffocating.

Osgood wants to believe Kate didn’t mean to ask, never intended to ask, would never have asked like that, but now she can’t be sure: she helped make this Kate, who doesn’t trust her own mind or the people around her, not completely, not anymore. You should have stopped the Doctor the first time, she thinks, blinking back tears. She made Kate like this.

‘I’m Osgood,’ she says simply, her eyes burning, her voice breaking. ‘Isn’t that enough for you?’  

Kate stays silent, eyes red and haunted, and looks away.