Easter Rising
by Alryssa Kelly
Dublin, 1916
Alecia Connell clasped her backpack a little more tightly at the shoulder as she stopped briefly at a corner, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Why, she wondered again, had she come here in the first place?
"Sure, we'll go see Vincent, all the greats..." she muttered. *I wasn't aware modern Art degree courses involved bullet-dodging techniques.*
Her self-rant was cut short by another explosion not far away, and she instinctively ducked down, covering her head. She felt no shards of glass or brick raining down on her back after several moments, and unfolded slowly from her defensive crouch, realising her hands had clenched into fists. She gently flexed her fingers, saw again the remains of the hastily-scribbled Post-It note that had led her here, and decided, *If I find him alive, I'm going to kill him.*
She stood up, brushing the dust from her long skirt, and flattened herself against the wall so she could take a quick glance around the next corner. The streets were practically deserted, but she'd nearly run into a soldier twice and she wasn't about to take any more risks than were necessary. Slowly, she tilted her dark head. She saw the scorched sign of the Post Office swinging from the vibrations of the blasts, and a man in civilian clothing holding a gun at her.
* * *
I'd left my new companion in what I believed was relative safety in the library at Trinity College. I'd left her a note, of course, where I was sure she would find it. She seemed to have a great deal of common sense, even if she did insist on making obscure comments about my sense of direction. I'd been naturally curious as to the source of the bombardment, and in my enthusiasm my usual caution had been thrown to the four winds - and here I was now, a hostage among a small band of Irish rebels. I had managed to persuade them to allow me to assist with the wounded; anything but sit in the dark, dusty ruins of the Post Office and watch people needlessly suffering.
So, I was more than a little surprised - and just a little bit annoyed - when I saw who the struggling figure was being dragged in, almost by her hair. I had been tending a gentleman with a broken leg, and was startled by the scuffle coming from the rear of the building. The language was colourful, to say the least.
I thought I recognized the voice.
"Alecia?" I stood, and squinted into the dark, trying to utilize the morning daylight coming from the doorway. The struggling ceased, and the figures moved closer.
"You know her?" asked the captor. His name was Thomas Clarke, a tall, athletic man. He was more the type to interrogate first and shoot later - and this time, for that I was thankful.
"Doctor? I should have known..." Alecia moved towards me as Thomas relaxed his grasp.
"It's all right - she's with me," I reassured him. Thomas grinned, and winked at me as he moved past us to speak with his associates. I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but smiled in response. As soon as he had gotten out of hearing range, Alecia took the opportunity and hit me across the arm. It stung. All right, it hurt. A lot. But I didn't show it, naturally.
"Ow! What was that for? I left you a note!"
Alecia thrust the remains of my note at me.
"Yes, it was a nice gesture, but I spent half an hour peeling this thing out of the Book of Kells. I'm damn lucky I got out of that library alive."
"You shouldn't have come looking for me. The TARDIS is only across the bridge from the college - "
"I had to get out of there before anyone noticed any gilt leaf missing, and besides, I don't have a key." She smiled sweetly at me.
"Ah. Sorry."
Alecia shook her head, and tried to tie her hair back into its braid with little success.
"How long have you been here, anyway?" she asked.
"A day or so. I'm not sure."
I heard a high-pitched screaming noise. There was barely enough time to throw Alecia and myself to the floor before the shell hit. The sound was like that of an oncoming train, accompanied by a shower of plaster and masonry. The place had been under constant bombardment since I'd been here. It seemed though, in the last few hours, like it had intensified. From what I'd gathered, things did not look good. I shifted; made sure Alecia was unharmed, and then picked myself up to check on everyone else.
The glass scrunched under my feet as I picked my way through the debris with the aid of a gas lamp. I knew I could not change history here; but I also knew that there was no harm in helping those who needed it. I followed the sounds of coughing and moaning, and found a middle-aged woman trying to stand. I recognized her as Constance Markievicz, and reached out to give her my hand. She refused it.
"I'm fine. Don't need your British poison near me." I must have looked confused as she went on, "I know you've been talking to Michael and James." She stabbed a finger at me as she stood. "You can try it all you like on them, God help them, but don't even think about trying it on me. I'll fight you. Don't forget it."
She swept away from me. I felt mildly insulted. British?
"Doctor, help me out here!"
I turned swiftly to try and see what was happening. I held the lamp up. It wasn't good enough. I stumbled back over the girders and rubble as quickly as I was able, and followed the direction of the latest commotion. I pushed through the group of people to find Alecia performing CPR on the man I had been attending when she'd arrived. I pushed the lamp into the nearest person's hands and knelt beside her. They watched us, having never seen the procedure before, with a mixed amount of wariness and awe. I took over the compressions so she could concentrate on the breathing. Several tense minutes followed, as she checked his pulse every minute, then shook her head and continued.
"James! Sweet Jesus, what's goin' on?"
I looked up briefly from counting compressions to see Sean MacDiarmada pushing through the crowd. He was distraught, I could tell, as he knelt, placing his walking stick down on the other side of us. The pale light from the lamp threw stricken shadows across his face. From my time here, I knew these two were close friends. Sean had been assisting me with keeping James' wounds from becoming infected with the meager supplies they had.
"We're doing our best," I said, and I meant it. Polio had atrophied the muscles in Sean's legs, but it had not dulled his spirit. He was a highly intelligent man. The knowledge that he would be dead in a few days did not help my conscience.
Alecia was working frantically. I knew she could feel the life slipping through her fingers as she tried to fight it, hold back death. I increased my own efforts. Even if we could not win the war, we could at least win this small battle.
James started coughing, and began to vomit. Carefully, I turned him on his side so he would not choke. Alecia straightened, looking relieved. Sean looked at us as he helped, and I nodded, allowing him to take over caring for his friend. I rose, and the small crowd of spectators shuffled away. Still the wary, suspicious glances.
Alecia blew out her cheeks, and asked me quietly, "So... when exactly are we?"
I looked around, and took her aside where I thought nobody would hear. Another rumble shook the building, but this bomb was fortunately off-target.
"Didn't you pay attention in History class?"
"Considering they never concentrated on Irish history, no, and besides, I quit history after high school." She gave up trying to swipe the dust from her blue shirt.
"The man we just performed CPR on is James Connolly." I felt a deep sadness as I told her, "In a few days, he, along with the other six men who led this rebellion, will be executed for their deeds here."
Alecia went pale.
"So... we just brought that man back to life... and he's going to die anyway?"
I could tell she felt her efforts had been wasted, that she should have let him die here than be shot by the British militia.
"It's the way it's supposed to be, Alecia. That's the way time-travel works. I don't like this any more than you. These men are academics, just part-time soldiers. They're fighting for something they believe in - the freedom of their country - and I wish I could help them, but history says they have to lose. At least for today."
Alecia shifted the backpack on her shoulder, and sniffed.
"They know they're going to die, don't they?" she said after a few moments.
"Yes. They knew when they started this."
Another moment of silence, broken only by the creaking of the building and the quiet hubbub of the Irish rebels talking in the background.
"This time travel thing is... interesting." Her voice wavered. She waved off my attempt to give her a hug. "I'll be fine. I just... never expected this. I thought you were some nutty Art professor with a tall story. I need... time to adjust my thinking, ok?"
She tried a smile, which turned out lopsided. I nodded slowly. She turned, and wandered away, apparently seeking some time alone in a relatively private space in the dilapidated building.
The sun peered in reluctantly through the spaces where there were once windows, the glass glittering diamond shards amongst the debris. I coughed, feeling the dust attempting to line my throat. At least I could see a little better now, and realized fully the extent to which this once thriving post office had been obliterated. They couldn't hold out much longer. I heard voices, one insistent, one angered. I looked to find the sources, leaning back into the shadows to remain unseen.
"Go crawling on our knees to them? After all this? What good will it do us? We're dead men, Padraic! We knew that when we started this. Begging for mercy will do us no more good now." His tone was bitter, resentful.
The other man, Padraic, urged him to be quiet, and replied, "Listen to me! We who signed the Proclamation are dead men. But there is no sense in this bombardment continuing. They'll kill us and everyone else in the building, regardless of who they are. If we seven sign the surrender, hand ourselves over..." William opened his mouth to protest, but was cut short with a hand gesture, "William! Listen! If we all die here in this place, there will be nobody to carry on our dream. If we make a deal with them, let the women and our wounded go, then they will be free to carry our story to the people of Ireland. I shall not let us die in vain, d'you hear me?"
"How are we supposed to make a deal? We're not in any kind of position to make deals!" William's voice cracked as his arms opened to encompass the ruins, then flopped back down to his sides.
I stepped out from the shadows.
"I'll help. I can be very persuasive when the need arises."
"You?" William looked incredulous. "Help us? I should've shot you where you stood yesterday morning!" He spat at my feet.
"Shooting me is not going to stop the British from bombing the building," I replied calmly. "I am offering my assistance with evacuating the wounded."
Padraic was about to respond, when the all-too familiar screeching filled the air. But it was not one bomb this time. It was a barrage. They were going to take out the building. In the few seconds I had, I tried to find Alecia with no success. I just had time to duck under what had been the post office counter when the incendiary strike hit.
My world was white, filled with heat, and screaming, then silence once more. I felt a burning sensation in my right arm, but dared not look. I scrambled out from my hiding place, smoke filling my lungs. The acrid smell was enough to make any human gag, but I staved off the impulse long enough to find Alecia, who was fortunately not seriously injured, but had suffered slight concussion from falling masonry.
She squinted at me, as if trying to focus on one of the three Doctors that she complained were plaguing her vision. I pulled her to her feet. Those who were still walking were frantically stamping on the new fires, which were rapidly becoming infernos. I heard someone yelling above the chaos.
"Get them out of here! Now!" I saw Padraic Pearse stumbling through the smoke towards us.
"What about yourself?" I asked, feeling something trickling into my eye. I blinked, trying to clear the red haze. I heard the structure of the building beginning to groan and stretch under the new stresses.
"We have somewhere else to retreat, but we need to keep the fire directed at us until the rest are free. Go!"
I heard sounds I knew from experience to be gunshots. Alecia sagged against me, the concussion making it hard for her to balance. As the flames snapped and licked at the building, Sean, remarkably quick despite his walking stick, helped his friend James Connolly to his feet. The bullet wounds he had suffered were causing him great pain, I could tell, but he raised his head and looked at me, the fire of defiance still burning as brightly as the fires in the dying building.
"If I fall down dead before I get shot by those bastards, tell 'em I'll be waitin' for 'em in Hell," he said.
I did not reply, but took over from Sean in assisting James from the burning post office. I glanced back just once, to see the last embers of the rebellion fighting to stay alive. Outside, the once bright Irish Republic flag hung limply, scorched and blackened gunpowder rings peppering its design. For the sake of a piece of cloth, I thought. I coughed again. Someone, I wasn't sure who, relieved me of half my burden. Alecia stumbled along beside me, looking slightly dazed, her hair now grey rather than black from the dust.
The British soldiers were trying to advance, but ignored the trail of wounded people leaving the scene. They knew as well as I did that their targets would not leave their posts. I saw the opportunity, and ducked down an alleyway as soon as we were out of range, seeing that the survivors were being helped to the nearest hospital. Call me paranoid, but my experience in and with hospitals has been invariably nightmarish.
"Note..."
I glanced at my companion. She held out her hand, which I now noticed was clutching a piece of white paper, grubby with grime and dust.
"Note?"
She nodded, very slowly.
"Deliver. Sean asked..."
"Yes, as soon as it's safe. Come on..."
I guided her back to the TARDIS, through the narrow streets, sidestepping the rubble and the burned-out carcass of a roadblock that had once been a car. I wondered if she would want to go home; after all I had promised to show her the artistic wonders of the universe, not the dying moments of a small war. I made a promise to myself. Never assume anything. On that note, I closed the TARDIS doors on Dublin for now. Although I had had to let history run its course, it did nothing to help my guilt that I could have done something. But the shrapnel wound in my arm told me otherwise.
Alecia watched the Doctor from just out of hearing distance as he delivered the note to Sean's family. The door opened; a young woman answered. She saw the Doctor, and looked surprised. He said a few words, and handed over the note. A tense pause as she read the contents, and broke down. Noticeably saddened, the Doctor took his leave, making his way back towards Alecia, his face clouded.
"I'm sorry I put you through this," he said after a while. Alecia met his blue gaze. He looked pained. "I made an assumption. I was wrong."
She thought for a moment or two. He wasn't a loony, she was sure of that now at least. And compared to going back to London to study...
The Time Lord fished in his brown frock-coat's pockets for the TARDIS key, and looked vaguely annoyed as he came up blank. He then noticed the key dangling in front of him, Alecia holding the chain, a slight grin on her face.
"I forgive you. But no more sticky notes on national treasures, and just... just take me somewhere a little less stressful next, OK?"
"It's a deal," he replied, taking the key from her. She followed him to the TARDIS. His face brightened as he came up with an idea. "I know this great art exhibit on..."
A wandering British army soldier later attributed the inhuman noises he'd heard to too much drink, and promptly gave it up.
********
by Alryssa Kelly
Dublin, 1916
Alecia Connell clasped her backpack a little more tightly at the shoulder as she stopped briefly at a corner, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Why, she wondered again, had she come here in the first place?
"Sure, we'll go see Vincent, all the greats..." she muttered. *I wasn't aware modern Art degree courses involved bullet-dodging techniques.*
Her self-rant was cut short by another explosion not far away, and she instinctively ducked down, covering her head. She felt no shards of glass or brick raining down on her back after several moments, and unfolded slowly from her defensive crouch, realising her hands had clenched into fists. She gently flexed her fingers, saw again the remains of the hastily-scribbled Post-It note that had led her here, and decided, *If I find him alive, I'm going to kill him.*
She stood up, brushing the dust from her long skirt, and flattened herself against the wall so she could take a quick glance around the next corner. The streets were practically deserted, but she'd nearly run into a soldier twice and she wasn't about to take any more risks than were necessary. Slowly, she tilted her dark head. She saw the scorched sign of the Post Office swinging from the vibrations of the blasts, and a man in civilian clothing holding a gun at her.
* * *
I'd left my new companion in what I believed was relative safety in the library at Trinity College. I'd left her a note, of course, where I was sure she would find it. She seemed to have a great deal of common sense, even if she did insist on making obscure comments about my sense of direction. I'd been naturally curious as to the source of the bombardment, and in my enthusiasm my usual caution had been thrown to the four winds - and here I was now, a hostage among a small band of Irish rebels. I had managed to persuade them to allow me to assist with the wounded; anything but sit in the dark, dusty ruins of the Post Office and watch people needlessly suffering.
So, I was more than a little surprised - and just a little bit annoyed - when I saw who the struggling figure was being dragged in, almost by her hair. I had been tending a gentleman with a broken leg, and was startled by the scuffle coming from the rear of the building. The language was colourful, to say the least.
I thought I recognized the voice.
"Alecia?" I stood, and squinted into the dark, trying to utilize the morning daylight coming from the doorway. The struggling ceased, and the figures moved closer.
"You know her?" asked the captor. His name was Thomas Clarke, a tall, athletic man. He was more the type to interrogate first and shoot later - and this time, for that I was thankful.
"Doctor? I should have known..." Alecia moved towards me as Thomas relaxed his grasp.
"It's all right - she's with me," I reassured him. Thomas grinned, and winked at me as he moved past us to speak with his associates. I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but smiled in response. As soon as he had gotten out of hearing range, Alecia took the opportunity and hit me across the arm. It stung. All right, it hurt. A lot. But I didn't show it, naturally.
"Ow! What was that for? I left you a note!"
Alecia thrust the remains of my note at me.
"Yes, it was a nice gesture, but I spent half an hour peeling this thing out of the Book of Kells. I'm damn lucky I got out of that library alive."
"You shouldn't have come looking for me. The TARDIS is only across the bridge from the college - "
"I had to get out of there before anyone noticed any gilt leaf missing, and besides, I don't have a key." She smiled sweetly at me.
"Ah. Sorry."
Alecia shook her head, and tried to tie her hair back into its braid with little success.
"How long have you been here, anyway?" she asked.
"A day or so. I'm not sure."
I heard a high-pitched screaming noise. There was barely enough time to throw Alecia and myself to the floor before the shell hit. The sound was like that of an oncoming train, accompanied by a shower of plaster and masonry. The place had been under constant bombardment since I'd been here. It seemed though, in the last few hours, like it had intensified. From what I'd gathered, things did not look good. I shifted; made sure Alecia was unharmed, and then picked myself up to check on everyone else.
The glass scrunched under my feet as I picked my way through the debris with the aid of a gas lamp. I knew I could not change history here; but I also knew that there was no harm in helping those who needed it. I followed the sounds of coughing and moaning, and found a middle-aged woman trying to stand. I recognized her as Constance Markievicz, and reached out to give her my hand. She refused it.
"I'm fine. Don't need your British poison near me." I must have looked confused as she went on, "I know you've been talking to Michael and James." She stabbed a finger at me as she stood. "You can try it all you like on them, God help them, but don't even think about trying it on me. I'll fight you. Don't forget it."
She swept away from me. I felt mildly insulted. British?
"Doctor, help me out here!"
I turned swiftly to try and see what was happening. I held the lamp up. It wasn't good enough. I stumbled back over the girders and rubble as quickly as I was able, and followed the direction of the latest commotion. I pushed through the group of people to find Alecia performing CPR on the man I had been attending when she'd arrived. I pushed the lamp into the nearest person's hands and knelt beside her. They watched us, having never seen the procedure before, with a mixed amount of wariness and awe. I took over the compressions so she could concentrate on the breathing. Several tense minutes followed, as she checked his pulse every minute, then shook her head and continued.
"James! Sweet Jesus, what's goin' on?"
I looked up briefly from counting compressions to see Sean MacDiarmada pushing through the crowd. He was distraught, I could tell, as he knelt, placing his walking stick down on the other side of us. The pale light from the lamp threw stricken shadows across his face. From my time here, I knew these two were close friends. Sean had been assisting me with keeping James' wounds from becoming infected with the meager supplies they had.
"We're doing our best," I said, and I meant it. Polio had atrophied the muscles in Sean's legs, but it had not dulled his spirit. He was a highly intelligent man. The knowledge that he would be dead in a few days did not help my conscience.
Alecia was working frantically. I knew she could feel the life slipping through her fingers as she tried to fight it, hold back death. I increased my own efforts. Even if we could not win the war, we could at least win this small battle.
James started coughing, and began to vomit. Carefully, I turned him on his side so he would not choke. Alecia straightened, looking relieved. Sean looked at us as he helped, and I nodded, allowing him to take over caring for his friend. I rose, and the small crowd of spectators shuffled away. Still the wary, suspicious glances.
Alecia blew out her cheeks, and asked me quietly, "So... when exactly are we?"
I looked around, and took her aside where I thought nobody would hear. Another rumble shook the building, but this bomb was fortunately off-target.
"Didn't you pay attention in History class?"
"Considering they never concentrated on Irish history, no, and besides, I quit history after high school." She gave up trying to swipe the dust from her blue shirt.
"The man we just performed CPR on is James Connolly." I felt a deep sadness as I told her, "In a few days, he, along with the other six men who led this rebellion, will be executed for their deeds here."
Alecia went pale.
"So... we just brought that man back to life... and he's going to die anyway?"
I could tell she felt her efforts had been wasted, that she should have let him die here than be shot by the British militia.
"It's the way it's supposed to be, Alecia. That's the way time-travel works. I don't like this any more than you. These men are academics, just part-time soldiers. They're fighting for something they believe in - the freedom of their country - and I wish I could help them, but history says they have to lose. At least for today."
Alecia shifted the backpack on her shoulder, and sniffed.
"They know they're going to die, don't they?" she said after a few moments.
"Yes. They knew when they started this."
Another moment of silence, broken only by the creaking of the building and the quiet hubbub of the Irish rebels talking in the background.
"This time travel thing is... interesting." Her voice wavered. She waved off my attempt to give her a hug. "I'll be fine. I just... never expected this. I thought you were some nutty Art professor with a tall story. I need... time to adjust my thinking, ok?"
She tried a smile, which turned out lopsided. I nodded slowly. She turned, and wandered away, apparently seeking some time alone in a relatively private space in the dilapidated building.
The sun peered in reluctantly through the spaces where there were once windows, the glass glittering diamond shards amongst the debris. I coughed, feeling the dust attempting to line my throat. At least I could see a little better now, and realized fully the extent to which this once thriving post office had been obliterated. They couldn't hold out much longer. I heard voices, one insistent, one angered. I looked to find the sources, leaning back into the shadows to remain unseen.
"Go crawling on our knees to them? After all this? What good will it do us? We're dead men, Padraic! We knew that when we started this. Begging for mercy will do us no more good now." His tone was bitter, resentful.
The other man, Padraic, urged him to be quiet, and replied, "Listen to me! We who signed the Proclamation are dead men. But there is no sense in this bombardment continuing. They'll kill us and everyone else in the building, regardless of who they are. If we seven sign the surrender, hand ourselves over..." William opened his mouth to protest, but was cut short with a hand gesture, "William! Listen! If we all die here in this place, there will be nobody to carry on our dream. If we make a deal with them, let the women and our wounded go, then they will be free to carry our story to the people of Ireland. I shall not let us die in vain, d'you hear me?"
"How are we supposed to make a deal? We're not in any kind of position to make deals!" William's voice cracked as his arms opened to encompass the ruins, then flopped back down to his sides.
I stepped out from the shadows.
"I'll help. I can be very persuasive when the need arises."
"You?" William looked incredulous. "Help us? I should've shot you where you stood yesterday morning!" He spat at my feet.
"Shooting me is not going to stop the British from bombing the building," I replied calmly. "I am offering my assistance with evacuating the wounded."
Padraic was about to respond, when the all-too familiar screeching filled the air. But it was not one bomb this time. It was a barrage. They were going to take out the building. In the few seconds I had, I tried to find Alecia with no success. I just had time to duck under what had been the post office counter when the incendiary strike hit.
My world was white, filled with heat, and screaming, then silence once more. I felt a burning sensation in my right arm, but dared not look. I scrambled out from my hiding place, smoke filling my lungs. The acrid smell was enough to make any human gag, but I staved off the impulse long enough to find Alecia, who was fortunately not seriously injured, but had suffered slight concussion from falling masonry.
She squinted at me, as if trying to focus on one of the three Doctors that she complained were plaguing her vision. I pulled her to her feet. Those who were still walking were frantically stamping on the new fires, which were rapidly becoming infernos. I heard someone yelling above the chaos.
"Get them out of here! Now!" I saw Padraic Pearse stumbling through the smoke towards us.
"What about yourself?" I asked, feeling something trickling into my eye. I blinked, trying to clear the red haze. I heard the structure of the building beginning to groan and stretch under the new stresses.
"We have somewhere else to retreat, but we need to keep the fire directed at us until the rest are free. Go!"
I heard sounds I knew from experience to be gunshots. Alecia sagged against me, the concussion making it hard for her to balance. As the flames snapped and licked at the building, Sean, remarkably quick despite his walking stick, helped his friend James Connolly to his feet. The bullet wounds he had suffered were causing him great pain, I could tell, but he raised his head and looked at me, the fire of defiance still burning as brightly as the fires in the dying building.
"If I fall down dead before I get shot by those bastards, tell 'em I'll be waitin' for 'em in Hell," he said.
I did not reply, but took over from Sean in assisting James from the burning post office. I glanced back just once, to see the last embers of the rebellion fighting to stay alive. Outside, the once bright Irish Republic flag hung limply, scorched and blackened gunpowder rings peppering its design. For the sake of a piece of cloth, I thought. I coughed again. Someone, I wasn't sure who, relieved me of half my burden. Alecia stumbled along beside me, looking slightly dazed, her hair now grey rather than black from the dust.
The British soldiers were trying to advance, but ignored the trail of wounded people leaving the scene. They knew as well as I did that their targets would not leave their posts. I saw the opportunity, and ducked down an alleyway as soon as we were out of range, seeing that the survivors were being helped to the nearest hospital. Call me paranoid, but my experience in and with hospitals has been invariably nightmarish.
"Note..."
I glanced at my companion. She held out her hand, which I now noticed was clutching a piece of white paper, grubby with grime and dust.
"Note?"
She nodded, very slowly.
"Deliver. Sean asked..."
"Yes, as soon as it's safe. Come on..."
I guided her back to the TARDIS, through the narrow streets, sidestepping the rubble and the burned-out carcass of a roadblock that had once been a car. I wondered if she would want to go home; after all I had promised to show her the artistic wonders of the universe, not the dying moments of a small war. I made a promise to myself. Never assume anything. On that note, I closed the TARDIS doors on Dublin for now. Although I had had to let history run its course, it did nothing to help my guilt that I could have done something. But the shrapnel wound in my arm told me otherwise.
Alecia watched the Doctor from just out of hearing distance as he delivered the note to Sean's family. The door opened; a young woman answered. She saw the Doctor, and looked surprised. He said a few words, and handed over the note. A tense pause as she read the contents, and broke down. Noticeably saddened, the Doctor took his leave, making his way back towards Alecia, his face clouded.
"I'm sorry I put you through this," he said after a while. Alecia met his blue gaze. He looked pained. "I made an assumption. I was wrong."
She thought for a moment or two. He wasn't a loony, she was sure of that now at least. And compared to going back to London to study...
The Time Lord fished in his brown frock-coat's pockets for the TARDIS key, and looked vaguely annoyed as he came up blank. He then noticed the key dangling in front of him, Alecia holding the chain, a slight grin on her face.
"I forgive you. But no more sticky notes on national treasures, and just... just take me somewhere a little less stressful next, OK?"
"It's a deal," he replied, taking the key from her. She followed him to the TARDIS. His face brightened as he came up with an idea. "I know this great art exhibit on..."
A wandering British army soldier later attributed the inhuman noises he'd heard to too much drink, and promptly gave it up.
********