The Doctor and the Angels - chapter 4
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"Hullo there, Doctor." Harry greeted him as he swept into David's room.
"Harry! How are you?"
The Doctor grinned and shook the human doctor's hand warmly, his manner far more jovial than it had ever been when they travelled together.
"I'm very well Doctor. The better for keeping my feet on the ground I'd say."
"And what of our guest here?" the Doctor asked, clapping a hand onto David's shoulder, his grip reassuring.
"About that," David ventured, "Are they planning to let me go? I'm not prisoner here am I? I've done nothing wrong."
"No, no, I shall make sure of that" the Doctor assured him. "But it is important, you know, that we ensure you are in no danger. Assuming all is well I can take you back myself, you won't need to miss even a minute of time. Try not to worry."
He turned back to Harry, oblivious to David's expression as he gaped at being offered a journey through time as though it were no more than a lift home from the pub.
"Anything?"
Harry shook his head.
"He's in perfect health. Reflexes fine, no issue with motor skills, hearing... he says he doesn't even wear glasses."
The Doctor hummed.
"You were examining a statue, you say?"
David nodded mutely.
"What can you tell me about it?"
The teacher thought for a moment.
"It was an angel; you know the sort of thing you normally see in churchyards? Around six and half feet, maybe a bit taller. Certainly taller than me. It caught my eye because…" he paused and looked between the two wildly different doctors. "You agree there's nothing wrong with me? You're not going to change your minds about that?"
The Doctor narrowed his eyes.
"Why did it catch your eye, David?" he asked quietly, his tone at once comforting and yet broking no argument.
David sighed.
"I'm not mad. I'm not. But I swear the statue moved. I just caught it in the corner of my eye. It was in the garden, with its hands covering its eyes. But when I looked back, its head had turned, I'm sure of it.
The Doctor nodded slowly.
"Interesting."
"I'm not mad. I'm not." the young man repeated, as though trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
The Doctor bent down to place his hands either side of David's legs where he perched on the edge of the bed, and fixed him with a hard stare.
"David," he said firmly, "you are most certainly not mad, any more than I am. Someone, or something has done this to you and I will find out who."
During the pregnant pause that followed Benton rapped at the door with a tray of food.
"Doctor? Dr Shaw has something to show you."
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The Doctor looked genuinely curious as Liz explained her findings to him. He bent over the microscope and scanned the fragments with the sonic screwdriver, his brow furrowed as he mulled over the evidence before him.
Sarah watched the exchange with interest; any jealousy she might have felt at the way Liz connected with him on an intellectual level she could never hope to quashed by the uncertainty on the other woman's face as she stole glances at the Doctor, so different now to the version she had known. Sarah knew her own mixed feelings about his transformation, but at least she had been there to witness the change with her own eyes. She couldn't blame Liz for being thrown by the contrast between the dandy she had known and the bohemian now standing before her.
The Doctor straightened up and frowned.
"Show me the other samples," he demanded. Sensing a lengthy scientific debate brewing Sarah decided she was better off elsewhere and wandered into the corridor, finding herself after a moment outside the Brigadier's open office door. He was standing by the window, still and quiet, his back ramrod straight. He seemed deep in thought and Sarah wondered what had caused him to look as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders - more so than usual anyway. She decided not to disturb him and headed off down the hallway, pausing again outside David's door. She knocked quietly; it was late and he could be sleeping after all. A soft "come in" told her otherwise and she opened the door. David was perching on the windowsill, his mobile telephone in hand.
"I though you said there was no signal." she said, gesturing at the small black device.
The teacher chuckled.
"There isn't. It's just force of habit. Besides I've nothing else to do."
"I'll ask Benton to bring you the morning papers tomorrow if you like?" Sarah Jane offered. The young man smiled at her and nodded his appreciation.
"That's kind of you. I suppose if I'm stuck here I might as well get up to speed with the news." he glanced back down at the telephone. "And that's the battery gone." he sighed.
Sarah Jane sank down on the edge of the bed and looked up at him.
"The Doctor will take you home, I'm sure of it."
"Yes… he said that too. Can he really travel in time?"
"Is it so unbelievable?" Sarah asked him, "after what's happened to you?"
"well, no, I suppose not. It's just - I've heard of timeslips and the like, but… he actually has a time machine?"
"Time and space, if you can believe that."
"How… I mean how?"
Sarah Jane grinned at him.
"He's a time lord, David. It's his raison d'etre."
"He's not human?" the young man's voice was incredulous and Sarah felt the familiar tiny spark of pride that came with being one of the chosen few who could share in the Doctor's limelight, even if only by association. She patted the bed next to her and David sat down cautiously, his eyes alight with curiosity.
Half an hour later, and they were both in fits of laughter as Sarah recounted tales of her travels with the Doctor. David had finally relaxed and Sarah couldn't help but like him. He was intelligent and funny and had a way of putting her at her ease that she didn't often find in young men.
A sharp rap on the door followed by it swinging open without pause cut their laughter short and the Doctor burst into the room. For a moment it seemed he was put out about something, although what it was, Sarah couldn't say. But he recovered swiftly and fixed them both with a wide eyed grin.
"What do you say to a trip in the TARDIS? Both of you?"
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Thanks for reading this far. Let me know what you think.