He tossed and turned in his sleep. There were few times he didn't, but normally a dream wouldn't cause tossing and turning. He could faintly hear Andie's growling and muffled barking trying to wake him, sensing his own distress. But nothing could dissuade him, could find him in reality. The sound of fire and steel, burning flesh and crazed desire jumbled in mass hysteria. His brain was lit with pain and he moaned, teeth bared. His eyes popped open with a flash. That couldn't be the future, he hoped. Surely was just reliving the life he had left with Tenaya.
He gave Andie a pat on the head in thanks as he headed to the bathroom, fur at his heels. John looked in the mirror at his dark-rimmed eyes. He hadn't slept properly in the week they'd returned to the TARDIS. Someone who had never been confined before being turned into a slave? He supposed it was justified to feel or to worry, maybe even to hurt a bit. But it had been his own fault for not following the Doctor a bit more closely. John wondered if they had track meets on Gallifrey.
The water dripped down his face and fingertips, small bits wandering down his pajama bottoms. John filled a coffee mug with cold tap water and closed his eyes while he inhaled. The water shocked his throat and he began to realize that the grumbling he was hearing was not Andie's stomach but his own. Andie's bowl needed filling, John looked down briefly before grabbing the silver disc and setting it on the bed as he rooted around for a sweater or a top of some sort. He found an old college shirt in one of the drawers, faded lettering of a blood drive, and moved toward his bedroom door.
Andie followed as he passed down a silent corridor of the TARDIS. The walls were a shade of pale yellow and each door seemed to exotic. John didn't dare open any of them. Each step produced a further grumble in his stomach. He came across the kitchen and one very unexpected sight.
"I thought you said you didn't get hungry."
The Doctor turned, a piece of bread hanging from his jaws.
"You should be resting." The Doctor mumbled slightly after consuming the bread. "And I never said I didn't eat, just that I didn't get hungry. I only need to eat once, maybe twice a day. My internal metabolism is a complicated system. Although the Nevarmatods of Rhodolite Eight would disagree. After all, all they have to do is eat a bar of chocolate once a month. But daft is what they turn out to be. I mean, when all you've got is cocoa powder and sugar and milk in your system, mind you it's a little more extreme for them then a Mars Bar. That's one thing I never understood; you humans and your silly infatuation for junk food. I mean, chocolate is well enough every once in a while, but some of you ate it every day. Wouldn't that get tiresome, a diet with no variety?"
John waved his hands around a bit, slightly amused. "Guilty as charged, I suppose. I was just here getting Andie some more dog food." The Doctor pointed involuntarily at a lower cupboard, surprised by his own action in knowing exactly where the dog food was. As Andie chowed down in proud Tripp fashion, John patted his head again to an appreciative woof and stood, facing the Doctor.
"So, you'll admit you're hungry then?" John arched his eyebrow.
"I never said I didn't get hungry, I just said not often."
"Well, if it's not often, let's make sure that we make it an occasion to remember." John washed his hands in the sink and the Doctor moved back with mild interest.
"If I remember correctly, you ran a bakery amongst several ventures?"
John shrugged as he moved a bowl out of a cabinet and set it down on the marble island in the middle of the stainless steel and wood kitchen. He ignored the fact that he'd never actually told the Doctor that, although Lilly and David had seemed incredibly aware of his past ventures, failed and executed. "I can make you a brownie if you'd like. But considering the late hour," John stopped himself slightly and smiled, amused, " or the early hour, maybe you'd like something else."
"Not much a sweet tooth, mate. And it's not really late or early. You humans and your linear concept of time. Only the Chinese really understood, well, as best as you humans can. They had a circular view of time, although it was tied to the emperors, who they bowed down to more often that not. I never understood that human need for bowing and subjugation. Oh well, there was just that one time with that one mistaken Time Lord."
John's whisk fell to the floor and his voice cracked a bit. "Are you telling me one of the Chinese emperors was a Time Lord?!"
"Well, of course! You humans are too bloody thick to think of anything non-linear. Who else would have given you the idea?"
John mumbled something under his breath, concentrating on the marinade in front of him. "I love this TARDIS." He pulled a few parsley and oregano leaves from the pantry and added them into the mixture.
"One of a kind. Much like her inhabitants." John smiled, his whisk moving gracefully through the lemon-scented mixture. "I'm intrigued. What is it?"
"You'll see. A magician never reveals his secrets."
"That's just not true. You've got all those reality shows with magicians telling all sorts of secrets."
"It's just an expression." Sizzling could be heard behind John as he poured the sauce over the contents of the pan and then set himself to chopping potatoes and onion, the sharp thud of the knife slicing through the heart of the vegetables, going in time to his heartbeat.
He couldn't really hear the doctor's voice anymore. Inside John's head, a melody from somewhere long ago, something vaguely classical, played as he cooked. Each color was a note of the symphony. His face relaxed, but remained keen and steady. Each second passed with a stir or a chop, hands deft and rarely idol.
"...I said, is it almost bloody ready?!"
John shook his head, tuning back in on the Doctor. "What? Yes. Sorry. I get kind of absorbed into my work."
"I noticed."
John plated the cuisine on the stove and brought it over to the island, setting his cutting board in the sink.
"Here we are. Salmon patties on toast with sliced potato hash. Not bad for being on the fly."
The Doctor began to shovel it in as John examined the first few bites before eating at half his speed. He hoped he was enjoying whatever he was tasting. John smiled as he took the plate.
"Enjoyed that, I did. You have a future in the next Earth renaissance, if nothing else."
"While I appreciate that, I just hope my skills aren't extorted by aliens anytime soon."
"You've picked the wrong profession then."
John giggled as dropped the dishes into the sink and made a mental note to clean them later. He looked down at Andie as the Doctor excused himself for bed.
"Feeling alright Andie?"
There was a woof and a happy tail thump that accompanied the question and they headed back to their room. It was much easier going on the return trip until Andie raced forward and John struggled to keep up. John didn't like the looks of the door. It was too plain, meant to fit in. Vague cracks of a Red X stained it. But Andie kept barking.
"I'm not sure if this is a good idea. There's probably a reason there was a red X on the door, boy." Andie gave him a "why are you doubting me?" look. John rolled his eyes at being dressed down by his dog and turned the handle. The door lurched forward, creaking with age.
The room was silent, but the echoes of a past age relapsed again and again. Tables filled with charts and various bits of machinery remained in a state of limbo, as if people had been in a hurry to leave. The sketches were in indecipherable languages mixed with different diagrams and flow charts. John bit his lower lip; his sense of foreboding telling him to leave.
It was against the back wall that he saw it. He wasn't sure; the various parts were scattered around, but he knew it. The weapon of a Dalek lay dissected before him. Grim judgments had passed in this room. The fog of war clung to this place; a stench of victory and loss that the Doctor was haunted by. That everyone left had been haunted by.
Andie scratched at a far wall. John didn't want to go any farther, but Andie pushed through a secret compartment as it slid back, the wall of darkness enveloping the Irish setter mix. He grumbled as he pushed on further, pretty sure he didn't want to see the adjacent room.
John nearly tumbled over Andie, who had halted in respect. His mournful eyes vocalized what he could not. It was chilly in this place and John covered his own biceps, squeezing a bit of heat from them. An actual fog pervaded the room, hiding most of the floor, but John could tell they were overlooking something. A small set of stone stairs moved downward and John moved with them.
He bent on the clear grass and wiped a way a bit of fog from the stone. It was a grave marker. Exidian Thoriate. John had no idea who that was, but it must have meant something to the doctor. He moved forward. More unknown names. Rows upon rows of unknown names, some alien languages, others more Latin based but definitely not human.
Near the back of the room, he began to understand. Why have a graveyard beyond a War Room? For the purpose of mourning those who pass because there is nowhere else to grieve at. Were they generals in the Great Time War? Had they been happy or fierce, pleaded for mercy from Death? John shivered again. The Doctor was more sentimental than he'd let on. And if he was lonely, he was mourning here. He had to be.
John moved to leave, Andie at his side. He'd never be able to forget, but there was no way to bring this room to the Doctor's attention. So many questions haunted his mind that he didn't realize that they'd made it back to their room. The sight of Brad Pitt and Edward Norton jolted him back into reality and he tossed and turned for a few more hours.
"How about somewhere a bit more tame than an abandoned jungle."
"Like where?"
"How about Earth's largest library? The Third Renaissance?"
"Sounds brilliant."
"Atlantis City, Here we come!"