This story is set in Series Seven, some time between the dinosaurs and the Angels. As much as I would love it if the Doctor and the Ponds were all mine, the usual disclaimers apply, nothing belongs to me, etc., etc. Sigh.
It had always been a creature of the dark and of the cold. It had always been patient. Patience was important when one drifted in the dark spaces, but if one waited long enough, effort would always be rewarded. Even here, in the confinement, the rewards came. It had been difficult at first, the entrapment, bound to a world of stone and earth and so much searing light and warmth. But it found the dark. It found the cold. And it waited. And once again, it was rewarded. Once again, they came. Unable to drift as it once did, it soon learned to call them. It called and they came, and what was freedom compared to that? There was no longer a need to seek, not when they came so easily, and tonight was no different. Another one was coming. Another one stumbled, lost in the woods, and soon would arrive. And so it would wait. And then it would feed.
Dr. Sara Branton sighed as she shut the ledger in front of her with a satisfying thud. Another day finished. She rubbed a hand across her tired eyes. Derron would be back from the Capitol tomorrow. Keeping up with the patients here was work enough, and she was more than ready to return the running of the farm to her brother.
Her eyes snapped open at the sharp knocking at the door. She didn't realize she had shut them. A glance at her watch told her it was a quarter to nine—awfully late for visitors. She crossed the room and opened the door to find Tony Greystone, one of the farm mechanics, standing on the dark front porch.
"My apologies for the hour, mum," he said. "But I was on my way home—I'd been late in the barn, fixin' some of the machinery and time got away from me, so I took a shortcut home, and, well…I found him wandering at the edge of the moor." As he said this last, he plucked at the arm of a figure Sara hadn't noticed standing behind him in the dark, pulling him forward into the light.
"Oh no," Sara said, her face falling as she took in the vacant, unseeing stare of the young man at Greystone's side. "Not another one."
"Afraid so, mum," he said gravely.
Sara drew a hand across her mouth. "It's been a week since the last one," she said in a tired voice. "I had hoped…" She shook her head. "I'd hoped that might be the end of it for the year." She bit her lip. "It's gone on longer than last year, hasn't it?"
Greystone nodded. "Only last year I was saying the same. Gets longer every year, it seems."
Sara nodded, turning to study the young man. He hadn't moved since Greystone had pulled him forward. She lowered her head slightly to look into his eyes. "Hello," she said kindly. The man did not respond.
"Haven't had a word out of him," Greystone said.
"Still in shock, probably," Sara said. She put a hand up to the man's face. "And no wonder, the poor thing's freezing! Bring him on in here by the fire. And you too, Greystone," she added, noticing the slight quiver in her friend's jaw line. "You'll not be going out again at this hour, I should think."
"Much obliged to you, mum," Greystone said gratefully. "It's bitter cold out, and I don't fancy a long walk after this," he said, nodding towards the other man.
"Of course," she said. She took the stranger's arm from Greystone and pulled him a few steps forward, shutting the door and bolting it. "I'll see to him. Dahlia's still cleaning up in the kitchen—I'm sure she can find you something to eat. Would you ask her to send something in for him too?"
"Of course," Greystone nodded. "If I might give the wife a ring first?"
"Oh yes, do. You know where the phone is?"
Greystone nodded and made his way towards the hall. As Sara steered the stranger toward the sitting room, she caught snatches of Greystone's reassurances. "…No worries, I'm alright, love…Found another one out on the moor, the doctor reckoned I should stay in…Don't you worry, I'll be home tomorrow…"
Once in the sitting room, Sara gently guided the young man to a chair by the fire. His expression hadn't changed, and he allowed himself to be steered along complacently, showing no sign that he was aware of what he was doing, how cold he was, or even that someone was touching him. Once he was sitting, Sara knelt in front of him, taking a small penlight from the front pocket of her scrubs and flicking it back and forth in front of his eyes. He showed no response to the sudden brightness, and the reaction of his pupils to the light was worryingly slow.
She sighed and slipped the light back into her pocket. Standing, she checked carefully over his head for injuries, though she knew she wouldn't find any. She smiled ruefully to herself at the thought of wishing for a patient with a head injury. At least that, she knew how to fix. But no, his head was fine, and barring a few dirty scratches on his palms, there wasn't a mark on him. She ran all the usual checks trying to get a reaction—loud snapping behind his ear, checking into his eyes, sticking his finger with something sharp…He didn't even blink when she took a blood sample and the needle pierced his skin. Just like all the others. Judging by his lack of reaction to anything, it must not have been long since it happened. (How was it that after all these years, no one still knew what 'it' was?) Sometimes they were talking again when they were brought to her, and he would again too, she knew. Probably not until tomorrow, though. It always took several hours.
She sighed and closed her eyes, opening them again at the creak of a door. "Aunt Sara?" Dahlia began, backing in through the swinging door from the kitchen as she carried a tray. "Mr. Greystone said you wanted some food in here, but I thought…" She turned. "Oh no. Is it another one?"
"I'm afraid so."
"But it's almost February!" Dahlia protested. "It's got to be too late!" Her eyes pleaded with her aunt's as if by saying it aloud, she could make it true.
"It's been getting later every year," Sara said sadly, taking the tray from her niece and setting it on the end table by the chair. She sighed again. "I don't know if you remember—you were probably too small, but there was a very cold winter, the coldest we'd had in decades."
"Was that the year the pipes iced over and burst in the barn?" Dahlia asked. "I remember the water on the floor turned to ice and whole sections of the floor fell down into the cellar from the weight."
"Yes, it was that year," Sara answered. "That was the year it all started happening later. Before that, you'd never see it happen after Christmas. Ever since I was a little girl, it had been that way. But then ten years ago, it just started happening later and later, creeping into the new year, and it's still going."
Dahlia shook her head sadly. "It's awful." She looked at the man sitting on the chair. "Do you think anybody's looking for him yet?"
"I don't know, love." She put an arm around her niece and hugged her, kissing her on the top of the head. "Go on upstairs and get some sleep, alright? It's getting late."
Dahlia nodded, hugged her aunt and headed for the stairs. "Don't you stay up too late either," she said, trying for her usual smile and managing at least a ghost of it.
Sara turned back to the man on the chair and sat down on the footstool to study his face in the flickering firelight. He looked so young! It was always worse when they were young. So much life ahead of them…He still had life ahead of him, of course, but nothing like what he might have done. She swallowed down a lump in her throat as the firelight caught something on his hand and sparkled. A wedding ring. Dahlia was right, it was awful. Maybe whoever wore the mate to his ring would find their way here, but even if they did, they wouldn't really find what they were looking for.
She reached up a hand and gently cupped the side of the young man's face. "I'm so sorry, love," she said quietly. "Truly I am." Reaching for the bowl that Dahlia had brought, she blinked back the tears that prickled in the corner of her eye. People kept telling her that that was what made her a good doctor, because she still cared so much after all these years, but sometimes she wished it would just stop hurting.
Feeding soup to someone who isn't aware you're doing so is not an easy job, but Sara had had plenty of practice. By the time she had finished, the man's eyelids were starting to droop—always a good sign. She wouldn't have to drug him to get him to sleep, and by the time he woke up in the morning he should have come around—well, at least enough to start working out where to go from there. Carefully, she led him from the chair to a nearby sofa. He sank down heavily, and she pulled a blanket from the back of the sofa and tucked it in around him. He blinked once, and she thought she saw a small spark of awareness in his dark eyes before they fluttered shut.
"Poor dear," she said softly, brushing back a lock of his sandy hair. She stood and made her way toward her room, detouring to the kitchen to drop off the tray. As she drifted off to sleep, the man's face floated across her mind, along with all the others she had seen. Dark eyes, blue eyes, ginger, sandy-haired or black, young and old, men and women…All of them lost, all of them broken, and so many of them still here…
Amy hugged her arms tightly to herself and pulled her jacket in a little tighter as the wind picked up. She was sitting on a stone wall along a country road. It felt like she'd been sitting under the greying sky for hours, though she knew that was more the cold talking than anything else. In reality, it had been about twenty minutes, but she was cold, she was anxious, and seriously, could the Doctor take any longer?
She swung her head around to shout to where the TARDIS was nestled in a bunch of trees. "Oi! Time Lord! How about going a little faster, hey?"
The Doctor poked his head out of the TARDIS and gave her a stern look. "You know, if you're cold, you could come back inside. I told you this might take a bit." He pulled back in and shut the door.
Amy sighed, gave one last longing look down the road, and hopped off the wall. Once back in the TARDIS, she couldn't help an appreciative sigh at the welcome warmth. The Doctor looked out from behind the console. "Also, if you're cold, you could put some trousers on," he said, flicking his eyes down to her leggings and mini skirt. "It is snowing out, you know."
Amy opened her mouth to argue, realized he had a point, and stomped off to her room. A few minutes later she was back, a good deal warmer in a pair of fitted blue jeans. "Don't you say 'I told you so'," she snapped, pointing a warning finger at the smug look on his face. "Are you finished yet?"
He sighed. "Amy, I did say this was going to take some time. It's very tricky."
"But why?" demanded Amy. "I mean, if people on Earth can track someone down with a cell phone, I don't see why it's so hard for you to do it. I don't see why he won't just pick up, either," she finished, mostly to herself.
The Doctor looked up to see the pleading stare Amy was giving her mobile, put down his spanner and sidled over to put an arm around her shoulder. "There's some kind of electro-magnetic interference covering this planet. From what I've been able to tell, it's natural—something in the rocks—and that's what's keeping the phone from working. Rory probably isn't even getting your calls, so of course he can't answer them." He squeezed her shoulder, hoping his words were as encouraging as his intent. "And that's why it's so hard for me to lock on to any sort of signal."
Amy sighed. "I know. But even if he's not getting the calls, why isn't he here? It's been a day, Doctor, he should have come back."
After they had landed yesterday, the Doctor had noticed the odd electro-magnetic energy and had wanted to examine it further. He'd needed some equipment from the TARDIS, and Rory had volunteered to go back and fetch it, as he'd been wanting to go back and get a thicker coat anyway. That was the last they'd seen him.
Once they realized he was missing, they'd searched the surrounding woods, but with no luck. They continued searching farther into the night than was probably safe, given that they were on a strange planet, but still nothing. Amy had been phoning him relentlessly, but with no answer. The Doctor had tried assuring her several times that the phone probably wouldn't work. This morning, they had set out to search again, asking in a nearby village they found at the edge of the wood. When he hadn't turned up there either, the Doctor had suggested returning to the TARDIS so he could work on whatever he was building now that was supposed to help them find Rory's phone.
"Just because he's not back doesn't mean he's necessarily in trouble," the Doctor tried to assure her. "He may have just gotten lost. He does that sometimes."
"Oi!" Amy said, smacking him in the chest.
"Well, he does," the Doctor said defensively, backing away a few steps.
"Strange new planet, easy to get lost. Besides, it's not nearly as bad as the Lord of Time and Space who can never land us where he means to!" Amy snapped. "As I believe I've mentioned before, this place looks an awful lot more like Scotland than it does a space station orbiting a dying star!"
"Okay, that's fair," the Doctor admitted. "I did miss. But please stop shouting at me." He stepped over and took her hands. "We'll find Rory. I promise."
Amy took in a deep breath. "Sorry. I just…"
"I know," he said. "I'm worried too." He hugged her, pulling away quickly as his tracking contraption dinged. He studied it eagerly for a moment, then frowned up at the ceiling. "That's the best you can do?"
Nothing moved, but Amy could feel the TARDIS grumbling in her head.
"Yes, yes, alright, sorry," the Doctor said, waving an apologetic hand at the ceiling. "I know it's messing up your sensors too, old girl." He glanced at the monitor. "Come along, Pond!" he said, grabbing Amy's hand. "We'd better get a move on before it gets dark again."
"Where are we going?" she asked as he dragged her to the door, snatching her coat off the coat rack.
"Well, the TARDIS couldn't give me an exact location—all that interference is bothering some of her equipment, but she was able to give us a general direction. There's a town a couple of miles up this road, and she said he's somewhere in that area. Or at least his phone is, and I don't know why he wouldn't be with it."
"Well, let's go then!" Amy said, rushing out the door ahead of the Doctor.
Of course, by the time they reached the town, the sun had nearly set, and the townspeople seemed oddly reluctant about being out after dark.
"Well, it is winter," the Doctor said again. "No one likes being out in the cold and the dark."
"They could be a little more helpful," Amy grumbled. She looked around. The streets were well-paved, lit at regular intervals with gas-burning street lamps. The same gas-lamps shone through windows lining the streets as people pulled their curtains shut against the dark. It all looked rather…Victorian, Amy decided. A little old-school, sure, but it was a very large town and it was barely after dusk—the streets shouldn't have been this empty just yet.
"We are strangers," the Doctor reminded her. "Look, let's try this place up here." He nodded toward what looked like some sort of inn. "Nice public place, and we need somewhere to stay the night anyway. If he's not there, we'll be right here in the middle of town, ready to start first thing in the morning."
Despite the voice in Amy's head that shouted she needed to find Rory now, she couldn't argue with the Doctor's point. And it was really cold. They stepped into the inn and were promptly greeted by a teenage boy with a broom.
"Good evening," he said, a bit overly stiffly. "Can I get you a table?" he asked, gesturing to the dining room behind him where a small group of people was spread out among the tables.
"In a minute," the Doctor said. "Actually, what we're after is a room." He glanced at Amy. "Two rooms," he amended. "We need two rooms."
The boy's face lit up and the stiffness dropped away from his voice. "Of course! Right this way, sir," he said, leading them to a small desk. He pulled two keys out of a drawer and handed them to Amy, pushing a book toward the Doctor. "If you'd put down your names, sir, I'd be much obliged." The Doctor nodded, scribbled something in the book and pushed it back. "Is it just the one night you'll be paying for, sir?"
"Oh, payment. Right," said the Doctor patting absently at his pockets. "What sort of currency do you use around here?"
The boy's eyes narrowed. "That's an odd sort of question."
In her head, Amy groaned. Of course things were going to get difficult now. She hadn't seen any signs that the people of whatever planet this was had got as far along as space travel, and she really didn't want to spend all the time it was going to take explaining aliens to them. At least she was wearing her trainers—better for running away in case they ended up getting chased by people with sticks.
"Well, we're from a long way off," explained the Doctor, clearly thinking along the same lines as Amy.
"Got to be a pretty long way," the boy said. "Not knowing something like that." His eyes widened suddenly. "Are you from off-world?"
The Doctor blinked in surprise. "Um, yes, actually. Landed here by mistake, you see, so I'm not really sure what planet this is."
The boy smiled widely. "Wow! Oh, it's been ages since anyone from off-world's been through here! The planet's called Denara," he explained. "I guess if you weren't meaning to come here, you wouldn't have any dentrix on you. That's the local stuff," he added.
"It would seem not," the Doctor said.
"We do take Imperial Shillings," the boy said.
The Doctor stuck a hand into one of his bigger-on-the-inside pockets and pulled out a handful of coins, dropping them to the tabletop with a loud clatter. "Imperial Shillings, hm? Which empire would that be? I've got…let's see," he began, sorting through the mound of coins. "Nodurni Empire—you wouldn't want those, Roman Empire, Silexi Empire, Ottoman Empire, and another one…and another one…We haven't been to the Ottoman Empire, have we?" he asked Amy. "Why do I have so many of these?"
The boy's eyes widened as he took in the pile of coins. They were various sizes, colours and metals, some had holes in them, some didn't, and there was one that appeared to be made out of bone. "You must travel a lot," he said, picking up a translucent green coin and holding it up curiously to the light. "It's the Second Great and Bountiful Human Empire."
"Ah!" the Doctor said. "Lovely! I do have some of those. Oh, that's a good Empire," he added, turning to Amy. "Much better than the First—far too militaristic—and they're much nicer people here than the Third, which was quite pompous—"
"Doctor," Amy cut him off, a slight warning growl in her voice. "You're doing it again."
"Right. Sorry. So, how much is it?" he asked the boy who was staring at him, slightly bemused.
"Well, two rooms would be twenty dentrix, so that's…" he trailed off, counting on his fingers. "Fifteen Imperial Shillings."
"Very good," the Doctor said, picking out three largish silver coins with a starburst on them.
"Thank you sir," the boy said, setting down the green coin and sliding the three coins into an old-fashioned register. "Those are quite cool-looking. Oh yeah, here's your change," he finished, handing the Doctor three small bronze coins.
He dropped them in with the others and scooped the whole pile into his pocket. "Um, Doctor," said Amy. "Shouldn't you keep those separate? Since we might be needing them while we're here?"
"This is the pocket I keep the coins in," he said, pointing to his pocket. "I can't very well put them anywhere else, can I?" he asked, a touch condescendingly. "Now then, me old son," he said, turning to the boy. "…Er, what's your name, anyway?"
"Jason, sir," said the boy. "My dad runs the place."
"Ah. Right, well, Jason," the Doctor began again. "I was wondering if you could help us find someone."
"A man called Rory," Amy cut in. "Rory Williams."
"Don't know the name, miss" Jason said. He flipped through the sign-in book. "He's not staying here, either. Is he from off-world too?"
"Yeah," the Doctor said. "We came in together and then got separated."
"He's about so tall," Amy said, holding her hand up to approximate Rory's height. "And he's got sandy brown hair, dark eyes—"
"Big nose," the Doctor cut in.
"Well, I've not seen anyone like that about," said Jason. "But, then I haven't been looking before now. He's not in there, at least," he added, nodding towards the dining room. "But there's some other inns in town. He might be at one of them."
"Is there any way you can check?" Amy asked.
"Not tonight, miss," Jason said. "Mudslide this morning took out some poles and wires and things—phones aren't working. But I can take you around in the morning, if you'd like." He smiled. "My dad won't mind—not if it's helping a customer."
"We could go out and check them ourselves," Amy suggested.
"Oh no, miss," Jason said, shaking his head. "Not now it's dark out."
"What's wrong with the dark?" Amy asked.
"It isn't safe."
The Doctor's eyebrows quirked up. "Not safe? Why's that, then?"
"The Demon, sir," Jason said, matter-of-factly. "It's a bit late in the year for it, but people are saying it's still about," he added, as if this explained it.
Before the Doctor could ask him to elaborate, Jason was called away by his father and rushed off, promising to find them again in the morning. "The Demon, eh?" the Doctor mused, heading for a table with Amy.
"Let's focus on finding Rory first, hmm?" she reminded him. "Then we can worry about the Demon."
Although, lying in bed later that night, Amy found it very hard not to worry about the Demon. Whatever it was, it sounded bad—and it was always bad, wasn't it?—and Rory was still out there. She sighed deeply, and didn't sleep well at all for the second night in a row.
