A/N: Okay, there you go, my second of two installments. Nothing special. Enjoy!
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Chapter IV – Stay With Him
His objective was not to get caught. So far, so good. The Doctor held his breath as he pressed his back to the wall, disappearing into the shadows. The alley was small and probably far too narrow to slip by unnoticed. But it was worth a shot. He glanced at his watch and winced. He'd left Rose over two hours ago. He should really be getting back to her. But first, he had to listen, had to find out. He had gone in too far to leave now. It would be like playing a piece of music, but leaving off the last bar or eating a plate of food, but leaving the last mouthful. Unthinkable, really. He waited with baited breath, crouched down behind a dustbin. He had followed this source all the way across the town, ever since he had heard that Pierre had been attacked in the kitchen.
"It was just a cat," the man at the desk, Luc, had laughed. But the Doctor knew better. He always did. It was both a blessing and a curse. Of course then, he had inquired further, and also met the manager of the hotel. A charming man called Michael, who was of a fair height and brought build. Large shoulders and a heavy weight, but he carried himself very well. He was the sort of person you wouldn't like to see up against you in a boxing ring. But he had a nature of gold, which was just as well. After a quick chat the Doctor had not been surprised to hear of some unusual behaviour going on lately. Apparently there had been a few sightings of quite a few stray cats around and, during the dead hours of the night and early hours of the morning, Michael had told him that it was not uncommon to hear the terrible sounds of cats fighting filling the usually quiet streets.
He had asked, quite naturally, if the town was used to stray cats and fighting noises. It came as no shock when he found out it wasn't. It could be nothing, he had thought as he'd bade the men farewell after inquiring a back room of the hotel. It could be just a coincidence. Cats turned up all the time, right? It happened. But that hadn't stopped him from slipping out through the back and keeping his eyes on a movement through the back alley. This he had followed stealthily, down the street, round a couple of corners, and down a few more streets. He had to step lightly so as not to alert the cat to his presence but quickly so as not to lose it in the maze of streets. At some point, he had questioned what it was he was doing - why was he chasing a cat down a street? That didn't seem very Doctor like. He was used to crashing in and causing a scene, not pussy footing around - okay, bad pun - sneaking around, then, to find out an answer. That wasn't his style. And he missed Rose. He'd wanted to go back and get her, to have her by his side. But there hadn't been time; he probably would have lost his lead. And she'd probably trip over a dustbin or something and scare the poor thing away anyway, so it was just as well. Perhaps she'd make her own way to him... Oh, wait, she couldn't do that either. He'd locked the door. Oops.
He edged closer to the bin he was hidden behind. It didn't offer much shelter, but it was better than nothing. Carefully, he peered over the top, where the cat seemed to have stopped. It was pacing, rather unnaturally, looking rather impatient. After a time, the Doctor noticed a black raven flutter down from the sky and land on a thrown out pile of cardboard boxes. It flapped its wings out like a cormorant, holding its beak high. The cat spat for a moment or two, but then sat quite contentedly and began to lick its paw. It was then that the Doctor heard voices. From the cat. And the raven.
"How did it go?" The raven asked. Its voice was silky and even from where the Doctor was standing, he could see it had little beady eyes. Beady eyes that looked familiar.
The cat shook its head, as if something had just flown in its ear and it wanted to get it out.
"Not as planned," it replied in a husky, female voice. "I got caught."
"Fool!" the raven clattered, flapping its wings in distress. "Did I not tell you to take care?"
"The human found me before I had a chance to reach anything. I had only just got myself in there."
"Perhaps, but how did he find you?" The raven's eyes, if possible, narrowed. It leaned forward, its beak clicking menacingly.
"I made a careless jump. My tail caught one of their serving dishes and knocked it clean to the floor. The human heard and came in. I dashed for escape, but was too slow. When he tried to evict me, I lashed out at him and caught his hand with my claw. Gave him a nasty scratch. He'll be dead by the end of next week."
The raven ruffled his feathers in anger.
"You should learn how to control yourself!"
"And you should learn to do your own dirty work," the cat snapped back, her voice harsh. "If it weren't for me, you'd be dead. You rely on me and you know it."
"I didn't used to," muttered the raven in return, relaxing his wings. "There was another..."
"Yes, we have all heard your story," the cat replied, though her voice was not without sympathy. "And we are doing our best to help. But the others are becoming restless. There's talk of mutiny."
"Let them try," snorted the raven. "I am the only one who has the power to disguise myself as a human in this world. And nothing can beat that."
"Humans are weak. They will fall before long."
"Perhaps. But she is necessary in our - in my - plan. Nothing goes ahead until I give the signal. You can tell the others so if you wish. But, my fair lady, you must have to try again. I realise your discomfort with staying hidden longer than you have to, but it's all for the best. You have to trust me on that at least."
"I do trust you," the cat replied quietly. "But others do not. They assume you to be caught up in the past and not concentrating enough on the future. They fear your judgement is clouded by the woman."
"Let them think what they like. If it weren't for me we wouldn't even be here and they would still be complaining of a better life. If they have to demonstrate some patience in the meantime, well, I can't help that."
The cat bowed her head to the floor, then stood to all fours.
"Tomorrow night, then?" she asked. The raven nodded his head.
"I shall keep an eye on the girl. Until tomorrow, then," he replied. The cat disappeared up the alleyway and the raven, checking his surroundings for anything suspicious (the Doctor had had the sense to duck down by this point) spread his wings and swooped into the sky.
Well, that was certainly odd. The Doctor got to his feet again, a frown creasing his already troubled forehead. The TARDIS was good at translating. The best, in fact. But even animals were a stretch, which meant one of two things: either the TARDIS had undergone a miraculous change and could now figure out the telepathic waves of animals – unlikely, considering it was near impossible – or it meant that the two creatures in front of him were of alien life and blood and therefore more recognisable. That was probably it.
The Doctor exhaled loudly and leant against the wall, the unwelcome rocks digging into his back. Nothing could ever be simple, could it? Did trouble just follow him around? Did all the aliens of each and every galaxy suddenly wake up and think, "I know, let's annoy the Doctor today"? All he'd wanted to do was show Rose that he wasn't all about the monsters, and the aliens, and the dying, and the fighting. It turned out that that wasn't what she'd wanted anyway, but that wasn't the point. Without Gallifrey or a place to return to after he felt tired or lonely, was all that was left really the monsters? He wasn't trying to pretend he was anything special; just clever enough to know what was right and what was wrong and brave enough to stand up for it. What else could he do? He couldn't be the only one who felt this way, surely. But he wasn't, was he? There was Rose. Rose, who never questioned his motive and always trusted that he was right. Rose, who, despite having almost killed her on several occasions, still stood by him without a doubt. Refused to leave his side, even. Rose, who had called the TARDIS her home when he wasn't even sure if it was his. Rose, who still didn't have a key to the TARDIS because he'd demanded it back from her on their last but one trip to Earth and, up until now, had forgotten all about it. Rose, who was still locked in the bedroom, probably waiting for him and probably in a very bad mood. Rose, who was his best friend because of or despite all of the above. There were too many reasons to think of why he loved her. But he did. The realisation hit him like a bullet between the eyes, just as sudden and equally as painful.
Damn it, he thought as he began to stroll quickly back to the hotel. He hated being on his own. It made him think about everything. When he was with Rose he could react to her and be himself, no thinking involved. But without her, he was a big thinking time bomb. He had thought a lot since Gallifrey. Those lonely hours on the TARDIS drifting away as he sat and thought and wondered about everything he had done, and not just to do with the Time War. That had hurt, all that thinking. Not that it had done him any good. He was still miserable and hollow, like an empty shell or a soulless being. He had been merely surviving. Nothing more. Standing up for what was right, maybe, but only because there was no one and nothing else. He had been alone, and right, and the only one clever enough to do anything about it.
But then he'd met Rose, and all of a sudden, it had all fallen away. It all became a distant dream, a numbness in the pit of one of his hearts. She had outwitted him – or as good as – and given him a small jolt towards the direction of life in the process. Was that was he was doing now? Living? Because that was what it felt like. There certainly seemed to be a point to it all now. The 'lone wanderer' had been given a home and... Oh bother, he was thinking again, wasn't he? Thoughts about Rose, no less. Dangerous grounds. If he wasn't careful, he would end up going so deep with her that it just wouldn't be clever. But he didn't care. If life was meaningless without her, then he'd be damned if he were just going to let her go. She'd promised she would stay with him always. What if she meant it? What if this really was what had been missing from her life, not to mention his? What if she ended up spending the rest of her life with him? No, it was too much and too stupid to think about. She would never love him enough for that; he just wouldn't let her.
The Doctor found himself outside of the hotel. After a quick glance around to check that he was alone – call it his paranoid mind, but he didn't want anyone seeing him – he pushed open the door and stepped in. The foyer light was off, but there was a soft glow coming from the office behind the reception desk. Shrugging, he walked over to it, knocked, and then – with granted permission – stuck his head around the door. Michael was sat wearily at one of the desks, but he lifted his head at the Doctor' presence.
"Hello," the Doctor said brightly with his trademark grin.
"Sir," Michael replied with a kind smile.
"No more trouble, I take it? No cats or anything?"
Michael frowned slightly and rose to his feet. "I assure you, the hygiene of this hotel is quite immaculate. You need not worry."
"That wasn't what I asked."
The manager sighed and rubbed his tired eyes with his hand.
"No," he said quietly. "No trouble." Then he paused for a moment with and inquisitive look on his aging brow. "Why do you ask?"
"Just making sure. Let me know if anything out of the ordinary happens. I have a feeling I'll be here for a while."
Michael eyed this strange man with interest. He was dressed in the most bizarre combination of clothes he had ever seen. Something from America, maybe? But he didn't sound American. North of the British Isles, possibly. Still, there was something in his look and manner that Michael trusted, so he gave a gracious nod of the head and confirmed that he would do just that.
"Good," the man grinned with a winning smile. "Glad to see you trust me."
Michael started; he was not usually so easy to read.
The man turned to go, but before he did, he turned back for a second.
"That receptionist of yours," he began with a frown. "Pierre. He was the one that the cat attacked?"
"Yes," Michael nodded. "Why?"
"You might want to tell him to get it checked out.. In fact, if he doesn't come in tomorrow, insist that he does. If it was a nasty cat scratch, chances are he could be dead by the end of the week. And no one wants that."
The manager, not unreasonably, looked quite taken aback.
"Are you a doctor, then?" he asked amiably.
"Of sorts," the Doctor smiled, though it was somewhat patronising. "I take care of people when I have to."
"In that case, you are a very good man indeed. I shall do as you suggest. Good night."
"Good night."
The Doctor left the man in peace. Well, good deed done. Pierre would probably not die. Or at the very least, not without his help in trying to stop it. He began climbing the stairs two at a time, quietly though, so as not to disturb the sleeping guests. He reached his room and, reluctantly, with the full knowledge of the bollocking he would get from Rose if she was in there, slipped the key into the lock. He almost wished she'd found a way to break out and sneak off.
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Arguments with Rose were generally fairly one-sided, a skill she had picked up from Jackie, no doubt.
"Two-and-a-half hours I waited!"
"I know."
"Two-and-a-half hours I waited for you!"
"I know."
"You said 'back in a mo'!"
"I know."
"What kind of 'mo' was that, Doctor?"
"It wasn't"
"I didn't even try the door until about an-hour-and-a-half after you left!"
"I kn – really?"
"You locked it!"
"I'm sorry."
"For all I knew, you'd jumped into the TARDIS for a quick trip without me!"
"I'd never do that."
"You left me! For two-and-a-half bloody hours!"
And so it went on; Rose getting more and more aggravated, the Doctor getting more and more patient. Until, at last, he couldn't stand it.
"I know," the Doctor said eventually, getting to his feet from the couch and putting his arms out to the shoulders of the angrily pacing Rose. He lowered his head to hers so their eye line was perfect and looked at her, unblinking. "I know, Rose, and I'm sorry. I should have come back. But I couldn't. There wasn't time. I wanted you with me, but I needed to find out what was going on."
"And did you?"
He hesitated, which was enough of an answer in itself. "Well, no, not exactly."
She wriggled out of his grip and flung her arms to her side with an irritated sigh.
"I need a leash for you, I do."
At least she was just angry. She wasn't hurt, or upset, and she didn't really think he'd left her. Did she? These days, it was best just to check.
"You didn't really think I'd left, did you?" he asked with worry, perching on one of the arms of the sofa. Rose looked at him like he'd just got up and suggested they dance the hokey-cokey.
"Of course I didn't. I just wish you wouldn't forget me."
"I didn't forget you!" the Doctor protested hotly. "Thought about you every bloody minute, actually. I just couldn't do anything about it. I knew you'd be angry and bite my head off when I got back, but I'm still here, aren't I?"
That seemed to soften her. She stopped pacing and actually smiled at him. God this girl could change mood quickly.
"Yeah, I guess you are," she replied warmly, going over to sit by the corner of the sofa he was perched on. "So, who's the big bad?"
And that was it. Argument over, all in the past, never to be brought up again. That was another thing he loved about her; she never held a grudge. One more thing to add to a very long list.
"I don't know," he replied honestly, with a small sigh. "The usual thing. Aliens trying to invade Earth in the form of cats."
"Cats?"
"Long story," he continued, waving his hand as if to dismiss her question. "I don't think there's any danger for tonight."
"Good," Rose said through a stifled yawn. The Doctor looked at her fondly.
"Time for bed, I think, Miss Tyler. Let that head of yours rest."
"Yeah, well, look what happened last time I tried," she sighed, though her eyes were already dipping shut in sleep. God, she must be exhausted. Even the Doctor felt a slight twinge of tiredness, and he was less prone to it than most.
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. Rose opened her eyes to look at him.
"I wasn't have a go or anything," she tried to explain, but he stopped her mid sentence but lowering a hand to her hair affectionately.
"I know," he said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. She'd have trouble hearing it when she wasn't half asleep. "I know you weren't. But I'm still sorry, about all of this. I can't even take you out to dinner without it turning into some kind of dangerous game."
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't like it," she reminded. "Who wants dinner when you can have dinner, and dancing, and aliens shooting about all over the place, and letters from complete strangers?"
"Who indeed?" the Doctor wondered contemplatively. Rose yawned again, loud and wide. "Come on, you. Bed," he ordered. "But please don't make me carry you again. My back can only take so much."
"What about my 'life being in danger'?" Rose grinned, teasing him about earlier that evening.
"Your life can wait. But I'll be here, awake, keeping watch. I'll make sure you're safe."
"You sure?"
"Positive. Any signs of trouble, you'll be the first to know."
"Thanks Doctor."
Rose got up with a groan but slowly and steadily made her way to the bedroom door. Tiredness had crept up on her at just about the speed of the hare chasing the tortoise towards the end of their race.
She turned at the door and was happy – if not surprised – to see the Doctor sitting there watching her.
"Thank you," she said at length, after gazing at him for a moment or two. "For everything."
"You're very welcome," he replied, bringing his hand up to give her a small wave. "Good night, Rose."
She smiled. "Good night Doctor."
She disappeared behind the doors and was soon fast asleep under the covers. She hadn't even got changed. But at some point before she fell asleep, perhaps in addition to the farewell, she mumbled quietly into her pillow, "My Doctor."
Quite by coincidence, at about the same time, the Doctor sat perched on the sofa looking towards the balcony and said softly into the early morning, "My Rose."
It was a peaceful way to end the evening. Rose slept quietly for many hours whilst the Doctor sat, waited and watched as the Sun began to rise over a sleepy Saint-Émilion in complete silence. It was much, much later when Rose finally awoke to the sound of chirping birds. Having no idea of the time, she stumbled out of bed with a bleary yawn, then made her way to the living room. She opened the bedroom door, but stared as she did so. The room was empty. The Doctor was gone. Again. And this time, Rose knew, that no matter how long she waited, he wouldn't be coming back.
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