Charlie walked alongside the security guard, deep in his thoughts, but unable to shake the image of the bodies from his mind. He couldn't even be sure how many people there had been.
The soldier – who had introduced himself as Private Lazarov – kept glancing across at him, probably trying to discern what he was thinking.
"You okay?" he asked, after a couple of minutes.
Charlie nodded. "Yes."
He looked up at Lazarov. He was a fairly attractive man, in his late twenties. Quite well built. Muscular. He probably worked out a lot. Dirty blond hair – cropped short, but kept quite long for a military man.
"Are you sure? You still look a bit pale."
"Yes, I'm sure," Charlie snapped back.
Lazarov shrugged. "Hey, I'm only asking."
Charlie was about to lash out with another retort, but held his tongue.
"What's it to you?" he asked instead.
Lazarov stared at the floor for a second, before answering.
"My kid brother's about your age. He had this look about him when he was upset but didn't want to tell anyone."
Charlie gritted his teeth. He wasn't upset, and he certainly didn't like anyone telling him otherwise.
"It's… just something the Doctor said," Charlie muttered, trying to answer as succinctly as possible, so Lazarov would stop interrogating him.
Lazarov nodded thoughtfully.
"Things the Doctor says should never be taken at face value," he advised. "Always be critical. Be sure to question everything."
Charlie frowned. It seemed that everyone on the Moonbase knew more about the Doctor than he did.
"Have you met him before?" he asked.
"No," Lazarov admitted. "This is all stuff I was briefed on when I joined UNIT."
"I see," Charlie uttered. "Are you briefed on how to handle his 'companions' as well?"
Charlie spat 'companions' with such contempt that Lazarov raised his eyebrows in astonishment.
"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "We're not supposed to flirt with them."
"What?" Charlie murmured in surprise.
Lazarov smirked, and gave Charlie a sly wink.
Charlie was taken aback, and flushed visibly crimson.
"I'm only messing," Lazarov said. "Although my CO strongly advised against it. Claims he was slapped by Jo Grant! Never shut up about it."
"Who?"
Lazarov scratched the back of his head. "I don't actually know. Someone who used to travel with the Doctor, I reckon."
"Oh."
Another one. Another old friend of the Doctor. A constant reminder that he was not the first – and he wouldn't be the last. He wasn't special.
"That reminds me: how come you're travelling with him? How did that come about?"
Charlie shrugged. "Monster nearly killed me. I met the Doctor, and then he said I could travel with him."
Lazarov nodded.
Charlie frowned. Private Lazarov seemed to be silently judging his tale.
"What?" he challenged the UNIT soldier. "You don't think I should travel with him?"
Lazarov shrugged. "Not really for me to say."
"Do you think I'm not good enough? Not as good as all the other companions?" Charlie asked contemptuously.
However, he genuinely meant it. Why had the Doctor taken him?
"No, it's not that. It's because it's really dangerous being around him," Lazarov explained. "People die."
Charlie dropped his attack, and with some disheartening reflection, realised that Lazarov was right. He and the Doctor had been in certain peril in some form or another ever since he had left.
"You might feel safe travelling with him," Lazarov continued. "Maybe you get off on the excitement of living on the edge."
Charlie shook his head in protest, but didn't get a chance to speak.
"Just don't forget that it's real," Lazarov urged. "And you've got people back home who probably don't even know you're gone. I'd be devastated if my kid brother vanished one day and never came back."
Charlie immediately thought of his mum. She would still have no idea where he was. However, time was relative, the Doctor assured him. He'd promised to take him back just moments after he'd left. No-one would notice that he'd been away.
But what if Lazarov was right? What if he never made it back? His mum would never know what had happened to him.
Charlie shook his head clear of his train of thought. Lazarov was guilt-tripping him. It was a technique he'd become aware of his therapist using.
They approached the familiar doorway leading back to the command centre. Lazarov halted in the corridor.
He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. "I'm due to go off duty, now. The command centre's just through there. All right?"
He pointed Charlie in the right direction.
"Yeah. Thanks."
Lazarov gave him a reassuring nod, and disappeared back down the corridor.
Charlie stared at the doors, and ventured towards them. Hesitant, he stopped, and shook his head. He didn't want to go back into the bustling office. He wanted somewhere quieter – where he could clear his head. Charlie instead wandered further down the corridor.
The Doctor pushed his way into the lab, pausing only to glance at the letters engraved on the glass: The Elizabeth Shaw Laboratory.
The Doctor grinned back at Simmons, pointing ecstatically at the words.
"How is Liz?" he asked.
"Oh, well, I think. She's back on Earth now. She moved on from her post on the Moonbase about a year ago."
"Did she? I lose track. Did you get on well with her?"
"Oh yes. She was something of a mentor to me," Simmons answered with a smile, "An excellent dancer, too."
The Doctor nodded. "So I've heard."
Simmons retrieved the test tube from her coat, and placed it in a rack in the centre of a workbench.
The Doctor sat down at a microscope, and immediately set to work, extracting a sample of the gelatinous fluid with a pipette.
"She was one of the people who founded the Moonbase," continued Simmons. "Originally, it was going to be a military base, but she convinced UNIT HQ to redesign it, and build a research facility instead."
"Very wise," the Doctor commented.
"And because it's away from Earth, it's perfect for more… uncertain experiments. No prying eyes. No civilians."
"That seems logical."
"They named this lab in her honour."
"Very nice. She must have been proud."
Simmons smiled politely, and the Doctor glared at her for a moment.
"No, hang on. No, who am I kidding? I bet she kicked up a fuss," the Doctor rectified his assertion with a smirk, silently reminiscing about their adventures together.
The Doctor peered into the microscope, his eyebrows curling around the eyepieces in fascination.
He beckoned Simmons over, and vacated his seat.
"What do you think of this?" he asked.
Simmons gazed into the microscope, and observed the minute motion of barely visible cells.
"Some kind of virus, perhaps?"
"It's venom," the Doctor stated.
Simmons looked up at him.
"That was very quick."
The Doctor shrugged. "I've had a lot of experience."
Simmons returned her focus to the microscope.
"Its chemical structure does remind me of the venom used by some kind of… elapid."
The Doctor frowned, impressed. "We haven't got a couple of death adders on the loose have we?"
"I hope not. Snakes are ranked number two on my list of least favourite creatures. Native to Earth, that is." Simmons muttered.
"What's number one?" the Doctor enquired.
"Oh. My. God…" came a cry from the doorway, cutting short the Doctor's train of thought.
A young Indian woman, about the same age as Simmons, stood stunned in the open doorway.
Wide eyed, she pointed at the Doctor.
"It's the Doctor? In our lab?"
The Doctor smiled politely, and returned to the venom samples.
"Why didn't you tell me?!" she exclaimed.
"We were busy," Simmons replied.
"I heard the yellow alert, but I mean… come on! It's the Doctor!" she cried, gesturing towards him again.
"Hello," the Doctor uttered, his eyes glued to his microscope.
"Oh," realised Simmons, introducing her friend. "This is Anita. She's my lab partner."
The Doctor looked up. Well, she was clearly a scientist, the Doctor thought, noticing Anita's white lab coat, covering up a colourfully striped blouse.
"She's the finest brain on the Moonbase when it comes to chemical engineering," Simmons added.
Anita flushed somewhat. "Well, I'm not bad."
"Excellent. Three heads are better than one," the Doctor exclaimed.
"Unless you're one person, of course," he added thoughtfully. "Then things get rather complicated…"
"We're just taking a look at these venom samples," Simmons explained.
Anita's excitement was swiftly placed aside, replaced with a more professional demeanour, and she rushed over, examining the slide under the microscope.
"It's alien, then," Anita concluded, after a few seconds of scrutiny. "I've never seen anything like it before. What do you know about it?"
"We think it's the venom of a creature that's managed to infiltrate the base," Simmons replied.
"Worrying," Anita commented.
"It's a cocktail of neurotoxins and digestive enzymes," the Doctor stated.
"Dissolves living tissue," Simmons added. "If you're injected with this stuff, it's not pretty."
"We're looking for a creature that digests its prey before eating it," the Doctor established.
"That's disgusting," Anita remarked.
"Extremely painful death. All over in less than sixty seconds," the Doctor growled. "Your soldiers don't stand a chance."
"We need to find an antitoxin," Simmons decided.
"Sounds like a challenge." Anita grabbed a pen and notepad, the excitement audible in her voice.
The Doctor grinned, and they set to work.
Charlie stepped into the observation deck. At least, that's what the sign on the door informed him.
There was no-one else in sight, and the atmosphere was much cooler in here. It gave him space to think.
One of the walls was dominated by a series of thick windows, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. And beyond those windows… the dusty lunar surface, bathed in the shimmering Earthlight. Sprawling out to the left and right, were two arms of the Moonbase. They dipped over the edge of a vast crater, at the centre of which, a small drill had been set up. Perhaps one of UNIT's research operations?
Although Charlie could see all of this from the observation deck, he didn't really pay it any attention. He was upset, and angry.
As he gazed up at the great blue planet in the space above him, he knew why.
The Doctor had lied to him. He had lied about the date; said they were in his future, not his past. Why would he lie? What did the Doctor know?
There was no way he knew about that… was there?
He rested his forehead against the glass, feeling thoroughly downcast, and stared at his home. His breath clouded the window, obscuring his reflection.
He must be down there, somewhere, Charlie realised. If this was the past, then he'd be there.
Suddenly, he felt quite homesick, and yearned to be back there.
Sighing, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He had a full signal. On the moon?
But of course – the Doctor had upgraded his phone so that it could make calls from anywhere in time and space: something called 'universal roaming'.
His heart skipped a beat, as a thought struck him. There was someone he wanted to call.
He speedily dialled a number – his fingers a blur over the screen. He let it ring for what felt like an eternity. The dialling tone purred into his ear.
His heart thumped, anticipating an answer, albeit a rather confused one. If there was just the slightest chance he could…
"We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected, or is no longer in service."
Charlie hung up, and cursed. Cursed the Doctor's tampering with his phone. Cursed his life. Cursed the false hope the Doctor had given him, and subsequently wrenched away.
Charlie swore as loud as he dared, and tossed his phone aside. He didn't see where it landed, and frankly, didn't care.
He was furious.
He roared a primal, guttural roar, and unleashed his anger against the glass, smashing his fist against it, again, and again, until his hand began to sting.
What if the glass broke? That tiny, worried voice spoke up.
Don't be stupid. Of course it wouldn't break. It was military grade tempered glass – the only barrier between a functioning air supply and the vacuum of space. There was no way he could even so much as chip it with only his bare hands.
Finally, he gave in, sinking to a heap on the harsh metal floor.
He tried to stop himself, but he couldn't hold back the flood of tears that began to roll down his cheeks.
Charlie curled up, clawing at his head as his chest convulsed uncontrollably.
He lay there, quivering and sobbing for what must have been ten minutes. Ten minutes of hell, drowning in anguish, burning in hopelessness.
As his torment subsided, he felt his despair ebb away, leaving emptiness. A dull, numbing nothingness.
What if the Doctor had seen him like this? The thought popped into his mind.
Shut up. He cursed himself.
The Doctor would be disappointed to have a friend like him, stupid and weak. Who was Charlie Drake compared to all those other companions?
Why the hell did the Doctor even want him around?
Did he? The voice taunted him once more. Did he really? Maybe he secretly hates you. You're only travelling with him because he has no choice. He doesn't want you in the TARDIS.
Charlie groaned, burying his head in his arms.
Author's Notes
Yeah, so Charlie's not having the best of days, is he?
The Doctor's coming across as this all-important mystical man who knows everything. Almost everyone on the Moonbase knows who he is - and quite a few of them practically revere him. And to top it all off, he's beginning to realise that he's just the latest in a long line of people who have travelled with the Doctor. It's no wonder he's feeling a little insignificant.
Speaking of companions - I couldn't have a UNIT story without mentioning a few of the Doctor's old friends, now, could I?