Chapter 4 - The Doctor (Continued)

Things were mostly back to normal the following Wednesday, and Nils made no direct mention of their conversation on Christmas Day. The boy seemed his usual self, if a little subdued, yet the Doctor couldn't help but notice that something was bothering him. Ever since he had joined Chris and Jordan on board, he'd always given the impression that he was holding something back. That there was something crucial about the child that he was missing, somehow. Something that he didn't allow other people to see. With the recent discovery of his telepathic abilities, though, the Doctor had more or less overlooked the issue, and thought that Nils was merely still uncomfortable with his singularity.

That being said, it was obvious that walking through the TARDIS doors each Wednesday relieved him of some great weight. Likewise, he attributed the smile on his face and his loosened posture to his ship's soothing presence. After all, he himself relied on her for his mental well-being on a day to day basis. It was no wonder that the boy felt the same way. Although he wondered why she had such an impact on him.

This appeared all the more glaring every time they returned after one of their trips. Particularly after they had to take part in a Neptunian revolution. Things had escalated quickly, and they found themselves separated in the loud crowd. In the end, they spent three days on the planet and by the time they were all accounted for and safely back on board, nerves were a little frayed on all sides. There might have even been some tears, but the Doctor didn't begrudge the lachrymal emission – it had been quite a scary adventure after all.

He thus expected the trio to be glad to be back on Earth – at the right time on Wednesday afternoon, thank you very much – to enjoy the safety of their (boring) human lives for a week. Reaching the door, Chris voiced his wish for his bed, while Jordan hoped his mum would cook his favourite meal that evening. Nils remained silent and looked longingly at the console. The Doctor was on the verge of uncharacteristically speaking up and ask him what was wrong when the other boys pushed him outside the TARDIS and urged him to hurry up. He chose not to intervene and let them go.

Another area of puzzlement for him was how long he would keep on travelling with the boys. When he had started coming to Coal Hill School on Wednesdays to take a carefully chosen selection of kids on what he called 'field trips for the non-pudding brained', or 'anti-pudding trips' (he was still working on the name), he had established that the key age was 14. Young enough to still be sufficiently open-minded, yet old enough not to easily lose one or more limbs along the way.

In his experience, fourteen years old boys and girls usually lost interest in time travels after about a year for one or two reasons: they found something more engaging (be it other girls or boys or – rarely – their GCSEs) or they got too frightened after a particularly trying outing. This was the reason it was the perfect age, it meant he didn't have to linger and cause too many waves – he wanted to help shape those kids in some small way, not become a liability. The Doctor was very much aware of what was at stake: they couldn't become too attached or too dependent. He wasn't looking for new long term companions. Not yet, anyway. He had neither the heart nor the will to replace Clara. And kids were supposed to be safe since they had so many ties they wouldn't want to abandon on Earth.

He had deemed this strategy the safest approach after several decades of splitting his time between actively looking for Clara and roaming around the universe in the TARDIS to 'help out' (as he liked to call it) in any way that he could. Most often than not, his 'help' implied quite a lot of risk taking. More so that usual. He used to live for that danger and welcome it with open arms – wars, conflicts, disputes, revolutions, attacks, mysteries, vengeance, and various scrapes. Anything and everything that was thrown at him. It was just one way to keep busy, after all. Of course, the result of those adventures was often death, maiming or injury, even where he was concerned. Except for the first one, obviously. Although he came close a few times. Which was why he decided to stop for a while and regroup. What if he died and regenerated and Clara came back? He couldn't do that to her – not again. The guilt arising from that realisation had prompted his decision to do something she would actually approve of during her absence.

Now he wondered what Clara would do about Nils. Probably investigate things further, he knew. However, this would go against his don't get too involved rule. When the next Wednesday came along, though, he no longer had a choice, and had to re-examine his position on the matter.

He parked in the storeroom expecting the boys to bounce in any second and bring in with them their usual exuberance, dubious human teenager smells and inappropriate hand gestures. Instead, there was a hesitant knock. Confused, the Doctor made sure that he knew who was standing outside before opening the door.

Chris and Jordan were on their own, the extra space between them normally Nils-shaped empty.

"Where's the third one?" he asked, checking behind them.

"We don't know," replied Jordan.

"Is he ill?"

"Maybe," said Chris, though he looked doubtful.

"What? Did he tell you where he'd be?"

"No."

"Did he say he wasn't coming?"

"No."

"What do you know, then?" he queried, annoyed with this conversation already.

"He's not been to class for two days," supplied Jordan, looking at Chris the whole time, "and no one would tell us where he's been moved to."

"Moved to? What do you mean?"

"He's got a new foster family, but he didn't tell us where they lived. They might know at the home, though," stated Chris, happy with his sudden deduction.

"What home?" the Doctor asked, utterly lost.

"He took us there, once. It was alright. Like a boarding school, or something. Even if he comes here. Nils seemed okay with it," added the other boy.

"Go back to the beginning," he ordered, "he doesn't live with his parents?"

"He didn't tell you?" uttered Jordan in wonder.

"Tell me what?"

"He hasn't got parents. He's been living in foster care since he was a baby," voiced out Chris matter of factly.

"He really didn't tell you?" pressed Jordan, the disbelief clear on his face.

"No," he groaned in frustration, wondering why this mattered so much.

"So what's that about him moving, where did he go?" he eventually asked after a beat, the boys still refusing to come inside.

"He told us he'd mostly lived in homes and orphanages and stuff, because he was never adopted. But sometimes he gets to stay with foster parents for a while."

"When was this? When did he leave?"

"A few weeks ago," supplied Chris, "and he was real pissed off about it. I think he'd stayed with that family at one point, and he didn't much care for them."

"What makes you say that?"

Both boys shrugged and looked at each other.

"He's been pretty miserable, lately, but he wouldn't tell us why. We just guessed," mumbled Jordan, a slightly guilty look on his face.

"And you didn't think to warn anyone?" objected the Doctor, anger colouring his voice.

"Who were we supposed to tell?" defended Chris, piqued, "The teachers don't give a crap, they probably don't even know."

"That's right. And we're telling you!" nodded Jordan, looking at him expectantly.

The Doctor stared at them in bewilderment. They were telling him? Whatever for? He wasn't their father or their guardian or their teacher or a policeman, no matter what it said on the TARDIS. He was just... He sighed. He was just the Doctor, and they expected him to do something about their friend. Did he owe it to them to help? Was their request worth breaking his rules? Observing their young, hopeful faces, he knew there was only one viable answer.

"So where's this home you were telling me about?"

In the end, he only had to brandish his psychic paper once. Who knew that social services were so scared of being inspected? Armed with the necessary address, he parked the TARDIS and arrived promptly at the house Nils was supposedly living in. It took him a while to find the correct door because all the brick structures looked the same, with their postage stamp gardens shabbily kept.

There was no answer when he knocked, loud enough to rattle the door on its hinges, although he was pretty sure he heard a vacuum cleaner stop.

"Nils? Are you there? It's the Doctor," he yelled.

He knocked again. Silence. Knowing that he wasn't about to turn round after coming all this way, he discreetly soniced his way in.

The house looked empty and depressing. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the sitting room, left abandoned in a hurry.

"Nils?" he called out again.

A head suddenly appeared from behind the sofa. A woollen hat wearing head.

"Doctor? What are you doing here? How did you get in?" he rushed in to say, approaching slowly.

The ever present fear that surrounded him was so potent at the moment that the Doctor took a step back. The boy was worryingly pushing his sleeves down and wiping his palms on his trousers.

"You should go, they might be back soon," he stuttered, looking everywhere but at him.

He mechanically pushed his hat further over his ears then crossed his arms over his chest protectively.

"Are you ill?" the Doctor asked, frowning, unable to get past the whirlwind that was the child's mind, pulsating wildly at the periphery of his.

He shook his head, looking at his feet and the tatty carpet.

"Why aren't you at school? Chris and Jordan were worried about you."

At that, he raised his head and looked at him for the first time, baffled.

"Really?"

His eyes were wide and terrified. He took in a laboured breath and his bottom lip trembled. Fear, so much fear. Pain and raised voices and tears. Nils quickly lowered his eyes once more, his cheeks reddening under the Doctor's stare.

"What..." he started, but the boy interrupted him.

"You have to go, now. Please! They can't find you in there," he begged, walking stiffly towards the door.

The Doctor thought he saw something now that his back was turned. A bruise on his neck that disappeared under his shirt.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the mark.

Nils raised his hands to his hat, but he couldn't push it down enough to cover it.

"Nothing," he uttered, turning back towards him swiftly, the front door right behind him.

"What happened to you?" the Doctor asked, dreading the answer and feeling guilt creeping in. How could he have missed that?

"Nothing," Nils repeated stubbornly, his chest heaving.

"Why were you hoovering?" he tried, changing tactics.

"I was bored," he replied.

"If you were so bored, why didn't you come to school or to the TARDIS?"

"I couldn't," he managed, "I can't."

"Why? Does that bruise need to heal first?" he inferred, his voice cold.

The boy shook his head but didn't answer.

"Please, Doctor. Just go. I'll be there next Wednesday, I promise," he eventually said, defeat and weariness infusing all his words.

"You don't have to stay here," he reasoned, approaching the child cautiously, like he would a wounded animal.

"I do," he countered, "but I'll be back at the home soon, that's okay. I just have to spend a few months in foster families every once in a while to make up the numbers, I'm used to it."

"You're not a number, Nils," he argued, but he could tell that it was no use.

"Oh yes, I am. But that's okay, too. I just have to hold on for two more years and that's it. I'll be allowed to live on my own when I'm 16."

His speech sounded rehearsed, as if he was replaying these words in his head like a mad mantra every day.

"I can get you out of here," he offered, knowing that he wouldn't be able to go back on his promise.

"No, you can't," he smiled sadly, "but thanks."

"Of course I can!" he said loudly, glowering.

"What would you do with me, Doctor? Where would I fit in? My life is here, and it sucks, but it will get better, I know it."

He didn't know what to answer, probably because the child was right. The Doctor closed his eyes and wished for the millionth time that Clara was here. She'd have probably taken the boy in her arms by now, and convinced him to leave.

"You can't stay here," he tried one more time, and when Nils resolutely shook his head once more, he approached and gripped his shoulders loosely, forcing him to stare into his eyes.

Boots on the stairs, hiding himself under the covers and pretending to sleep. Two older boys yelling. Accusing him. Pulling him out of his bunk bed with force. Hands gripping his face to silence him. Feet kicking his stomach. Arms holding him back. Threats of revenge and worse consequences if he grassed. Heels against his fingers and his neck. Exploding pain and silent tears. Mumbled promises not to tell. I promise. I promise. A shiny blade next to his eye. Terror. More kicks. His breathing cut off. One last threat and then darkness in the room.

Different memories. Memories of more beating and taunting over the years. Different places. Different faces. But always the fear that it would never stop.

The Doctor let go of the boy who slipped against the door and fell to the floor, utterly drained. He was gasping for breath and holding his sides tightly, trying to erase from his memory what the Doctor had made him relive.

"I'm sorry, Nils, I'm so sorry," he whispered, kneeling down to be closer to him.

The boy covered his watery eyes and stayed silent, his panting the only sound.

"They're the other foster kids staying here, and they saw me... They saw that I was watching them that night. They burgled the house next door and I saw them."

It was all pouring out of him, now. Looking at the window that night because he couldn't sleep and seeing those boys he was sharing a bedroom with robbing the neighbours.

"They'll kill me if I tell, and the foster parents are blind and pathetic, they're just in it to cash in their cheques at the end of the month for taking us in," he grimaced.

"Then why don't you want to leave?" asked the Doctor in consternation.

"Because they'll just put me somewhere else or worse: prevent me from getting out of the bloody system in two years because I'm 'troubled'. I can't take that risk, Doctor," he confessed.

It all clicked into place, now. The boy's sadness every time he had to leave the TARDIS because he didn't have a real home to go to. His presence on Christmas Day at the school instead of celebrating with his family. And the fear that seemed to follow him everywhere. That fear was dangerous, he knew. He couldn't let it fester. Or else the child would grow up to become a very troubled individual indeed.

"You can't live like that, Nils," he reasoned once more, "let me help you find a better solution."

There. He'd said it. He'd given his word. He'd promised. There was no way he would keep on taking no for an answer, now. He was committed to do everything in his power to make the child's life better.

"The TARDIS is just outside, don't you want to come?" he offered, knowing that he was striking a chord. His ship was a weak spot and he almost felt bad for manipulating him.

"I want to take a closer look at that bruise in the medical bay, and we can talk in peace," he added.

He could tell that Nils was relenting at the mention of the TARDIS. But he still looked at the space around him worryingly.

"You'll get me home on time?" he requested in a small voice, "I don't want to get into trouble because I didn't do the housework."

"Sure," the Doctor lied easily, "time machine and all that."

The boy would never step into that house ever again. He would make sure of it.

"Why don't you go and grab your stuff just in case?" he said, the boy looking apprehensive, "The things you want to keep safe, for instance. You can leave them on board."

Nils nodded, convinced, and went upstairs haltingly. He'd have to take a look at his other injuries, as well. If his memory was any indication, there'd be more than the mark on his neck. It didn't take long for the boy to come down, wearing the jacket he had given him and carrying his book bag and a small holdall. Yet in that time, the Doctor had already come up with a plan.

First, he made the boy show him where he was hurt, which he did ruefully. He understood why he'd been wearing that stupid beanie so much: it did a good job at hiding the extensive bruising on his neck and shoulders. He had a hard time convincing him that he no longer needed to wear it on board, and he could tell that Nils felt naked without it. He kept scratching his too short hair expecting it to be there.

Rage kept mounting inside the Doctor as he catalogued the teenager's various injuries. He kept a tight lid on it, but he knew he'd have to let it explode soon. He had small lesions in different states of healing, fractured ribs old and new, a sprained wrist and a couple of broken fingers. He strapped the ribs, wrist, and fingers, made sure all the other wounds were clean and applied liniment on his bruises. The Doctor knew that he'd have to take him to the cat nuns at one point – he hadn't had the courage to make an in depth inventory of all his old injuries, but he was pretty sure there were some badly healed fractures they could help out with. He didn't deserve to suffer abuse-related stunting.

He vowed to make him physically brand new. But he still had to convince him that he should stay on board for the foreseeable future. Until he found out what to do with him – what was best for him. Because the boy was right: his life was on Earth. That's what he'd said. Then it must mean that it was what he wanted. Right?

After a long talk, he managed to persuade Nils to at least wait until he had healed before he went back to his life in London – on the date he wanted, of course. The Doctor knew that the TARDIS was on his side and helped him sway the boy. The prospect of a few carefree days on board was just too tempting.

Their next stop was to inform Chris and Jordan. They seemed relieved to see Nils but horrified at the state he was in and what had happened to him – even though he didn't tell them the whole truth. Still resenting them slightly for not having warned someone sooner, the Doctor didn't try to assuage their guilt and worry. He'd forgive them. But not yet. Even though he knew deep inside him that he was more to blame than them.

Nils seemed startled by the boys' reaction. He guessed that he had a hard time reconciling their obvious care for him with the way they used to mock him just a few short months ago.

The following step was trickier, and required some preparation. The Doctor had given Nils some mild sedative to help with his painful ribs and he had to wait until the teenager had fallen into a light sleep before leaving the TARDIS.

Once again, he was baffled at how easy it was to fool social services with the use of psychic paper, faked medical records and a few well-aimed threats. Nils would never have to go back to that family. In fact, no child would ever have to go there. As for the two boys who'd used him as a punching bag, they were arrested by the police following 'an anonymous tip' by a nosy neighbour.

The Doctor had pretended to conduct an inspection for the government, and Nils's care had been easily granted to him for the time being. Legally. Well, as legally as his psychic paper made it out to be. He would be responsible for finding the boy suitable guardians. Which bought him some time, at least. Enough time for the boy to heal and for him to find a solution. He hoped.

"Can we go somewhere?" Nils had asked as soon as he was back on the TARDIS.

"Not far," he added, sheepish, "just somewhere nice. Somewhere beautiful."

How could he deny the boy after what he had been through? How could he deny him when he sounded so much like the woman he had lost?

So he'd taken him to the Grand Canyon in 1919. Then the next day to Victoria Falls in 1854, one year before David Livingstone saw them. And after that to Easter Island in the 16th Century and to the Twelve Apostles on the Great Ocean Road in Australia, back when there was still twelve. Finally, they went to watch the northern lights in Norway. The Doctor gradually saw on Nils's face the belief that there was still some beauty in his own world.

As his bruises and body healed – thanks in part to the cat nuns – the boy also got progressively more at ease with himself and with the Doctor. He could tell that he had whole conversations with the TARDIS he wasn't privy to. It was obvious that his ship had a soft spot for the teenager, given the magnificent bedroom it had made for him, with his own observation deck, starry sky and telescope. In fact, he even felt a bit jealous.

He never tired of asking questions and wonder at the use of all the buttons and switches on the console. The Doctor was usually patient and understanding yet he could tell that he had piqued his interest once he had explained how the telepathic interface worked and what it could do. Nils had stayed silent for a long while after that, pondering a request the Doctor already expected and would have to refuse.

"Could I..."

"No," the Doctor interrupted in a voice that he hoped wasn't too harsh.

"You don't know what I was going to ask," he accused without malice.

"Yes, I do. You want me to help you find your parents with the telepathic interface. It's written all over your face, so don't look so guilty."

The boy lowered his head but seemed more confused than actually upset.

"You really think it would work?" he wondered out loud.

"I won't let you find that out, it's too dangerous. The repercussions could be catastrophic. You could create a paradox," he explained.

"I just want to see what my mum looked like, that's all," he pleaded, "just one look and I'll stay in the TARDIS. I'll look at her on the screen, even."

The Doctor said nothing and Nils thought he almost had him.

"I don't really care about my dad, I'm pretty sure he just ran off or whatever. But with the telepathic thingy I should be able to find my mum, right? Because we're linked? Because she...carried me and stuff?"

"The telepathic interface," the Doctor corrected automatically, "and yes, theoretically, it should work for your mother," he relented.

"But are you sure you want to find out?" he asked, looking at him pointedly, the boy with no real name and ancient eyes.

"I'm not stupid," he affirmed, "I know she's either dead or she wants nothing to do with me. I don't want to talk to her, I just want to see her. See what she's like."

"You'll stay in the TARDIS?" the Doctor pressed.

"Yes."

"You'll do exactly what I ask you?"

"Yes," he promised.

The TARDIS reacted surprisingly fast once the boy started to focus on what he remembered from his childhood like the Doctor had asked him, his hands connected to the interface. They were in flight, and the Doctor could see on the screen that they were travelling backwards, which made sense. But then the ship started shaking and rumbling worryingly.

"What's wrong?" Nils asked, just as conscious as the Doctor that the TARDIS wasn't flying as it should.

Lights started blinking on the console and the cloister bell rang out. What's the matter, old girl? And the years were still rolling back on the screen. An impossible amount of years for them to be travelling to see the fourteen year old mum. Things had started so smoothly, what had happened? Why had the TARDIS suddenly started to behave erratically?

"Are we going to crash?" asked Nils, his hands still connected and the ship still rocking them side to side.

Before the Doctor could answer, they landed unceremoniously and fell to the floor in a whoosh of expelled air. The cloister bell was still ringing, even with the hand brake off. The Doctor hoisted himself up and looked at the screen.

London, 1815. A high street. People in regency clothes. Horses, carriages. Then his hearts skipped a beat. There was one person who wasn't wearing the proper period dress. Who looked completely out of place. And who was running at great speed towards the TARDIS, without paying any mind to her surroundings.

"Clara!" he yelled, running towards the doors, leaving a very confused boy behind him.