Chapter Twelve, Part One: Hell is for HandbasketsMature

Flashback to the day before.

                           

The Hand curls itself around the hand with the golden ring, building up to a needy nudge. It rather likes the sound of the Other master’s breathing. It rather likes the touch of the Other master’s fingers… the patting and petting and talk of ‘good boy, Hand!’ and the speaking to Flamina in his belly. Old body, new body… it doesn’t matter, because Other master is always nice. And, Flamina is inside, too. Safe inside. Safe and warm, inside. The Time Lords did not know yet, what the Other master had had to do. Only the One, and the Two, and the Three. But Three was Other master, and Other master was not talking to the Hand, being asleep. Still, it keeps nudging for a pet-pet it knew would never come because Other master was, indeed, asleep. Other master had fed the Hand crispytastysweet carrots when the Hand had been the Bird. He still did that, did Other master. And as for that, the Hand had decided a while ago that it should continue liking carrots. And always would, probably.

 

Other master had been tired recently, because of Flamina. Perhaps that was why he had fallen from the chair yesterday. Or had it been today? Ever since rejoining with itself, the days have been mixed up. The Hand knows this because it could have sworn it had dropped a fishing pole on One’s head tomorrow. It remembers turning into a little boy and using a bit of One’s damaged heart to lure the Bird to the door of the TARDIS. Rose Woman had petted the Hand, told it, ‘Good boy.’

The End

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