I know, you've seen one whole story involving this character, but I thought it'd be interesting to see how she'd react to leaving the Doctor. Very difficult, in other words…I do not own the Doctor (although the implications of using that particular word are eyebrow raising…), nor the TARDIS, but Lace is my creation and therefore mine to do with as I see fit…read on and enjoy! Oh yeah…slight mention of DS9…take no notice of it; nothing to worry about; probably should delete it but I won't…
Oh yes, the songs—this could be a toughie—Sarah McLachlan's "Elsewhere" (Fumbling Toward Ecstasy CD), um…forgot title (I'm gonna get sued here, aren't I?), from Chess; Sinead O'Conner's version of "I Am Stretched on Your Grave" (I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got CD); "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" from Evita; the Beatles's "Yesterday;" Sarah McLachlan's "Possession" (same CD as above); a song from Madonna's Ray of Light CD (oh boy am I gonna get sued); "No More" from Into the Woods; the Cranberries "No Need to Argue" (from same-titled CD); and the Beatles's "In My Life."
Some Minor Adjustments
PROLOGUE
A death wish.
"Are you friggin' loony?!" Lace screamed, stumbling after the Time Lord in the mud and the rain and the wind and the cold and the darkness.
"You're not the first to accuse me of that!" the Doctor shouted back breathlessly over the lightning and the thunder and the guns and the explosions. He grabbed her hand, making an abrupt turn and slipping in the slime. "This way!"
"Doc!" Lace screamed as she slid in the slime and the ooze and the grime. "Jesus fucking Christ, we're gonna die!!!"
"No." The Doctor pulled her up with sudden strength, his pale blue eyes hard and determined in the blackness. "We're not." He stared her in the eye, then nodded once. His grip on her arm tightened and they ran again.
"Doctor!" Lace screamed, backed into a corner and staring up at the monster of a man in front of her. Her bare feet slid on the slick tiling on the floor; her eyes were wide and terrified.
"I'm here," he said, appearing out of nowhere, his eyes blue and blazing. Lace sagged against the wall in relief and thought he looked so strong, so right, he could save the universe if he put his mind to it.
"Doctor?" Lace whispered, staring at him in shock, lying on a cold slab in a cold morgue in a cold basement in a cold hospital in a cold city on a cold planet. The single light bulb turned on flickered over his cold, lifeless body. "D-Doc?"
Alan tried to pull her away, turn her away. She shrugged him off and stepped slowly closer, in a dream, afraid, her heart and lungs not working properly. Neither were the Doctor's. A tear, and then another, and then another, spilled out and over her face, dripping down her cheeks and into her nose and mouth and down her neck, unnoticed by the girl.
She fingered his frock coat, ran her hands down his silk shirt and paisley vest, took hold of the watch chain. The cold, lifeless room was cold and lifelessly silent. She couldn't even sob properly, all feeling leached out of her by the coldness.
She closed her eyes and moaned a little past the gigantic lump in her throat. Alan put a sympathetic, shaking hand on her shoulder. The Doctor's pale eyes flickered open and looked around him.
"Oh no," he said and sat up. "Not again. I really hate morgues."
Lace gasped and began choking. Alan gaped at the Time Lord. Lace stared at the alive Doctor in shock.
"Hullo, Lace," he grinned. "Good to see you again, Alan."
Lace stared up at the medical doctor on the space station in the far future, her normally brown eyes a deep and burning violet. She wore a close-fitting black satin dress that flowed into a train, and her long, silky brown-blonde hair flowed down her back for what seemed forever. She smiled silkily at him.
"Hullo again, Julian," she murmured in her low voice.
"Lace?" he frowned in disbelief. She wanted to laugh but didn't.
"In the flesh," she answered. She looked around sickbay and smiled, moving to inspect an instrument, her dress moving with her. "It's good to see you again."
Lace, Alan, and the Doctor were huddled along with the rest of the prisoners, listening to the speaker. Lace frowned.
"No," she said suddenly, as if the idea had just occurred to her. She stepped forward, the rest of them staring at her in shock and confusion. "No," she repeated more certainly, staring up at the evil man in front of her. "You can't do this."
"No?" he asked, leering, but uncertainty was visible in his eyes.
"No. We'll stop you." There was no fear in her young, too-pale face, only simple, newfound bravery and surprise that she could stand up to this man. "You can't be allowed to do this."
The Doctor and Alan stepped up behind her, both quietly proud of their friend. The Doctor smiled at the man, his eyes glittering and steely. "You took the words right out of my mouth," he said to Lace but stared directly at the man. "You've lost."
chapter one
Lace opened her eyes. I've lost, she thought. No. I'm lost.
I believe this is heaven to no one else but me and I'll defend it long as I can be left here to linger in silence if I choose to
The Doctor was gone.
But dammit, he'd been gone for weeks. And still she kept dreaming about him. She kept thinking and wishing and dreaming and-what? No. Now she was driveling. Shut up, head. Get over it. Turn yourself off. Now.
She closed her eyes again.
* * *
Who need a dream? Who needs ambition? Who'd be the fool in my position? Once I had dreams now I have obsessions Hopes became needs
The birds were going mad outside her window again.
Lace opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The sun shone down onto her bed softly, as if apologizing for intruding. The birds outside chattered and squawked and screamed and did every other noise birds do. She wondered why they did that, all together like that. It always jarred on her, got her tense, like the whole world was mad.
Nope. Just me and the birds.
"Lace!" Her mother called. "Time to get up, honey! You don't want to be late!"
"You wanna bet?" Lace muttered grimly and crawled out of bed. She blearily looked around her room, checking for some unknown danger, then remembered she was back home, not in a time machine, not in a dungeon, not on an alien planet.
"Lace!"
"I heard you the first time!" Lace bawled back. She looked around her room again, knew she would eat breakfast, brush her teeth, stretch, go to school, like she did everyday of the week, like she had all her life. She could see the days stretching ahead of her, the same day over and over, the only thing changing how old she was and where she went. Same old same old...It was such an awful, inevitable feeling, really.
It was probably how death felt.
* * *
Lace walked into the history room, a distracted frown on her face that'd been there for some weeks now. She paused as she came in, as if uncertain why she was there or what she should do with the place now that she was there. She blinked and finally sat down in the back, in the same seat she'd had since the beginning of the school year, admittedly only a couple months ago.
She closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly, just like she'd learned in acting classes, in singing lessons, from the Doctor, forcing herself to concentrate on the here and now (a dry smile curved her lips when she realized what room she was in) and not on the past. Damn memories anyway. They just got in the way.
Other students came in, quickly filling up the room before the bell rang. No teacher stood in the room, and the whole class gabbed and laughed, throwing gum and pencils and notes, wandering around to friends' desks, all talking like what they had to say was the most important thing in the world. Lace sat in a void of forgotten silence, staring down at her books and seeing something entirely different.
Lace staggered out of the TARDIS. The Doctor followed her, his face pleading and frantic and nervous and worried and concerned and already resigned to the fact that'd he lost another friend. "Lace--" he started, catching hold of her shoulder.
She shook her head, a determined look on her face, that look the Doctor knew too well. His hearts ached. "I'm sorry, Doctor. But I'm here, home, and this might be the last chance I get for a long time. It's time, Doc. I should go now." She smiled at him, tears sparkling in her eyes, and she gently took his hand off her shoulder, squeezing it before letting go. "You of all people know about time. Good-bye. Thank you for the wildest ride of my life."
Lace squeezed her eyes shut and frantically tried to remember how to breathe.
I am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever with your hand held in mine I 'd be sure we'd not sever
Lace had changed for absolutely no reason that her friends could see--if they were still friends, that is. Lace was kinda fuzzy on that issue. Hell, she was kinda fuzzy all around. She was no longer a bubbling optimist, friendly with anyone and everyone; she was a confused, lost soul who seemed unable to function properly in society.
The dry smile came back to her face as she remembered Maggie's rather clinical description. Lace had been too tired at the time to even come up with a sarcastic retort about Maggie's qualifications as a psychologist, but at least she knew Mags was still her friend.
The smile became bitter. She had a lot in common with Maggie now. Like lack of friends. Damn.
The door flew open, and everyone scrambled for his or her seats while the teacher walked in. Lace paid no attention, even when all talking stopped and the silence became oppressive. She was too busy thinking.
I had to let it happen I had to change...
"Hullo," an elegant British accent broke through the unnatural quiet. Lace's head swung up in almost physical shock. She gaped at the young man, unnoticed by everyone.
The man continued in his precise diction, the kind of voice you could spend hours listening to and still want more, "I'm your substitute teacher. I'll be here for the next week or two--Mr Mauer is...uh, unable to teach at the moment." The man glared down at a couple sniggering students. He wore an elegant, well-fitting three-piece suit, extremely unusual in this sartorially relaxed school. His startlingly bright green eyes wandered over the group. "So I'll be taking over where you left off. My name is Michaels, by the way."
He turned and went to the desk in the corner of the room. The noise level immediately got louder as everyone began whispering, staring at his back. Lace stared at the substitute teacher and vaguely thought in some small, cut-off portion of her mind, I really have gone mad.
The man was Alan. But he wasn't. Alan had light brown hair, too long and falling over his collar. He instantly reminded one of a shy gentleman from a previous century. Either that, or a doddering Arthur Dent kind of idiot, always bemused and looking for a cup of tea, depending on what time you caught him. This man had sandy blonde hair, cut short, and an immediate, appealing charm. He was also younger than Alan--well, younger that Alan had been when Lace met him.
But the two were so alike--in height, unusual eye color, skin tone, bone structure, accent... everything. And the damnable name...
Lace felt an hysterical laugh building up inside her and couldn't stop it. She began giggling uncontrollably and tried desperately to keep it quiet, terrified that she was really insane. People were staring at her.
Michaels walked to the front of the room with the seating chart and attendance sheet, and now he too was staring at Lace. "Miss?" he said in an uncertain voice, looking for the first time since walking into the room that he wasn't in control. "Miss..." he looked down at the seating chart, "Miss Towning, are you all right?"
Lace shook her head. "Can I...get...a drink?" she gasped out, tears streaming down her red face.
Michaels nodded uncertainly. "Of course."
"Ta." She escaped from the room and collapsed against the wall, still laughing hysterically.
Finally Lace stopped chortling and wiped her eyes dry. She went to get her drink of water, then slipped back into the history room, perfectly composed. She didn't look at anyone else, even though most of them stared at her.
At lunch, she sat in the library, hiding in one of the cubicles, just as she'd been doing the past few weeks instead of eating lunch. Food just didn't interest her anymore.
Someone sat down at the cubicle next to hers and Lace knew who it was without looking.
"So I heard this madwoman had a giggling fit for no apparent reason in history class today," Maggie Stravinsky said in a conversational tone at normal speaking level. She never whispered in the library. Lace had just shrugged it off as one of Maggie's idiosyncrasies, of which she had many. "I immediately considered the possibility that it might be the lone friend I have and lo and behold! What do I learn? Indeed, it was Lace Anna Towning making a spectacle of herself yet again." She leaned forward, getting uncomfortable close to Lace. "I begin to question Lace Anna Towning's sanity."
"I still don't know how you find all this stuff out." Lace muttered, her eyes shifting and looking everywhere but at Maggie. "You refuse to talk to anyone but me."
"I know," Maggie agreed amiably and backing away. Lace was relieved. Her personal space had increased, and she always got tense when someone came too near her. "No one else even considers the possibility of attempting to comprehend me. You either enjoy a challenge or are masochistic, I still haven't decided which. So, what was the laughing hyena routine back there about?"
Lace found she was grinning again at the memory. "I don't suppose you've found out what the new sub's first name is from those sources of yours?"
"Indeed I have," Mags answered. "Never speak, my dear Lace, and they will ignore you. That is the secret to my eavesdropping success. His first name, I gather, is Lance." Her voice dropped with bitter sarcasm. "Short for Lancelot, the knight who stole Guinevere away from King Arthur. Or so he told some beautiful young thing in my history class."
"Lance Michaels," Lace whispered.
"Why?" Maggie inquired.
Lace refocused on her friend with difficulty. "Why what?"
"Why do you require the information?" Maggie insisted.
"Oh." Lace's face tightened. "Sorry, Mags. I'm having trouble concentrating."
"Oh? I hadn't noticed. I thought you were always this flighty."
Lace shook her head. She didn't feel up to having a conversation with anyone, let alone Maggie, who was prone to sounding like a thesaurus. "It figures the one friend I have left has to use the biggest words she can find," Lace said, echoing her thoughts.
Maggie was suddenly serious. She hardly ever smiled—her face wasn't built for it, she'd once told Lace acerbically—but the change from one frown to another marked the difference between good-natured sarcasm and sober gravity. "Come over after school tonight," she said. "I have a new Mr. Bean tape."
Lace forced a wan smile. "Bribery?" Maggie knew how much Lace loved British comedy.
"Just about," Maggie replied seriously. "I'm the depressed one, Lace. This school isn't big enough for two of us." She left the cubicle, disappearing from Lace's view.
Lace held her head in her hands, resisting the urge to break down and start sobbing. She was allowing this confusion, this depressed anxiety to continue because she half-liked the…the…melodramatic madness of it. It suited her romantic nature. But it had stopped being an act too long ago, and now she was afraid she would never get out of this mood.
Lace left the library.
* * *
Lace called her mother and rode home with Maggie on the bus. Her mother had been almost pathetically glad to hear her daughter was going to a friend's house, even if it was Maggie, the dour and weird loner.
Neither talked on the ride home, for which Lace was grateful. She just didn't feel up to holding a conversation. Maggie was just about the only person Lace knew who didn't hate silence so much she had to fill the void with stupid chatter.
A smile flickered briefly on Lace's tense face when she thought that. She used to hate silence so much she had to fill the void with stupid chatter. Lace was interested in almost anything, wanting knowledge for the sake of knowledge, so she could talk to anyone and was friends with everyone. Until now. Nobody liked that odd distraction that kept you lost in your own reverie or talking nonsense no one else understood.
About the only thing not affected by this attitude was Lace's grades. She was managing to still get straight A's, even doing better in some classes like English and history. She'd even skipped ahead to German III. Travelling broadens the mind Lace thought bitterly and mentally turned away from that train of thought. She knew where it would inevitably end up, just as every other train of thought Lace had had lately ended up. Obsessive madness she told herself and felt uncomfortable.
Her dancing and music were also improving. She spent all her free time practicing dance steps, piano, flute, learning guitar, writing new songs and creating new dances. A lot of the stuff she made up herself was in minor keys, lilting and sad and melancholy or angry and insistent and too fast. It all depended on her mood and what she was thinking about at the time. Well, mood really—she was always thinking about the same thing anymore…
Maggie let Lace in, and then they went into the rec room, throwing their stuff into Maggie's room first. Her parents were at work, the twin brothers at basketball practice, and both her older and younger sisters were at cheerleading practice. Her older brother was also at work, so they were alone. They sprawled in front of the TV to watch Mr. Bean and laugh themselves sick.
Lace hadn't enjoyed herself so much since...since...since awhile ago. She grinned at her friend, thanking her silently.
The tape ended and they went to get a couple sodas. "'Only friend' you said in the library," Maggie ruminated, staring into her cola. Lace gazed into her own orange soda with equal concentration. "While I do find it flattering you still consider me a companion with which to spend your free time, I am concerned by the adjective, 'only.' Why is that, Lace?"
Lace shrugged. "People don't like loonies. I thought you knew that," she added without thinking and winced. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Mags. You'd think I'd have some tact by now." She shook her head and thought about all the times tact would have come in very handy. "Sod it," she sighed.
Maggie's voice was clinical, impassive. "Sod it. Another example of your changed speech patterns. You say 'ta' instead of thanks and 'bugger' in place of darn. You sometimes speak with an almost British accent and you curse more frequently and with more fluency than you used to. Your German has also considerably improved, I've noticed, and you seem to have two moods: angry or lost. As opposed to when you were happy or thoughtful, which was not so very long ago. You are totally wrapped up in your own thoughts and have not an inkling of an idea what people have been saying about you lately."
"What have they been saying?" Lace asked quietly. The silence throughout the house was pressing down on her; she remembered from a long time ago--a year ago--that Mags's house was always loud with too many people living in it.
"You're no fun. You need help. They don't understand you anymore, Lace--your friends, the teachers, me. You've become so quiet, so tense, so lost. You're a changeling. What happened to the real Lace Towning?"
"She changed, that's all. Everyone and everything changes, Maggie, you know that. Else it would all become stagnant and grind to a halt. I'm sure there's some scientific law about that, perhaps one of the thermodynamic ones; I've heard the D--" Lace drew in a ragged, shaky breath and continued in a high, thin voice, "I've heard a teacher say so."
Maggie glared at her. "Yes, people change. But not so totally and not overnight. Friday you were you and bam! Monday you were Lace's evil twin who likes mocking me."
Lace rolled her eyes. "I'm not mocking you, Maggie. I'm just not...interested anymore. In my friends and what they have to say or do. Have you ever noticed how pointless their conversation is? How petty? It just seems so... small. Insignificant." Lace stared off into nowhere, her soda forgotten. "I don't like this place anymore. I don't like these people. I don't belong here. I want to get out of here."
"You always have," Maggie countered, her voice almost desperate. "So have I. Remember? We're moving to New York, so you can become famous on Broadway while I sit around in my apartment writing crap poetry and sarcastic short stories and feeling self-piteous and getting insanely drunk, ending up in an insane asylum by the time I'm 30." Maggie shook her head. "Oh wait, you weren't supposed to know about the last part."
A smile flickered on Lace's face. "Make it London and I'm there," she said.
Maggie sighed. "What is it with this sudden fascination with all things British?"
"It's not sudden." There was a spark of life in Lace's voice, a defensiveness and interest finally in reality and the conversation at hand. "I've always loved Brit stuff, you know that."
"But not to this extreme, almost obsessive degree," Maggie pointed out. "It that why you went mad in Michaels's class?"
"Uh, not quite," Lace grinned. "Michaels just, um, reminded me of someone I met not too long ago."
"Oh really?" Maggie sounded skeptical. "You are very weird, Lace."
"From you, that's a compliment," Lace grinned.
* * *
Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away now it looks as though they're here to stay oh I believe in yesterday
Lace stared up at Lance Michaels and wondered desperately what she should do. She really wanted to ask him if he had a brother or cousin or some relative named Alan who looked and sounded exactly like him, but she was acutely self-conscious of talking to the man after acting like such an ass the first day he'd taught her class. He was still charming, easy to listen to and understanding, and most of the girls in the school already were developing major crushes on the young Briton. Lace instinctively knew he was supremely aware of it but refused to act on it. Lace didn't know to despise him for his shallow arrogance or like him for his reticence. Whenever he talked to her, his green eyes were wary, like he was afraid she'd suddenly start laughing at him again. Lace's face flushed with hot embarrassment whenever she thought of that episode, and she despised herself for not having better self-control.
She was trying to get back to normal, regain her usual cheerfulness and impulsiveness, but it was harder than she expected. She was finding everyone around her too shallow or too simple or too ignorant, and she was fighting an arrogant contempt for everyone she used to like, not to mention a paranoid mistrustfulness just in case it turned out these people were really the bad guys. Lace had never thought of herself as arrogant or better than anyone else, let alone cynical, and she hated herself for it, but she couldn't stop the prejudice or wariness.
Lace sat at a computer in the library at lunch one day, typing up a report for one of her classes. Her fingers were clumsier than usual; she'd forgotten how to use the keyboard, and she kept hitting the wrong keys.
"Hi, Lace--"
"Shit," Lace hissed viciously, pounding on the keyboard but really wanting to throw the computer against the wall. "Piss off, I'm busy."
"I apologize," Maggie said elaborately, "if I inconvenience you at this time by attempting to converse with you; however--"
"Christ, Mags, d'you have any idea how pompous you sound half the time?" Lace turned her head to look up at her friend.
Maggie rewarded her with one of her rare grins, a baring of white teeth and a manic gleam in her dull brown eyes. Lace was profoundly glad she spent most of her time with a dour frown on her face. "Yes. It is a means to an end."
Lace raised her eyebrows (she'd never got the hang of raising just one brow). "Oh?"
"Yes. People avoid me like the plague."
Lace snorted and turned back to the computer screen. "I thought they avoided you because they don't like to be almost suicidally depressed, not because you use big words."
Maggie shrugged. "That too. I'm a double threat." She waited, then sighed and said," It's not often I'm given the silent treatment. I'll leave."
"Ta," Lace called after her friend without looking up. She was left alone for five whole minutes before she heard footsteps approaching.
"Lace--"
"Don't talk to me," Lace warned the unknown person, still staring at her paper and furiously typing.
"Sorry," Mr Michaels answered, sounding wounded and confused. "I just wanted to ask you a quick question."
Oh shit Lace barely stopped herself saying. She looked up at him, red-faced again and stuttered out, "S-sorry, Mr Michaels. I've got to finish this report--I thought you were another student--"
Lance Michaels waved an airy hand, dismissing her apology easily. "Quite all right. I just wanted to talk to you about joining the Social Studies team for Academic Super Bowl. The coaches are starting to gather information and recruiting students. Are you interested?"
"Social studies team?" Lace repeated blankly, staring up at him, unaware for once how much he reminded her of Alan.
"Yes, you're very good in my history class, and I thought you'd be a great help for the team. I don't know who's coaching what, but you're supposed to sign up with Mrs Johnson."
"Oh." Lace looked thoughtful. Michaels studied her surreptitiously, her incredibly long hair and thin, tense face and small, muscular, strong body. She was an odd one, that's for sure, but interesting, not off-putting, like her friend, Maggie Stravinsky. "Well, I'll think about it." She smiled up at Michaels shyly; he instantly perked up; she had a very contagious smile. "Thank you for asking me, Mr Michaels."
He smiled back, a wry smile that so reminded Lace of Alan he completely floored her again. "You're welcome, Lace." He walked away.
Lace stared after him, watching him go, blinking in shock and confused pain. She turned back to her computer with difficulty and stared fuzzily at the words on the screen, trying to find her place, remember what she was doing, where she was, who she was now.
She slowly began typing again.
* * *
Voices trapped in yearning memories trapped in time The night is my companion solitude my guide would I spend forever here and not be satisfied....Oh, you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes my body aches to breathe your breath your words keep me alive and I would be the one to hold you down kiss you so hard I'll take your breath away and after I wipe away the tears just close your eyes dear...
Michaels was almost becoming a permanent figure around school. Mauer's absence had stretched to three weeks, was now beginning its fourth. Lace was getting involved in Academic Super Bowl, as well as Drama Club. She found being busy helped her forget her past a little easier. And people were still gossiping about her, just like they were about Lance Michaels.
He was funny, made history interesting, and had a colorful background that he occasionally told the odd snippet about to one of his classes, and soon the story was all around school. He'd told stories about other jobs he'd had, both before and after coming to America from England, as well as scrapes he'd gotten into or people he'd met.
He never once mentioned his family.
Lace was burning with curiosity about his past, and she devoured any story she heard. Maggie called it "Lace's obsession with the Anglo-Saxon descendant," but that was only because she'd been itching to get the word "Anglo-Saxon" into a conversation for a few days. Lace called it regret, or a need for a past she lost. But she only called it that when in a self-piteous melancholia, which wasn't quite as often as it had been awhile ago. She wanted to stop thinking about the past, wanted to stop the madness and confusion, so she drove herself hard, finding ways to keep busy and not think.
She still occasionally had lapses though, what she called memory flashbacks. She almost got hysterical when a science teacher mentioned blue boxes (the teacher said the blue boxes were good for studying; Lace heartily agreed). Certain songs set her off, certain words or phrases or accents she overheard drowned her in memories; she more than once screamed out, laughing while tears streamed down her face, at a basketball game, "Aim for the eyepiece!!!" earning her more than one odd stare. But she found a new self-confidence and didn't give a damn. She was sure the Doctor would approve.
Lace was walking down the hall one day between class periods when someone called her name. She turned around and saw Mr Michaels jogging after her, looking more like one of the students than a teacher. He wore a loosened tie, his collar was undone, he had no jacket and his shirtsleeves were rolled up--admittedly, not what a student would normally wear--but he appeared too young to be a teacher.
"Hello Mr Michaels," Lace said. She always went shy around him, hating herself for it, but she couldn't stop herself.
"Hallo, Lace," he replied a trifle breathlessly. "Grief. I must get back in shape. Perhaps I should offer to help coach the track team or baseball or something."
They walked down the hall, Michaels completely at ease and Lace uncertain how she should act. Teachers never walked down the hall with her chatting; she'd developed a formal attitude around teachers, encouraging standoffishness. Other students were looking at them curiously, sometimes enviously. "So you've become a permanent addition to the faculty?" she asked.
He laughed. "You sound that friend of yours--what's her name? Maggie. Yes, Maggie Stravinsky." He didn't notice Lace's face flushing. "Yes, I'm sticking out the rest of the year. It appears the old boy shan't be coming back, at least definitely not before next year, which means I've got a job until early June."
"Is that unusual?" Lace's curiosity got the better of her.
"What, having a job last more than a month? Rather." He shook his head. "Anyway, that wasn't what I wanted to ask you. How's the social studies team holding up?"
"Oh," Lace said in relief, glad to come at last to the reason for this conversation. "It's going great; I like it. Except the books are sometimes incredibly boring." Or incredibly inaccurate she didn't add.
"Aren't all history books that way?" He watched Maggie open her locker next to Lace's, put in one book and take out another, and leave without speaking. Lace slowly followed Maggie's example. "I say, you friend should be on the team--or one of the other teams. I've heard--and seen--she's as smart as you are."
Lace was startled by the compliment. It didn't even sound intentional, just matter-of-fact. "Oh, sh-she doesn't talk to anyone," she stumbled on her words, quickly bending over to grab her science book.
"I've noticed," Lance sounded wry. Lace had a poignant image of Alan in her mind. "Why is that?"
Lace shrugged, giving the teacher her best unreadable teenager look and still feeling he should be able to give her the same look back. She just bit off asking how old he was. "She's a loner. Doesn't care greatly for people. She's been like that ever since junior high--sixth grade, when she moved here."
"Oh." He nodded his head once, as if she'd just confirmed something, then stepped back, still smiling at Lace. The hall was dark; some idiot had turned off the lights again, and it was crowded with students and teachers hurrying to class or standing around in groups chatting, but Lance Michaels was an oasis of stillness, his green eyes shining. He looked a lot like a young Victorian gentleman, said Lace's romantic mind. Just like Alan she thought sadly and blinked up at him, her face serious and very young. Lance frowned and felt he'd just missed something. "See you later, Lace."
"See ya," Lace whispered back.
* * *
Maggie went to the first Academic Super Bowl competition after much pleading on Lace's part and grumbling on Maggie's part. She sat in the bleachers, waiting for it to begin, already bored and sardonically sure it would only get worse. Lace's mother sat near her but apart from her. She'd driven Maggie there and would take both girls home, but she still didn't particularly care for Lace's friend.
That's all right. I don't particularly care for people.
The competition finally began, starting with the English team. Maggie's eyes wandered, looking at the competitors and other spectators. Toward the end of the math team's stay, a man slipped into the gymnasium, sitting down on the bottom of the bleachers, close to the door he'd come through. He piqued Maggie's interest with his appearance. The strange man was dressed in a velvet frock coat and loose cravat, and his golden-brown curls straggled over his collar. He seemed remarkably interested in the proceedings.
During the Fine Arts team, which was right before social studies (thank god, Maggie thought to herself) the gym door swung squeakily open again and Lance Michaels strode in, noticing Maggie almost immediately and joining her. The stranger looked up at Lance in undisguised interest, and Maggie noticed his pale blue eyes and pale skin before he turned back to the stage and competition.
"Hullo, Miss Stravinsky," Michaels whispered. "I hope I'm not too late for the social studies team?"
The man sounds like something out of Charles Dickens, Maggie thought and answered, inwardly bitterly grinning, "Indeed you're not, Mr Michaels. The fine arts section of the proceedings is just now concluding, and the social studies team will commence competition after announcing the placings of the science teams. Our school has done remarkably well so far."
A wry smile briefly lit up her history teacher's face. "So sorry to trouble you," he whispered back and slid down a row. Maggie couldn't hide her grim smile this time; she scared a bored little four-year-old who had been forced to come along with her mother and had been listening to their conversation for lack of anything more interesting to do.
Lace had fun, whispering and giggling and comparing answers with other students not actually on stage competing. When it was her team's turn to go up, she was completely relaxed and enjoying herself. In fact, she felt rather giddy and silly.
They didn't become serious at the table. They probably all became worse, drawing pictures on the scratch paper provided and making faces and jokes about the answers.
There was only the all-around team to go before the competition ended. Lace was hunting with her eyes for her mother and Maggie after the night's activities ended when she caught a flash of dark velvet and her heart seemed to literally stop.
"Congratulations," Lance Michaels strode up to Lace, grinning. "You and your teammates did a jolly good job, I must say."
Lace stared up at him, her brown eyes wide and filled with pain. "Ta," she said distractedly, searching again for the Doctor. "Please excuse me Al--Lan--Mr Michaels, I thought I--" she ran away from the teacher without finishing the sentence, her black heels clicking on the hard floor, leaving Lance bemused and for some reason afraid. Lace's emotions seemed so huge, so overpowering, they flowed into the people around her. What had she almost called him?
Lace caught another glimpse of velvet and curly hair in a crowd, but by the time she wiggled and ducked and maneuvered her way through, he was gone. She stood alone in her black and white dress, her incredibly long brown-blonde hair in a single thick and heavy braid, lost and crushingly disappointed again, in a void of forgotten silence.
"Lace," her mother called and joined her daughter, placing a concerned hand on Lace's small and rock hard, tensed arm. "Honey, are you okay? We're waiting for you."
Lace looked up at her mother, her brown eyes still huge and lost, her face pale and childlike in its seriousness. "Sorry, mom. I thought--I saw—I saw--someone I knew." She took hold of her mother's arm on her arm and squeezed it. "Let's go home, mom."
Her mother squeezed her hand back. "All right, dear."
* * *
They dropped Maggie off and drove back to their house in silence. Lace knew her mother was concerned about her, had been for months now, ever since she'd come back from a walk in the woods that'd ended up being the trip of a lifetime. Lace was finally, gradually getting back to normal, when all of a sudden tonight she had that lost, hunted look again. Her mother wanted to know who she'd been looking for in the crowd, why she was acting so completely out of character, what had happened that weekend over four months ago.
Well, she'd just have to keep waiting. Lace still wasn't up to talking about that weekend and its consequences, and even if she could, her mother would immediately send her to the loony bin. Lace was even beginning to think it was some mad dream that'd been too like reality--well, no, completely unlike reality--but it felt like it was real, not just a dream, but it must've been a dream--
Yeah. And she'd imagined the Doctor at the competition. Lace shook her head, looking tired, kissed her mother good night, and went to bed.
chapter two
Do I know you from somewhere/Why do you leave me wanting more? Why do all the things I say/Sound like the stupid things I said before/Kiss me I'm dying/Put your hand on my skin
The Doctor stood in the doorway of his TARDIS, framed by the blue splintering wood and the foggy darkness of the outside world. A light from within the police box surrounded him, softening his golden-brown curls and velvet frock coat and pale, long face and blue eyes.
I'm not like this all the time
He stood in the rain, staring at Lace, yelling at her to pull herself together, be strong; she can handle it. The rain fell in his hair, the wind blew his hair in his face, his cravat was undone, his coat crooked and splattered with mud, his whole appearance disheveled.
Touch me I'm trying/To see inside your soul
He swept her around a grand ballroom, dancing to the beautiful strains of a waltz played by the king's personal orchestra. He always wore that damned coat and cravat and vest and wing-collared shirt, even to a ball held by the king, but Lace didn't mind; he was still too hot for words.
Put your hand on my skin/I close my eyes/I need to have your protection
Lace stretched out on the stage, luxuriating in the easing of her tense muscles. God, she'd been tense for almost two years now, she thought with a tiny, wry smile.
She was alone in the school's small auditorium. Drama Club rehearsal wouldn't begin for another half-hour yet, and she felt like dancing.
The stage and seats were totally silent and empty. Lace had found a love for silence in the past few months she hadn't had before, finding the intrusion of damned people chattering irritating as hell. Yep. Definitely hanging around with Maggie too much Lace grinned to herself and stood up.
She'd brought her boom box with her for PE class (they had to run a mile and wanted something to listen to) so she plugged it in and put in her favorite tape. The first song was the intro from the movie Withnail and I, a bizarre movie that Lace had found prowling through the movie rental place one Saturday night and fallen in love with. One of the actors irresistibly reminded her of the Doctor.
And besides, it had a damned good soundtrack.
She began dancing. The next song was from Swing Kids and she laughed giddily, keeping time with the fast-paced song. She ended the song on the floor in a heap, her hair surrounding her like a cape and covering her face. "Bei Mir Bist Du Schön" began; Lace sang along with it, sounding like a singer out of the late 1930's. Then "Gesthsemane" began; one of the most beautiful, terrible, powerful songs Lace had ever heard; she sang with that too.
"Wicked," Lance Michaels said from the house.
Lace stood up (she'd been seated in the same position on the floor the whole time) her hair falling away from her face like a sea being parted. She glared down at him, angry and afraid, which disconcerted the young history teacher. "What're you doing here?" she asked bluntly, towering over him on the stage, her head raised regally. She looked like a tiny tyrant queen, if queens wore jeans and t-shirts and had hair like that. Lance detected a lessening of American accent, something he noticed only in her and Jones Smith, another student in one of his classes, but Jones had a reason to sound British; she'd lived there a lot. To the best of Lance's knowledge, Lace Towning had never been outside the United States.
"I peeked in to see what was going on," Michaels explained away his presence, a nervous glint in his green eyes. "I thought there might be a rehearsal; I heard music—but there was only you…You're very good, Miss Towning."
Lace had calmed down by the end of his little speech. While learning to appreciate silence and solitude, she'd also learned a long time ago to hate being snuck up on. (Leave that life behind you, you silly dolt.) "Thank you," she accepted the compliment, mollified. "I wasn't expecting anyone to be there," she added, feeling she owed him the explanation. "You—startled me."
"I'm sorry," Michaels replied quietly. 'Startled' isn't what he'd call it; 'terrified' was closer to the mark, or 'prepared to beat you up.' "I promise to be louder the next time I approach you."
Lace snorted and turned away, not sure how to respond to that. She jumped off the stage, not wanting to stretch out in front of the teacher, and headed for her backpack.
"You and your team did a jolly good job last night," Lance said. He didn't move, but watched Lace from where he stood, almost in the very back of the auditorium.
"So you told me last night. Thank you." Lace wondered if she should feel so harassed; most of her (female) classmates would be thrilled to talk to Mr Michaels.
"Yes. I was wondering why you ran away when I was speaking to you."
Oh god. Most of my classmates wouldn't have something to hide from this inquisitive man either. Lace vividly saw the Doctor again, in frock coat and paisley vest and brown curls and heard the song from Withnail and I. "I thought I saw someone I knew," she said stiffly, fighting back unreasonable and embarrassing tears. "I was wrong." She carefully unclenched her hands and didn't look at Lance.
"Oh." He waited a moment, or maybe he hesitated before speaking again, Lace wasn't sure. "Well, see you tomorrow, Lace."
She didn't answer. He left. Lace stayed in her seat, staring at the stage, lost in her own thoughts.
* * *
Maggie found Lace outside the school, leaning against the scratchy brick wall in consume, makeup already on. It was early April, the night of the Drama Club's first performance. On the following Monday was the area competition for Academic Super Bowl, the competition that counted if one wanted to go to State. And Lace wanted to go to State, when she concentrated enough to think about it.
"You nervous?" Maggie asked, struggling to see Lace's face in the darkness. The show didn't start for an hour. "Break a leg."
"Ta," Lace answered. She sounded like she wasn't listening. Or maybe she just wasn't interested.
"Think you'll do well tonight? Personally I mean?"
Lace shrugged.
Maggie rolled her eyes. "Lace, don't be an ass." Lace blinked in surprise, but her friend couldn't see her expression in the darkness. "I know who much you enjoy live theatre--enjoy this. Stop moping--what right do you have to mope anyway? What have you lost that's so important you stay depressed for so long afterwards?"
Lace paused before answering. "My life," she whispered, her voice drifting away in the darkness.
Maggie snorted contemptuously. "Don't be daft. Or so damned melodramatic. You're still alive, you're still here, and you're performing tonight in front of possibly hundreds. This is something you've wanted to do as long as I've known you, even longer, no doubt. Get off your sorry butt and get happy!"
"Is that an order?" Lace's voice was remotely amused.
"Yes," Maggie snapped.
"Did you know you sometimes almost sound like a drill sergeant?" Lace asked conversationally. Maggie could hear a thin thread of hysteria in her still-amused voice, even though she still couldn't see her friend's face.
Maggie tensed. "Lace--"
Lace sighed, cutting her off, and shifted position against the brick wall. "You're right, you know Mags. I've been telling myself that awhile now; I've got to stop living in the past. Got to stop all the regrets, and the fears, and all the damned inconvenient memories." Her voice was rapidly losing control, and Maggie was afraid she was beginning to cry. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm not going insane, literally, certifiably insane..."
"Why?" Maggie could only force the word out in a whisper.
She sounded desperate, at wits' end. "Because I lost the chance of a lifetime. Because I let it slip away, just when I was getting used to it, really enjoying it to the limit. I can't tell what's real anymore, Mags! I get so lost, so confused...I forget what I knew a day ago, two seconds ago!" She drew in a ragged breath. "No. I'm going to stop this. End this now. Enough of this. I'm sorry Maggie. You're right, I'm acting like a melodramatic ass." Her voice was rapidly calming down, gaining control; she sounded cool and remote again. "Thank you." She slipped inside, leaving Maggie in the darkness, confused and alone.
* * *
Lace stumbled down a darkened hallway in the school, attempting to avoid everyone and be alone before she had to go back to the auditorium. She had to regain control of herself before joining the rest of the cast. She'd barely been able to calmly walk away from Maggie before an undeniable urge to run away had made her start jogging, despite her heels and long skirt.
She sagged against a hard wall, breathing hard, sobs caught in her throat. She was going mad, she was going mad, going mad...
Damn.
No more questions, Please. No more tests. Comes the day you say, "what for?" Please--no more....we disappoint in turn I guess. Forget, though, we won't... No more.
Lace closed her eyes and rocked back and forth against the wall, squeezing the tears back into her eyes so they wouldn't smear her makeup. She laughed bitterly at that thought; always an actress, first and foremost, she told herself with considerable self-disgust.
She carefully wiped her eyes, all emotion spent. She stood up and smoothed down her skirt and hair before heading to the nearest bathroom to check her appearance. She stared at her face in the mirror but didn't see herself, telling herself over and over that she could do this, she could do this, she could play this part tonight and drive the audience wild and no one need ever know that not so deep down inside she was dying, really dying...
No more.
* * *
Maggie sat down in the back of the auditorium, not wanting to see or be seen by anyone. Ten minutes later, just as the curtain opened, someone stole into the seat next to hers. Maggie resisted the impulse to see who it was with ease; she was very good at ignoring people. Besides, if she didn't look at them, they wouldn't look at her.
She enormously enjoyed the show. Lace did a superb job; there was no trace of her earlier anxiety attack or whatever it was that had so unnerved Maggie. Lace had a good sense of timing and could milk every line for what it was worth.
When the show ended and the house lights came on, Maggie turned and was startled to see who had sat down next to her. It was the man with the velvet frock coat and curly hair. He was staring off into nowhere, a sad smile on his long, pale face. Lance Michaels passed by the man up the aisle without noticing him, but the man noticed Lance and twisted in his seat to watch him go out the auditorium with the rest of the audience.
He turned back to Maggie, and she was nervous, looking into his pale blue eyes and wishing she could look away. "Who was that young man who just walked by?" the man asked in an accent Maggie immediately found intriguing. "Tallish, sandy blonde hair, in a suit?"
"Lance Michaels," Maggie stuttered out, breaking her rule about talking to anyone other than family (and only when she had to), the odd teacher or two, and Lace. "He's a history teacher here."
"Oh is he?" the man sounded amused. "Thank you." He bounded out of his seat and jogged out of the auditorium.
Maggie sat back in her seat and shook her head. "Huh," she muttered to herself, her voice echoing in the empty theatre. "What a weird evening this has been."
She didn't see what happened next.
chapter three
Lace stood in the receiving line with her castmates, laughing and talking, acting like any other normal teenager in America. Her cheeks were pink with rouge and excitement, and her hair was coming undone from its French braid. She was beautiful, young and aware of all the different, endless possibilities ahead of her and feeling glorious, almost forgetting how she'd felt before the show and how she'd felt the past few months.
She grinned impulsively up at Lance Michaels and held out her hand. He shook it, then just as impulsively gave her a quick hug. "You were marvelous," he told her frankly. "Stay involved with the stage. You've got great talent."
"And how would you know that?" she asked teasingly. Other audience members walked around them, continuing down the line.
"Didn't I tell you?" His green eyes were dancing with amusement; Lace's energy and good mood were infectious. "I've also been a playwright and actor."
Lace laughed, a bubbly sound of joyous amusement. "A regular Shakespeare! Now why doesn't that surprise me?"
Michaels grinned back and went to the next cast member.
Lace was looking around, a smile still lurking on her face, when she froze. Her skin turned pasty under the thick makeup, and her bra felt two sizes too small. She answered the next handful of well wishers distractedly, her eyes and entire attention focused on the people coming down the line toward her. One particular person in fact, talking to each cast member individually, a comment or compliment for everyone. Lace could almost imagine what he'd say to each of them, could almost hear his voice, his accent, oh gawd, he was coming toward her, dammit, she could hear his voice even before he spoke to her--
"Hullo, Lace," the Doctor said softly to Lace. He looked down at her, looking exactly the same as he had five months ago when she'd left his company. "How are you?"
"How am I? How am I?!" Lace took his hand and pulled him away from the receiving line, into a secluded alcove directly behind her. "I'm going mad, Doc!" She was ready to start crying again, her happiness easily vanished. He was standing right in front of her for god's sake--
"Lace?" Pale blue eyes looked into brown ones worriedly.
"I don't belong here anymore!" The tears were shining in her eyes, spilling over uncontrollably. She so desperately wanted to hug him, touch him, make sure he was real and standing in front of her, not an hallucination. "I don't fit in, Doctor. I hate the gossip, and the small-mindedness, and the simple fools. I want to meet aliens and kings from the past again! I want my old room back!" Lace began laughing hysterically, feeling as if her whole life was falling apart right in front of her. "God, listen to me! I sound like a madwoman! This is insane, the stuff I say!" She looked up at the Time Lord pleadingly. "I don't remember simple things anymore, like my brother's birthday, or my parents' anniversary, or the lyric for a song I used to know by heart. I have nightmares, about Daleks and people screaming and bombs and dying. I don't remember what I'm doing anymore!" Her voice was getting louder and louder, but still no one but the Doctor heard. "Why did you let me leave, Doctor? Didn't you know how hard this would be?!"
His face was almost unbearable to look at in his sympathy. "I'm sorry, Lace," he said, catching hold of her hand. He could feel the intensity, see the strain she'd been under for months. He was horrified by how stressed she was. "I'm so sorry. But you couldn't stay with me forever, you knew that. It was the right time for you to leave, no matter how hard...You do belong here, you just haven't adjusted yet."
Lace shook her head, unwilling to believe him. "Bullshit. Those are just words," she insisted. She could feel him slipping away from her. "Empty words. They're meaningless. I get enough of that crap here. Please, Doc!" She held onto his cool hand like it was a lifeline.
The Doctor folded her into a hug. She sagged against him, able at last to let go of the tension she'd held in for a year and a half, ever since she'd met the mysterious Time Lord. His clothes were soft, and he was warm and strong, something Lace could believe in and trust. She smiled in contentment. He was real.
After awhile he spoke, his voice soft and understanding but relentless. "You could never stay with me forever, Lace. All my companions go home eventually. Susan, Jamie, Sarah Jane, Tegan, Ace, even Alan…you all leave my company. You have to. My life just isn't suitable for a lifelong career; you're not built for it. I have to accept that. So do you." He stepped back, still gently holding onto her shoulders. "You'll be all right, Lace," he said, his eyes bright with faith in her. "I promise. It will get better." He began wiping the tears from her face, smiling kindly down at her. "You'll see."
Lace sniffed and managed a trembly smile back, taking his hand and squeezing it as hard as she could. She needed the touch. He squeezed back, seeming to understand.
Sometimes, no matter how much he objected, he could be human.
"I saw you at Academic Bowl."
" Yes, I came to see how you did. Very good."
Lace flushed with pleasure, and with her free hand wiped her face. She sniffled. "Thank you. Did you see my history teacher? He was the one who persuaded me to join."
"Ah, indeed I did," the Doctor grinned. "Mr Michaels, the notorious prodigal son Lance. I wonder if I should go find Alan and tell him what his younger brother is doing."
"I knew they were brothers," Lace said. "You have no idea how shocked I was the first day I saw him. I swear I went crazy. Started laughing and couldn't stop for five minutes straight."
"Oh dear." The Doctor sounded amused as he led her back to the receiving line. Most of the audience had gone by now, and the cast disappeared to change and wash their faces. "Poor Lance." He gently extracted his hand from Lace's grip. "I should go. You know how I dislike good-byes… " his voice trailed off awkwardly and he avoided Lace's eyes.
Lace couldn't bear to see him leave. "Don't go," she whispered and hated herself for the tears welling up again. "Please, I need you."
The Doctor shook his head, his own face sad. "No no no no no no. I'm just what you don't need. I only came to see how you were doing, check up on you. I….missed you." He sighed. "I think it was a good thing I came, too. We both needed better closure." He hugged her again, quickly this time, and Lace felt a physical wrench when he stepped deliberately away from her. She could feel an invisible barrier between them and knew she shouldn't cross it. "Good-bye, Lace. I am very glad I met you and had the chance to get to know you." He turned away and strode down the hall, not looking back once, a bizarre and romantic figure in his trousers and frock coat and curly hair.
There's no need to argue anymore I gave all I could but you left me so sore and the thing that makes me mad is the one thing that I had I knew I knew I'd lose you you'll always be special to me special to me…will I forget in time you said I was on your mind there's no need to argue anymore there's no need to argue anymore
She was still a little tearful. "Not half as glad as I am, Doc," she whispered as she watched him leave the school.
* * *
Time passed.
chapter four:
three years later
Lace took a walk.
She wandered down the street, up the hill, past the ponds, and into the cornfields at the dead end. She'd walked this so often over eighteen years of her life, but this time felt special. It might be the last time she'd walk this way for awhile.
No, she doubted that; after all, she wasn't leaving for St. Louis for a few months yet. But this walk still felt important, significant, somehow.
She walked down the path through the fields, further than she'd intended. After awhile she realized where her subconscious had taken her and she smiled sadly in remembrance.
One bright, cool sunny Saturday afternoon she'd taken the same walk and her whole life had changed. She'd aged a year in five minutes, matured years in one weekend.
Funny what time can do to you.
She stared at the broken down corn crypt and remembered a cool wind and richly colored leaves and a now-achingly-familiar wheezing, groaning sound and a blue box dematerializing out of nowhere. A far cry from Precalculus and AP English and Chemistry and study hall and frantically studying and filling out applications and learning lines and remembering lyrics and harmonies and steps...
Lace leaned against a convenient tree, suddenly exhausted. She snorted mirthlessly. She remembered going days with only the odd catnap. Christ Jesus, that seemed fifty years ago now.
Funny what time can do to you.
* * *
She was getting ready for bed when she glanced out her window and saw an almost full moon. On an impulse, she went out onto the back deck and stared up at that beautiful, silvery moon.
She shivered. Though it was almost June, there was still a cool wind, a warning summer wasn't quite here yet. A plane, only visible because of its blinking lights, flew overhead, so high above she couldn't even hear the roar behind it. A few stars winked out alongside the moon; it was a very clear night.
Lace sighed. The moon was a dear, familiar sight; she remembered walking on it once a million years in the past. A bizarre thought; she'd had lots of passing thoughts like that of late, but they felt comfortable, normal now, like old friends. She didn't mind.
One last glance at the silver moon and black velvet sky. No more. Lace went back inside.
It took her awhile to fall asleep that night.
* * *
There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed, some forever, not for better, some have gone and some remain All these places had their moments with lovers and friends I still can recall some are dead and some are living. In my life I've loved them all...Though I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before, I know I'll often stop and think about them, in my life Ill love you more
Lace checked her appearance one more time in the mirror. She was graduating from high school tonight, giving the valedictory address, and she wanted to look her best. It was, after all, the most important night of her life so far.
"You look fine," Maggie rolled her eyes in exasperation. She wore a dress under her robe only after being threatened and almost physically attacked by Lace. "Can we please go now? I would really hate to be late for my own speech you know." She frowned, considering the idea. "Then again..."
"Oh shut up," Lace retorted good-naturedly, pushing the bathroom door open with her back. "We're right on time, I assure you."
She looked around the airy hallway, remembering incidents and conversations and accidents in this corridor. She'd been thinking about the past a lot lately. Only natural, she supposed, considering she was closing a chapter of her life. She'd been thinking about the Doctor and her travels with him and Alan for a few weeks now, something she hadn't done once she'd said good-bye to the Time Lord the second time at school after the play. When he'd said good-bye that night, she'd wiped the tears away and firmly turned her back on that period of her life, not wanting the guilt and regret and disappointment anymore. It'd been too much for her to handle. But lately she'd been remembering odd little moments, walking on the moon, cool October winds, flashes of memory, a conversation or planet or joke she and Alan had shared.
She thought of the Doctor and Alan as she sang her song instead of giving a speech, "No One is Alone" from Into the Woods, and tears came to her eyes again but she finished without breaking down, the audience cheering and giving her a standing ovation. Maggie's salutatory speech was terse, acerbic, and very quickly over. Lace was mildly surprised her friend hadn't frozen at the thought of speaking to all those people, considering she never spoke to anyone unless forced into it, and then only grudgingly.
Lace looked around at her classmates fondly, not wanting to forget their faces, forget this moment. There was Maggie, sardonic and probably thinking something complicated and rude about the speaker. Jones was probably also thinking of something rude, only more blunt. She looked odd and exotic with her newly incredibly short dyed blonde hair and black velvet dress peeking out under her robe. Julian, the very epitome of a long-suffering Englishman surrounded by odd Americans, appeared just as lazy as always, his silky black bangs falling in his bright blue eyes and looking uncomfortable in a suit. Charlie was daydreaming again, the lights sparkling in her dull brown eyes as she imagined something, Lace didn't know what. A life of grand adventure, danger and excitement, no doubt, Lace thought to herself with a small, sympathetic grin. Alex appeared to be planning the most opportune moment to stand up and shout out something either inexplicable or obscene, Lace couldn't tell, but there was a dangerously mischievous glint in his eyes. Froggie was trying not to fall asleep, and Sarah was obviously bored out of her mind. Mark was idly playing with a loose string on his robe.
Damn, they were all growing up, weren't they?
When it was all over, and the graduates all stood around greeting people, Lace stood in a void of forgotten silence, lost in her own thoughts, both sad and excited. Moving on, but leaving a life behind. She smiled very gently at that thought when she realized she was ready to move on, and noticed two people making their way toward her.
Her eyes widened and she gaped at them, her heart beating too fast. The Doctor, grinning like an idiot, and Alan, awkward and shy, stopped in front of her. "Hullo, Lace," the Doctor said, a shy, awkward grin softening his aristocratic face.
"Alan!" Lace squealed and jumped into his arms, a sudden tiny mass of golden robe and golden-brown hair. Alan lifted her, grunting in surprise, then laughing along with her as he held her up like a little girl. She kissed him soundly on the cheek and laughed giddily. She didn't care that everyone was staring at the spectacle she was making of herself.
"It's good to see you," Alan whispered into her hair.
"Ditto," Lace whispered back and wiggled out of his grasp, laughing and crying at the same time. She turned to the Doctor, brown eyes shining in the gym lights. "I'm so glad you came." She hugged the Doctor.
He hugged her warmly back, Lace missing the relieved look on his face. He'd been afraid she would be angry at him for coming back. "We couldn't miss this occasion," he explained. "It's so very important to you."
She kissed him on the cheek, then kissed Alan again, silently and helplessly crying. Her heart and head ached with all the emotions she felt, joy, fear, love, excitement, nervousness, endings and beginnings.
"You have to come to my Open House tomorrow," she told them, her voice clogged and deepened with emotion. "That's an order."
The two men nodded, still smiling. Lace looked at them, drinking in the sight of them, then around the gym, seeing all her classmates and their friends and families. She saw Maggie staring at her and the Doc and Alan.
Endings and beginnings. Moving on, but leaving a life behind.
Lace hugged them both, the Time Lord and the human, and all the tension left her body. She was utterly content for this moment. The future and past didn't matter at all right now. She stepped back, took the Doctor's hand, then Alan's, and looked up at them. "Thank you both," she said, her voice now clear and strong.
"Thank you for coming back."
an ending