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Title: Redemption 16/?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katherine_b
Rating: PG
Summary: When you have lost everything, what do you do to get it back?
Characters: The non-Doctor first glimpsed at the end of Name of the Doctor and a lot of old friends.
Part XVI
“So now what do we do?” demands the elder of the men, staring into his beer.
“’Bout what?” asks the younger as the Vadlott watches them from a few seats away.
“Are you an idiot?” The question appears to be rhetorical, but the speaker answers it anyway. “The rest of the crew of the Pentallian are dead, the mining operation’s a bust and we’re the only two left to answer to anyone who wants to know what happened. What’s the Corporation going to say, eh? Not to mention that we could both go to prison for murder! I know you’ve been all dopey-eyed since Martha went away with the Doctor, but use your brains for once! The Doctor might have thought we could ‘just tell them,’ but he didn’t hang about to help us with that, did he? So we tell them and they’ll think we’re lunatics and lock us up – or worse! So what are we going to?”
The Vadlott, having found the people he was looking for, crosses the short distance between them and stops behind their bar stools.
“You could go home,” he suggests quietly, seeing as they both start violently and look over their shoulders at him.
“What?” say the men in unison.
“Go home.” The Vadlott slips into the empty seat next to the speaker. “After all, who’s going to be looking for you? The S. S. Pentallian is found empty. No sign of her crew. Any of them. But then, all those stories about the terrible, deadly danger of the sun they chose to mine and the risk that posed to all who approached it, how could any of you possibly hope to survive?”
He gives a little smile and waves over a barman, ordering a neat whiskey.
“I’m John, by the way,” he tells them after sending the barkeeper away with a handy tip, “John Hurt.”
The older man, whose expression of deep concern has lifted somewhat, manages a smile now as he speaks. “Orin Scannell,” he says. “And this is Riley Vashtee.”
“What do you mean,” Riley says, “about it being dangerous? We wouldn’t have been sent there in the first place if everyone had known had dangerous it was?”
Orin delivers a punch to his colleague’s arm. “You really are an idiot,” he proclaims. “Do you understand the first thing about time travel?”
He turns to the Vadlott, who is trying hard to suppress a smile. “You can make that happen?” he prompts.
The Time Lord picks up his whiskey and downs it in one shot. “I don’t promise what I can’t deliver,” he replies, watching as they both finish their drinks. Riley, he notes, is still looking uncertain. “The best way for the two of you to commemorate those who lost their lives on the Pentallian is for you to have the happiest lives you can manage,” he says. “So let’s get that started, shall we?”
He ushers them towards the corner where he parked the tardis, seeing as they both stop short at the sight of it. After a moment of silent, Riley scoffs and turns his eyes in the Time Lord’s direction.
“You’re never the Doctor,” he protests.
“You’re right; I’m not,” agrees the Vadlott matter-of-factly, unlocking the door. “Just a co-incidence that we both happen to have one of these. Now, would you like a lift home or do you want to have to cough up for your own space-taxi?”
They need no further urging, hurrying inside after him, both predictably stopping short at the size of the interior.
“Yeah, you’re not the Doctor,” agrees Orin. “He’d never have fitted all this inside that blue box of his.”
Attempting to stifle a smile as he bends his head over the controls so that his expression will remain unseen, the Vadlott sets the co-ordinate for the homes of the people he suddenly realises are the first living beings to travel inside this version of his tardis.
* * *
Despite being well aware of what has happened to the man calling himself John Smith, even if he is not fully certain why the Time Lord took such extreme measures, it nevertheless fascinates the Vadlott that, given their previous meeting, he is able to walk up to this man and receive nothing more than a tip of the hat and a distant greeting. Having passed him, the Vadlott turns to watch the other man walk past, unable to quash the flicker of envy that rises in him at the lithe, youthful, energetic presence that exists in this form of the Doctor, and which contrasts so strongly with this old-looking body that is his.
He turns back in the direction he was originally travelling, about to pull out his sonic screwdriver and continue scanning for the aliens that brought him here, when he finds himself confronted by a familiar young woman.
"What are you doing here?" Martha Jones demands furiously, nevertheless keeping her voice low, presumably to avoid attracting John Smith's attention. "How can you be here, John Hurt? You were in London..."
"As were you, Martha Jones," he points out. "Doing a very fine job, as I recall. So good that I was almost going to invite you along, but it seems as if someone else got in first. And now we're both here - and for the same reason, I would venture to guess."
"Who are you?" she persists, seizing his arm to prevent him from walking away.
"A very old acquaintance of his," is the only response he is willing to give as he nods in the direction of the Doctor, who has stopped to look at something in a shop window. The Vadlott then returns his gaze to Martha, his voice full of sympathy. "You're going an excellent job in taking care of him, Miss Jones. It can't be easy - I understand that. I only hope it will not need to last much longer."
Having said so much, he gently releases himself from her grasp, tips the hat he has chosen to adopt for this period, and moves away from her down the street in the opposite direction from John Smith.
Glancing back in her direction, he can see that she is torn between following him to learn more about his identity and what he is doing here, and following the Doctor to make sure that he is safe.
To the Vadlott's relief, she chooses the latter, but he has little time to ponder the meeting because, just as he rounds the corner that will eventually lead to the safe place where he parked his tardis, he finds himself confronted by a young girl holding a red balloon. It takes him only a fraction of a second to realise that here is one of the aliens he has come to seek, not least because the balloon she is holding is failing to respond to any of the laws of physics that apply on Earth. The deep sniff she makes at the sight of him is also less than subtle.
"You are a Time Lord," she announces. "You are what we are here to seek."
"Stay back," he warns, his sonic screwdriver - the only weapon he has to hand - already clasped between his fingers and aimed at the girl. "My energy is too much for you to manage alone. It would tear you apart. You would disintegrate into nothingness and nothing will be able to help you."
"The Family will not be so easily thwarted." It's strange hearing such adult words from a child's mouth. "You cannot hope to defeat us."
"The Family are not here," he points out, brandishing the screwdriver. "Just the two of us are here and I won't hesitate to protect myself."
"You will not kill," she replies, a smirk curling her lips. "The Doctor is always merciful."
He smiles bitterly. "The Doctor might be merciful," he tells her, "but I'm not him and I don't advise you to put me to the test. You have no idea what I am capable of."
His finger comes down on the button of the sonic screwdriver, but he has aimed it slightly over her shoulder and a hedge lining the garden of a nearby house bursts into flames. The girl glances behind her, momentarily distracted, and the Vadlott takes advantage of the moment to flee.
He is thankful to make it to the safety of his tardis without running into any other members of the Family. The Doctor's use of the Chameleon Arch is now no longer a matter of uncertainty. In fact, the Vadlott mentally applauds his fellow Time Lord for his actions. Perhaps, he considers as he sends his tardis into the vortex, he should have considered similar subterfuge instead of blundering in as he did. He only hopes he has not made the situation worse.
* * *
Rain is dripping off the eaves of Wester Drumlins as the Vadlott lets himself inside. He has his sonic screwdriver at the ready, but he is fairly comfortable that no living Angels are still on this property.
He finds his way to the living room and gazes down on the various piles of belongings that are haphazardly piled in the various corners of the room.
For once he is not here to collect these items and return them to the families of those who have disappeared at the hands of the Weeping Angels. No, he has greater concerns, particularly after reading Rastan Jovanich's book on the topic of the quantum-locked threat.
He sets up a mirror that he has retrieved from the tardis and sits down on the floor beside it, pulling the first bag across towards him, opening it and withdrawing a sheaf of paper. Flicking through the pages, he finds one containing a sketch of an Angel, its face buried in its hands, and props it against the mirror to ensure that it cannot move while faced with a reflection of itself. With his sonic screwdriver, he presses the tip to the paper and scorches the sheet to ashes, destroying this one instance of the threat.
There are other examples in the file he checks and he wastes no time in adding to his pile of burned paper. His screwdriver is also useful in deleting from the digital camera he finds all photos from Wester Drumlins and any pictures that may contain even a part of a Weeping Angel. He leaves the pictures that may be of the Angel's target, feeling that they might be of comfort later when finally released to the family.
It takes him a number of hours to get through all of the material he finds in this and other rooms in the house. While hunting through the various levels of the building, he finds the four Angels in the basement. He has come prepared for this, setting up a series of solar-powered lights to ensure that Angels cannot take advantage of a blackout to escape from the trap in which the Doctor had caught them. He also shuts the door to the underground room and then uses his sonic screwdriver to convert the wood to stone, making it all but impossible for anyone to get inside and possibly reverse the quantum lock by accident.
His final action is to go through the house, smashing every mirror he can find to prevent any Angel who gets into the house from duplicating itself.
"Even seven years of bad luck is better than that," he mutters to himself as yet another mirror falls in tiny shards around his feet.
The sun is setting by the time he lets himself out of the mansion, and once outside he shatters the mirror he brought with him just in case the traces of an Angel remain in it. He also scans the area around the tardis, once he reaches it, to ensure that no Angel is going to follow him inside.
Once inside the tardis, he checks his co-ordinates and then goes to hunt out another mirror, which he has pocketed by the time he arrives in the basement of the police station. He knows the evidence of the investigations into the numerous missing people has been stored here ever since the cases were declared to have gone cold some months before Sally Sparrow went inside.
He finds that the files are full of photos and has to act quickly to destroy them. His little pocket mirror is insufficient for their size and so he takes to laying the photos with their images facing one another and burns them in pairs. He is intrigued to notice the age of the photos: the investigation is decades old. Some of the older sepia pictures are almost heartbreakingly gorgeous, but they have to be destroyed, just in case.
He sighs and gets to work.
Next Part
Author:
katherine_b Rating: PG
Summary: When you have lost everything, what do you do to get it back?
Characters: The non-Doctor first glimpsed at the end of Name of the Doctor and a lot of old friends.
Part XVI
“So now what do we do?” demands the elder of the men, staring into his beer.
“’Bout what?” asks the younger as the Vadlott watches them from a few seats away.
“Are you an idiot?” The question appears to be rhetorical, but the speaker answers it anyway. “The rest of the crew of the Pentallian are dead, the mining operation’s a bust and we’re the only two left to answer to anyone who wants to know what happened. What’s the Corporation going to say, eh? Not to mention that we could both go to prison for murder! I know you’ve been all dopey-eyed since Martha went away with the Doctor, but use your brains for once! The Doctor might have thought we could ‘just tell them,’ but he didn’t hang about to help us with that, did he? So we tell them and they’ll think we’re lunatics and lock us up – or worse! So what are we going to?”
The Vadlott, having found the people he was looking for, crosses the short distance between them and stops behind their bar stools.
“You could go home,” he suggests quietly, seeing as they both start violently and look over their shoulders at him.
“What?” say the men in unison.
“Go home.” The Vadlott slips into the empty seat next to the speaker. “After all, who’s going to be looking for you? The S. S. Pentallian is found empty. No sign of her crew. Any of them. But then, all those stories about the terrible, deadly danger of the sun they chose to mine and the risk that posed to all who approached it, how could any of you possibly hope to survive?”
He gives a little smile and waves over a barman, ordering a neat whiskey.
“I’m John, by the way,” he tells them after sending the barkeeper away with a handy tip, “John Hurt.”
The older man, whose expression of deep concern has lifted somewhat, manages a smile now as he speaks. “Orin Scannell,” he says. “And this is Riley Vashtee.”
“What do you mean,” Riley says, “about it being dangerous? We wouldn’t have been sent there in the first place if everyone had known had dangerous it was?”
Orin delivers a punch to his colleague’s arm. “You really are an idiot,” he proclaims. “Do you understand the first thing about time travel?”
He turns to the Vadlott, who is trying hard to suppress a smile. “You can make that happen?” he prompts.
The Time Lord picks up his whiskey and downs it in one shot. “I don’t promise what I can’t deliver,” he replies, watching as they both finish their drinks. Riley, he notes, is still looking uncertain. “The best way for the two of you to commemorate those who lost their lives on the Pentallian is for you to have the happiest lives you can manage,” he says. “So let’s get that started, shall we?”
He ushers them towards the corner where he parked the tardis, seeing as they both stop short at the sight of it. After a moment of silent, Riley scoffs and turns his eyes in the Time Lord’s direction.
“You’re never the Doctor,” he protests.
“You’re right; I’m not,” agrees the Vadlott matter-of-factly, unlocking the door. “Just a co-incidence that we both happen to have one of these. Now, would you like a lift home or do you want to have to cough up for your own space-taxi?”
They need no further urging, hurrying inside after him, both predictably stopping short at the size of the interior.
“Yeah, you’re not the Doctor,” agrees Orin. “He’d never have fitted all this inside that blue box of his.”
Attempting to stifle a smile as he bends his head over the controls so that his expression will remain unseen, the Vadlott sets the co-ordinate for the homes of the people he suddenly realises are the first living beings to travel inside this version of his tardis.
Despite being well aware of what has happened to the man calling himself John Smith, even if he is not fully certain why the Time Lord took such extreme measures, it nevertheless fascinates the Vadlott that, given their previous meeting, he is able to walk up to this man and receive nothing more than a tip of the hat and a distant greeting. Having passed him, the Vadlott turns to watch the other man walk past, unable to quash the flicker of envy that rises in him at the lithe, youthful, energetic presence that exists in this form of the Doctor, and which contrasts so strongly with this old-looking body that is his.
He turns back in the direction he was originally travelling, about to pull out his sonic screwdriver and continue scanning for the aliens that brought him here, when he finds himself confronted by a familiar young woman.
"What are you doing here?" Martha Jones demands furiously, nevertheless keeping her voice low, presumably to avoid attracting John Smith's attention. "How can you be here, John Hurt? You were in London..."
"As were you, Martha Jones," he points out. "Doing a very fine job, as I recall. So good that I was almost going to invite you along, but it seems as if someone else got in first. And now we're both here - and for the same reason, I would venture to guess."
"Who are you?" she persists, seizing his arm to prevent him from walking away.
"A very old acquaintance of his," is the only response he is willing to give as he nods in the direction of the Doctor, who has stopped to look at something in a shop window. The Vadlott then returns his gaze to Martha, his voice full of sympathy. "You're going an excellent job in taking care of him, Miss Jones. It can't be easy - I understand that. I only hope it will not need to last much longer."
Having said so much, he gently releases himself from her grasp, tips the hat he has chosen to adopt for this period, and moves away from her down the street in the opposite direction from John Smith.
Glancing back in her direction, he can see that she is torn between following him to learn more about his identity and what he is doing here, and following the Doctor to make sure that he is safe.
To the Vadlott's relief, she chooses the latter, but he has little time to ponder the meeting because, just as he rounds the corner that will eventually lead to the safe place where he parked his tardis, he finds himself confronted by a young girl holding a red balloon. It takes him only a fraction of a second to realise that here is one of the aliens he has come to seek, not least because the balloon she is holding is failing to respond to any of the laws of physics that apply on Earth. The deep sniff she makes at the sight of him is also less than subtle.
"You are a Time Lord," she announces. "You are what we are here to seek."
"Stay back," he warns, his sonic screwdriver - the only weapon he has to hand - already clasped between his fingers and aimed at the girl. "My energy is too much for you to manage alone. It would tear you apart. You would disintegrate into nothingness and nothing will be able to help you."
"The Family will not be so easily thwarted." It's strange hearing such adult words from a child's mouth. "You cannot hope to defeat us."
"The Family are not here," he points out, brandishing the screwdriver. "Just the two of us are here and I won't hesitate to protect myself."
"You will not kill," she replies, a smirk curling her lips. "The Doctor is always merciful."
He smiles bitterly. "The Doctor might be merciful," he tells her, "but I'm not him and I don't advise you to put me to the test. You have no idea what I am capable of."
His finger comes down on the button of the sonic screwdriver, but he has aimed it slightly over her shoulder and a hedge lining the garden of a nearby house bursts into flames. The girl glances behind her, momentarily distracted, and the Vadlott takes advantage of the moment to flee.
He is thankful to make it to the safety of his tardis without running into any other members of the Family. The Doctor's use of the Chameleon Arch is now no longer a matter of uncertainty. In fact, the Vadlott mentally applauds his fellow Time Lord for his actions. Perhaps, he considers as he sends his tardis into the vortex, he should have considered similar subterfuge instead of blundering in as he did. He only hopes he has not made the situation worse.
Rain is dripping off the eaves of Wester Drumlins as the Vadlott lets himself inside. He has his sonic screwdriver at the ready, but he is fairly comfortable that no living Angels are still on this property.
He finds his way to the living room and gazes down on the various piles of belongings that are haphazardly piled in the various corners of the room.
For once he is not here to collect these items and return them to the families of those who have disappeared at the hands of the Weeping Angels. No, he has greater concerns, particularly after reading Rastan Jovanich's book on the topic of the quantum-locked threat.
He sets up a mirror that he has retrieved from the tardis and sits down on the floor beside it, pulling the first bag across towards him, opening it and withdrawing a sheaf of paper. Flicking through the pages, he finds one containing a sketch of an Angel, its face buried in its hands, and props it against the mirror to ensure that it cannot move while faced with a reflection of itself. With his sonic screwdriver, he presses the tip to the paper and scorches the sheet to ashes, destroying this one instance of the threat.
There are other examples in the file he checks and he wastes no time in adding to his pile of burned paper. His screwdriver is also useful in deleting from the digital camera he finds all photos from Wester Drumlins and any pictures that may contain even a part of a Weeping Angel. He leaves the pictures that may be of the Angel's target, feeling that they might be of comfort later when finally released to the family.
It takes him a number of hours to get through all of the material he finds in this and other rooms in the house. While hunting through the various levels of the building, he finds the four Angels in the basement. He has come prepared for this, setting up a series of solar-powered lights to ensure that Angels cannot take advantage of a blackout to escape from the trap in which the Doctor had caught them. He also shuts the door to the underground room and then uses his sonic screwdriver to convert the wood to stone, making it all but impossible for anyone to get inside and possibly reverse the quantum lock by accident.
His final action is to go through the house, smashing every mirror he can find to prevent any Angel who gets into the house from duplicating itself.
"Even seven years of bad luck is better than that," he mutters to himself as yet another mirror falls in tiny shards around his feet.
The sun is setting by the time he lets himself out of the mansion, and once outside he shatters the mirror he brought with him just in case the traces of an Angel remain in it. He also scans the area around the tardis, once he reaches it, to ensure that no Angel is going to follow him inside.
Once inside the tardis, he checks his co-ordinates and then goes to hunt out another mirror, which he has pocketed by the time he arrives in the basement of the police station. He knows the evidence of the investigations into the numerous missing people has been stored here ever since the cases were declared to have gone cold some months before Sally Sparrow went inside.
He finds that the files are full of photos and has to act quickly to destroy them. His little pocket mirror is insufficient for their size and so he takes to laying the photos with their images facing one another and burns them in pairs. He is intrigued to notice the age of the photos: the investigation is decades old. Some of the older sepia pictures are almost heartbreakingly gorgeous, but they have to be destroyed, just in case.
He sighs and gets to work.
Next Part
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