FOUR
Fergus was marched down a long, damp corridor whose stonework appeared to be propped up by the slime encasing it. He tugged experimentally at the chains on his wrists, but they were more than up to their job.
The large soldier escorting him grabbed his shoulder, stopping him at an equally large iron door. He pushed him to one side, produced a heavy-looking set of keys, and rammed one into the lock.
He pushed Fergus in front of him and into the cell slowly, lumbering after the smaller male. He ignored the three other occupants of the cell, instead pushing Fergus to the far wall and linking his wrist chains to the secured chain along the wall.
He stood back, eyed the other inmates with disdain, and lumbered out again.
"No phone call then?" Fergus managed, watching the man slam the iron door. The key rattled in the lock and then the sound of his heavy footfall slowly faded into the distance.
Fergus looked at the other three.
All three males, in various shapes and conditions, looked back at him. Two of them, a little shorter, and to be honest, weedier than him, swallowed and began to lean back against the wall, glad of the shadows, it seemed. Fergus dismissed them much the same way as he had every punter smaller than him in a nightclub queue.
But the third surprised him. Taller than himself and wearing a clean military uniform, the young male looked back at him with cautious curiosity. He was of a similar build to Fergus, with that same light blue, downy Werrian fur covering him where the uniform did not.
His light beige uniform jacket fitted him perfectly, his trousers and shiny black boots only reinforcing the idea that all soldiers were built like brick-privvies.
"Evening," Fergus said politely, nodding. The male blinked. "Am Ah tae assume wir not in here fae theft?" he hazarded.
The male let his head tilt, then nodded thoughtfully.
"It would appear not," he said nervously. "Norra," he said, inclining his head.
"Fergus Campbell," he said genially.
"If you do not mind me asking, what are you, Mr Fergus?" he asked, looking over his tufty dark blonde-come-light brown hair and green eyes in quiet curiosity.
"No, yir alright, Ah'm just Fergus," he said helpfully. "Ah'm not from round here, Ah huv tae sae," he added apologetically. "What's this all aboot then?"
Norra blinked his small, dark eyes. "Fighting?" he prompted, as if it should be obvious. "They say I am a spy for the House of T'riff, my friend. Although, as you can see, I was until recently a soldier for the G'mlee. Before that, I ran a metalry in the high street."
"Ah see," he said. "Well, perhaps you'd know hoe tae get us oot of these chains, then?"
"I am afraid not," he said unhappily. "This is not as it appears to be."
"Oh," he sighed, nodding, "it's one o' them days again, no?"
-------------------------------------------------
Gerressia walked into the clean but Spartan apartment slowly, waiting for the two guards to frog-march the tall, strangely calm man in with them.
She turned as she heard the door start to close.
"Wait," she barked, and the guards stopped immediately. "Unchain him," she ordered.
The Doctor held his wrists out helpfully and one man produced a key, unlocking and removing the rather heavy manacles from his limbs. He didn't even look at him; instead he turned and bowed to Gerressia. She made a shooing gesture with one hand and he nodded, walking out and pushing his colleague with him.
The Doctor walked back to the chair by the door, picking up his jacket and pulling it on slowly, hissing as his shoulder cracked audibly. He turned slowly as he buttoned it up, his large eyes taking in everything in the room.
"I think we have a few things in common," she said suddenly, and he looked round at her.
"Hmm? In common?" he asked, pre-occupied. "Oh, the mud," he realised, catching sight of his Converse, splattered with the stuff.
"And… problems," she said. "Tell me about this ship of yours. Where is it?" she asked quickly.
"Why?"
"We're a little far from the water, Doctor. Where is it?" she pressed, walking closer. He stood his ground, meeting her gaze easily, despite the warm air that seemed to have suddenly begun to circulate the room.
"Which way's the water?" he asked mildly, watching her search his eyes intently.
"Your ship doesn't need water, I think," she said, walking just a step too close. He almost shifted back, but something made him stand a little taller. "And you don't smell of horses." She pushed her face closer to his, turning it slightly at the last moment, drawing in a slight breath through her nose. "No… Not horses. You smell of… metal, and… man, and… loneliness," she breathed, close to his ear.
"I wasn't aware that had a smell," he said amiably, apparently unmoved. She drew her head back slowly.
"Shows what you know," she said with the barest of smiles. His eyes followed her as she stepped back one. "I have a few questions," she said slowly, watching his expression.
"Go on then. As long as it's not 'who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop?'," he said helpfully. "Never did figure that one out."
"Humour," she said with a grin, nodding, "But of course. Now tell me about your ship."
"It's, er… big," he began, as she turned away and walked to a table, picking up a decanter and a small wine glass. He put a hand to the back of his head, rubbing slowly. "It's got little windows and even a phone – well, it doesn't work – well, it does but not – well, it's still a phone, and – look, I don't wish to be rude seeing as you've just had me released from a particularly nasty chair, but who are you?" he said suddenly, walking over to the table and standing next to her.
She turned and simply handed him the glass, now full of some kind of red wine.
"I am the mistress of the House of G'mlee. And I need help," she said simply.
"House of G'mlee?" he prompted, lost. "Are there many houses?"
"About nine. They've been fighting little turf wars for centuries. Just about sixty years ago they finished the most recent, biggest one. The house of T'riff was declared the winner, and the other major eight houses agreed to be bound and ruled by them ever after."
"Right," he said flatly.
"Quite," she said with a small smile. "They might have lied about the 'ever after' bit."
"So you lot are now hedging your bets before proper war starts, trying to get as many houses together before it all kicks off?" he asked, lifting the red wine and taking a mouthful. He paused and looked down at it appreciatively.
She looked at him, reaching out and picking up the other glass. She filled it and took a long sip.
"Yes," she said, then looked at him. "What would you do?"
"What would I do?" he asked, confused. "I'd fix my ship and leave."
"But the situation is the same over the sea," she said slyly. "Your ship doesn't sail on water, does it? And you're not a normal nobleman, are you?" she added curiously, turning toward him.
"Do have a lot of water on the ship, actually," he pointed out cheerfully. "Mostly in the bath. Although, sometimes, when you're busy and you forget it's running, you know, it kinda gets all over the floo-"
"Your skin, your hands – you're not a normal 'Pink-Skin'," she said suddenly. "You've never touched anything but buttons and levers all your life, have you?"
"What?" he asked, confused. "How do you –"
"And your clothes! You wear them very well, but I suspect you chose them without any idea whatsoever of the impact they have," she said, taking a step toward him.
"Ah – now," he began quickly, raising his hands as if to keep her back, "I do get a lot of grief for this suit, but I do actually like it. It wasn't the only thing that would have fitted me in the wardrobe, contrary to popular belief, but it –"
"I like it on you," she said warmly, and he stopped short, eyeing her.
"Um. Oh," he managed, his voice unexpectedly high-pitched. He cleared his throat quickly.
"But I'd like it more off you," she said.
He took a hasty step back.
"Now, Gerressia, love, there's a few things I'd really like to know–"
"Like?" she asked, reaching out for his glass and putting it back on the table without looking.
"Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong?" he hazarded. "That's been bugging me for years too – always thought I should find Barry Mann and just ask–"
"Pretending again?" she grinned, advancing on him with intent. He stepped back quickly, finding the wall in his back and stopping abruptly.
"Um –"
"You poor man. No-one knows, do they?" she said slowly, following him and stopping to lean against him firmly. "Don't you get tired of pretending?"
He stared down at her. "How do you-"
"Listen," she said, sliding her hands to his face. "I have a proposition for you. Give me what I want, right here, right now, and I'll give you what you need."
"Are we still talking houses and ships?" he squeaked, willing himself not to jump as she drew her hands down his face and to his chest slowly.
"Maybe," she purred, turning her face up to his. He just stared at her and she found herself lost in the deep pools of brown confusion. She slid her hands to the buttons on his jacket firmly.
"Er –"
"You poor thing," she said warmly. "You've seen so much. But you have no-one to go home to, no-one to do this for you, have you," she said knowingly. "It's no fun when there's no-one to share it with, is it?"
"Well. Er –" he began. But she leaned her face up closer to his. Suddenly it was all he could do to stop the jumble of images, the half-forgotten and only half-realised memories of the scent and feel of a woman, eyes so vibrant, so close to his.
And then, unthinkably, six foot one inch of Gallifreyan let her unbutton his jacket.
She slid her hands inside slowly, wondering why his eyes simply tossed and flipped like ship-wrecking waves.
It was too much and she stepped back abruptly, out of his reach.
"I'm sorry. This just isn't right," she said, looking away from his large eyes, bright with innocent confusion. "It's just that I thought it'd be easier. It's not." She raised her hand slowly. "This was all I wanted," she said, then blinked. "Is. Is all I want," she corrected quickly, sounding slightly unsure.
His face darkened abruptly and he stepped toward her, putting his hand out for his screwdriver.
"Give it back," he said curtly.
She marvelled at the speed with which he went from puzzled schoolboy to group leader, and a few things clicked.
"Oh I'll give it back to you, don't worry," she said, letting her hand drop. "Just as soon as you've seen what I want you to see."
"Now look, Gerressia, I don't know how you lot do things down here, but I do not go around –"
"Oh, I'm quite sure you don't," she said, more quietly. "Come with me," she said warmly.
She put her hand out and took his in a firm grip, feeling the odd coolness and pulling on it. He didn't protest, but his face indicated great wheels turning behind his narrowed eyes.
"Give me one good reason," he breathed seriously.
"I'll do better than that," she said with a sudden, devious smile. "I'll show you."