The road less travelled...

Title: Redemption 36/?
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 XXXVI

“But why, Vadlott?” asks Edwin, stopping in his task of hunting through a large trunk. “Why are you so worried about what Van Gogh may have left behind?”

“He was brilliant, a genius!” the Time Lord replies, flipping through a bundle of letters between the artist and his brother. “But he wasn’t necessarily clever. I’m concerned he might have left some clues that could disrupt time. Mentions of the Doctor. Perhaps even paintings of him! That would be a disaster!”

“What about this?” Dorabella pulls a canvas out of a pile of paintings that are stacked against the wall and holds it out. “I remember seeing this once and I don’t recall a dedication on it.”

The Vadlott takes it from her, frowning at the sight of the words ‘For Amy’ inscribed on the pot above the signature. “That’s exactly what I meant,” he exclaims. “Ridiculous! And this is far from the worst thing he could have done.”

“True. He could have done this,” Edwin says softly, having moved to another pile of paintings and plucked one from the collection. He turns the image so the others can see it. “He painted the TARDIS,” he tells them, tapping the corner which clearly shows a blue box.

Briefly closing his eyes, the Vadlott puts down the sunflower painting, which is, after all, not particularly damaging, and crosses the room in a few large strides to snatch the picture.

“Exactly,” he snaps furiously. “Fool! Idiot! And the Doctor never bothered to come back and check either. It’s as if he wants the world to know what he’s doing!”

He is about to put his fist through the painting when Dorabella grabs his arm to stop him. “Please,” she protests, “don’t! You can’t destroy that! It’s – it’s a masterpiece!”

“Dora, it should never have existed,” he tells her heatedly. “I’m setting time right. Putting it back the way it should always have been. Nobody else must be allowed to see this – ever!”

“Then give it to me,” she says, her fingers curling around the sides of the canvas and putting herself in the position where he would have to hit her were her to damage the picture. “I’ll hide it somewhere it will never be found, but I can’t let you do that to it! It’s beautiful!”

His gaze clashes with hers, leading to a momentary battle of wills, before he concedes and hands it over. “Just make sure you find a good hiding place,” he grumbles.

She smiles victoriously and crosses the room to lean it against the door so that it will not be forgotten when they leave. For the next hour they continue to search every nook and cranny they can see, hunting through boxes and trunks and piles of papers and paintings, and the Vadlott can feel tension within him climbing as nothing else is found.

“So that’s it,” says Edwin when they have checked everything twice. “Just the one then. Oh, and the sunflower thing.”

“No, no, no,” the Vadlott contradicts him. “There has to be more! We just haven’t found it yet. Did you look under the bed?”

“I did,” volunteers Dorabella.

“So did I,” agrees Edwin. “Twice.”

The Vadlott frowns, uncertain why his instinct is driving him to this, but positive that it all seems too easy. And then his eyes widen and he claps his hands to his chest, pulling out the new sonic screwdriver he completed only the day before, but which he had forgotten about in all the excitement.

“So, let’s try this again,” he says, rather more cheerfully. “What else is hidden in this room?”

Slowly he scans the room, one surface at a time. And finally, on the very last wall, in the very last corner, he finds what he’s looking for.

“There,” he declares, his voice full of triumph. “That bit there. There’s a hiding space.”

He changes the setting and the plaster crumbles, revealing an opening. The Vadlott dives for it, digging around inside, and pulls out the contents – a single, rolled canvas. For an instant he closes his eyes, uncertain whether he wants to see what it is that has drawn him here, knowing it won’t be good. But as Edwin and Dorabella move up on either side of him, he slowly unrolls it, staring down at the message left by one of the greatest painters to ever live.

The exploding tardis is magnificent, the blues and yellows brilliant, the sense of movement and power unmistakeable.

It makes him feel sick.

“Is that yours,” Dorabella asks tremulously, “or the Doctor’s?”

“I don’t know,” the Vadlott is forced to admit. “It doesn’t really matter. The message behind it is clear enough.” He hesitates for a moment, frowning. “And the Doctor has to see it, too.”

“So you’re just going to knock on the door of hisTARDIS and deliver it?” demands Edwin in disbelief. “After everything you’ve done to avoid him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Vadlott retorts. “I’m not going to deliver it at all.” He turns to his companions and gives a pained smile. “You are. Both of you.”

“And how?” asks Dorabella anxiously.

“Simple.” He can hear the strain in his voice. “It’s time for you to go home.”

* * *
“So take that to Winson first thing in the morning,” the Vadlott tells Erwin, handing him the precious canvas. Dorabella is clutching the other picture to her chest, her eyes suspiciously red.

“I still don’t see why you can’t deliver it yourself,” objects the other man, nevertheless taking the picture and tucking it under his coat.

“Because history says I don’t, and I try very hard not to argue with history. It usually wins when I do.”

“But,” Dorabella looks around anxiously, “I don’t even know where we are! You’ve just brought us back to the middle of – wherever we are.”

“I know where we are.” Edwin gestures to a nearby building. “That’s my house.”

“Mine was destroyed by that bomb.” Dorabella’s eyes fill with tears ago and she turns to the Time Lord. “Vadlott, can’t you bring it back? Can’t we go back to a time before then so I can keep on living there? Bring that back for me?”

“Dora.” The Vadlott places his hands on her shoulders before tilting her chin up so that he can look down into her eyes. “All that time travel you’ve done with me. Think about it. How can I put you back into your own timeline? How can there be two Dorabella Pennys running around in the same place at the same time when there never was before?”

“But if there can’t be two of me, how can I possibly be here now?”

“You can,” he smiles a little, “as long as records also show that there was another Dorabella Penny, who happens to live in this exact street and who works in a very hush-hush effort for the war, thus necessitating much of the information about her to be suppressed for, oh, say, half a century or so. Which means nobody will question it when Dorabella Penny turns up for work in the morning. Nor,” he adds, turning to the silent man beside him, “when Edwin Bracewell presents the Prime Minister very important information after his return from that brief vacation he took for personal reasons.”

“But,” Dorabella’s voice carries pure desperation and it is clear how much she is trying to persuade the Vadlott to change his mind, “where will I live?”

The Time Lord glances at the man beside him, who is studying the road beneath their feet with enthusiasm, his discomfort at what he is about to say all too clear.

“I – I have a room,” Edwin suggests nervously. “A spare room. With a bed.”

The Vadlott finds himself actually holding his breath as he waits for Dorabella to respond. He has been growing ever more aggravated at the slow progress of their friendship into something more, but perhaps, if they are under the same roof, without him in the way to make things uncomfortable, it is more likely that events will arrive at the conclusion he believes to be inevitable.

Of course, he would never have deliberately tried to manipulate things by recording both Erwin and Dorabella as living at the same address when he had the tardis overwrite events and give them both new histories and new futures. Definitely not!

For a long moment Dorabella gazes up at Edwin, and the Vadlott can see the range of emotions in her eyes, but he only lets out the breath he had been holding when she finally smiles and takes the hand Edwin is offering her.

“Right then,” the Vadlott says briskly as soon as this has occurred, “off you go, both of you, and get stuck back into the war effort. Give that picture to Winston and he can do what he has to. Get him to call the Doctor.”

“And you’re sure you aren’t going to check out those co-ordinates?” demands Edwin anxiously. “The ones written on the front of the exploding tardis? You know it would be dangerous!”

“Of course not!” The Time Lord attempts to scoff, although it comes out as more of a choke. Still, he pushes himself to continue, managing an almost convincing roll of his eyes. “What, go somewhere I’m guaranteed to run into the Doctor? Have you learned nothing from all your time with me? I’m trying to stay away from him, not fall over him every time I turn around!”

The look Edwin gives him in return is sceptical, but he says nothing. “Just – be careful,” he says at last.

“You, too.” The Vadlott clasps his hand warmly. “Stay safe, Dr Bracewell.”

He turns to Dorabella, who throws her arms around him, squeezing him so hard that he is left momentarily breathless. Or is that the emotion he is feeling instead?

“Come back and see us,” she pleads.

“If I can, I will,” he vows solemnly, as he detaches himself from her hold and takes a step away towards where the tardis is waiting to whirl him off into space and time. “I promise.”

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