They look at each other now, wondering at the thing they have just felt.
“My thief,” she murmurs matter of factly, “… is my thief. We stole each other. And he’s always bringing home strays for me to look after, although I usually like most of them. He has an exquisite eye.”
“I am sure he does. My dear, do you agree with me that in that last shiver of your timbers we seem to have had an ultimatum from the universe to shift ourselves?” the Time Lord says. At her nod of yes, he grabs the controls once again and turns her, veering off the plotted course- steering for Gallifrey.
“Now, let me guess,” he adds, patting the shuttle’s console as the holographic image of the TARDIS avatar pours them both a holographic cup of tea and settles into the very real command chair across from his, “… whatever is affecting Gallifrey and therefore your temporal-shift functions must be chronon-related, otherwise he would never ask for my help, because he needs my knowledge of the laws of Anti-Time reactions. Correct me if I’m wrong… but I believe I can shift your temporal signature into the Anti-Time dimension long enough to hide you from problem eyes. Care to join me in another cup?”
He holds up a real cup of tea, and in a shimmer of gold, her real hand takes it from his grasp.
It feels warm.
A third throbbing wave of colorless, odorless, all natural chronotic displacement hits the shuttle then, but this time, a hatch above his head opens up, plopping a golden clamshell clutch purse into his teapot.
There is a plastic baggie sticking out of it…