Chapter Two

The room the man called Captain Jack shows me is, amazingly enough, rather nice. You might expect someone like me to prefer living in pitch black, but I don't. It makes me feel like I'm suffocating, or drowning, and I can't breathe and feel like passing out. I hate the dark.

No; the room is all browns and greens, earthy colours, and plain wood furniture. It's beautiful. There are no windows, of course, but artificial sunlight seems to stream in from somewhere anyway. There's a big, heavy wardrobe in one corner with nothing in it, but I didn't expect rows of clothing anyway. An old-fashioned vanity sits across from it, and I fold up the mirrors. Jessica once told me I was like a vampire--I couldn't see my reflection in mirrors or appear on camera film (though that one might have been her own invention, I'm not sure), and that's why I hate mirrors and taking pictures.

The bed itself is huge. King-sized or bigger, with lots of pillows in browns and golds and greens. The comforter is a forest-green colour with a gold overlay and a pattern of very faint brown-gold leaf prints. The sheets are tan.

Jack tells me to go to sleep. He says I need it, because my body needs rest after everything the Doctor's put it through. I give him a confused look. "The Paradox," he attepts to explain. "The Doctor had to get rid of it, and though you may not know it, it put a lot of strain on your body."

I nod, like this all makes sense, and pretend I'm going to bed.

What I actually do is sneak out of my room and go to eavesdrop on the Doctor, Jack, and Martha.

I find them sitting around in a sort of den area, talking about... well... me.

And this isn't one of these moments where the person (i.e. me) thinks she hears the others (i.e. the Doctor, Jack, and Martha) talking about her and saying "we can't keep her here, we have to get rid of her, this is no place for a child!" when in reality the others are talking about a puppy.

I know for a fact they're talking about me.

"So... what do we do for her?" I hear Martha say. "Jack, she's resting, right?" Jack shrugs.

"I told her to, at least," he says. "Whether or not she listened to me is another matter entirely."

"And there's the matter of Katie's first trip," the Doctor puts in. "What do you think, past or future?" I blink.

Yeah, the Doctor said it was a time machine, I know. But actually hearing them talk about it like that is a totally different matter. Martha and Jack glance at each other.

"Past," Martha decides. "Jack, you're the former Time Agent, what do you think?"

Time Agent? What does that mean?

"Past sounds good," he agrees. Is it just me, or does he sound a little distracted. "Doctor?"

"Right. Katie's trip of initiation will be to the past. Italian Renaissance? The TARDIS said she's picking up a disturbance out there. Alien activity. Nothing too major, but it should be a good time. Besides, meeting artists might be a nice change of pace from the mad scientists."

A bit of laughter follows this, as the others agree, and it's settled. They're taking me to the Italian Renaissance. To meet artists.

Except that I'm not supposed to know about that. I'm supposed to be asleep, I remember. So before they notice I'm listening in to their conversation, I slip back to my room and dive under the covers.

I may not strike you as the artsy type, but I've never really gotten the opportunity to try it out. Who knows, maybe that's something I really am good at. Or maybe just another thing for me to suck at.

Either way, it's bound to be interesting. I'm still not happy about being here, no more than I was about being stuck in Nowheresville, Kansas, but... It's not like I have much choice.

I realize Jack was right--I am tired. Or rather, my body is so exhausted I don't think I can move. And the bed is so comfortable, and my eyelids are so heavy that I feel them close, and I feel my mind drift away and before I know it I'm asleep.

There are no dreams. There never are.