Standard disclaimers. Thanks to Rosesbud again (and again, and AGAIN!) for all the beta help. She am awesomes. I have quite a bit written (still making all the recommended changes, tho), but I might be sporadic posting this weekend. We've decided to be spontaneous and go to the Doctor Who convention in Chicago. Oh God… I'm such a nerd. Please help me.
XYZ
Crossfade
Chapter 7
XYZ
Setting the cup on the night stand, the woman patted a space next to her on the bed. "Don't look at me like that. Took care of him, I did. The Doctor was sick after the change—said something'd gone wrong. You look like you're fairing much better. But you're a bright girl. Trust it to you to do it right—he probably couldn't even manage it without mucking it up."
The girl didn't move to approach the bed.
The woman sighed. "What, you don't believe I'd take care of him? My tea saved the world," she said proudly. "And I didn't try ta poison him or nothing. Even if he deserved it. Wreckin' Christmas like he did."
The woman was obviously mad. "I see." It appeared that the woman knew her—it was safe to say that she should know the bleach blonde with the ruddy face and wrinkles. How to say she didn't, exactly?
Holding out a cup to her, the woman urged her to the bed again. "Come on, just drink the tea for your gran."
Gran. Coming around the bed, she sat next to the older lady, not wanting to raise suspicion. The woman was family—or so she'd like her to believe. It could still be some elaborate trap or hoax.
Taking the cup, she sniffed it before dipping her finger in, then tasting it. Not poisoned, so far as she could tell. This woman was a nice old lady, why would she be concerned that someone would try to trap or poison her? "It's too sweet."
The lady smiled. "That's ok. You drink up. I'll get you one with less sugar, but finish this one up for now. It'll do you a world of good."
World, worlds… that seemed like an important word. She looked over the woman's shoulder at the dyed cloth on the wall as she sipped the sticky-sweet substance that surely couldn't be called tea, for as badly as it had been violated. The planet on the batik behind the bed wasn't a planet at all—it was a moon. From this solar system.
The woman put an arm around her shoulder, hand running through her long, straight hair. It felt nice. Perhaps the woman was really her grandmother. She felt very alone, though. She felt like the moon, floating in a pink void—lost and not belonging.
She lowered the cup and began reciting what she did know. "Earth, third planet from the sun. Fifth largest in the solar system, one hundred forty-nine million, six hundred thousand kilometers from the sun, twelve thousand seven hundred and fifty six kilometers around. Thirty-four point six percent of the Earth is made of iron. Atmosphere: seventy-seven percent nitrogen, twenty-one percent oxygen, which humans need to breathe in order to sustain life. Most carbon-based humanoids require it in some form or another, except for the Behtarins, to whom it is poisonous, which is convenient because their atmosphere is made up nearly entirely of atomized sulphur. It's pretty in the winter."
Biting her lower lip, she looked away from the image on the wall. Why did she know these things, but not her own name?
Cool lips pressed against her cheek, dry fingers rubbing against her jaw line. "You're still such a clever girl. Why don't you tell your gran more about it?" With another kiss to the forehead, the woman grabbed the sleeve of the unnatural pink jacket. "And we can get this off of you, find you something more comfortable to wear."
Allowing the woman to help pry it off of her body, she thought of it. All the things she knew… It was 2023, she didn't know why that was important, but it seemed to make a difference—like it was entirely possible for it to be something else, and have that be as natural as breathing. "In the year forty-thousand, six hundred and fifty-five, relative Earth time, Behtarillinti is invaded by pigmy Rotarians. In a scene reminiscent of Orson Wells' War of the Worlds, the landing parties opened the doors of their ships and promptly fell over dead. A good time was had by all. Well, except for the Rotarians. They were dead."
It occurred to her, very distantly, that her sense of humor was appalling. Why did she know these things, about places the people of this planet didn't know, of a time that was so far away?
She put her head on the woman's shoulder, familiarity beginning to seep in along with the exhaustion. It felt like she'd just created the world, or birthed herself. This was strange and a bit more metaphysical than her addled thoughts could handle, so she closed her eyes and let the woman rock her. "The Dalek invasion of 2164 never happened," she muttered, closing her eyes. "That's weird, isn't it? It happened, then it unhappened. Even though it didn't happen yet."
Daleks… there was something with Daleks. She didn't remember what they were, only the name. And she was to run from them, if ever she saw once. Get away by any means possible, that's what the Doctor had told…her? Was it her? Who was the Doctor? How could she know these things, and yet, not know? Addled—muddled—all twisted up, her brain was. All twisted, like pretzels or Swiss cheese. Swiss cheese-filled pretzels… She might be hungry.
The woman—Gran—slid her shoulder from beneath the girl's head, gently bringing her to rest on one of the pillows then pulled the blankets from beneath the girl, covering her. "That's enough for now."
For a few minutes, the woman stroked her hair. It felt good, natural—like that was how things were supposed to be. Something was missing, but this piece of the puzzle was in the right place. "That's my good girl," the woman crooned softly. "You just wait till your mum sees you. She's going to be so surprised."
Why would it be a surprise? Should she ask? Or maybe ask what had happened to her—why she feels this way. "I think I'm hungry," was what came out instead.
Cool lips pressed to her head. "Just keep your eyes closed, and rest. I'll see what that useless lump of a donor has in this place. At least he has tea." Getting up, the woman rubbed her hand along the girl's arm affectionately, and then left.
Turning onto her side, the girl sunk into the pillow. It was comfortable. She could sleep forever in a bed like this. Soft, warm. Slowly, tension fell away, and her addled mind relaxed. It didn't matter that she could remember a thousand facts and figures, but not where she had learned them. It didn't matter that she knew the year of the pact that created the First Great and Bountiful Human Empire—she wanted to know her own name. Names were important, somehow.
Drifting on numbers and symbols, sleep pulled her down. Sleep, and dreams of familiar things. A carousel, tea…lots of tea. So much tea she thought she could float on it. A noisy forest at night. She stayed up talking to someone about places he'd been. Someone familiar—perhaps more familiar than Gran. Familiar like… a feeling in her head. Games, running…there's always running. A scooter, little baby monsters with no limbs. Jelly, marshmallows, peanut butter…men made out of metal and pepper pots with a plan to destroy the universe. They must destroy it. It's the only way to win the Time Wars.
Daleks… Daleks in the sky, on land… destroying it all. A boy is involved. He wears a green and blue rugby shirt, but she can't see his face, which was usually how dreams worked anyway. She doesn't know his relation to the story, only that he is there. Somewhere in the dream there's someone else—a familiar face. Swimming in jelly, the kind with the whipped cream mixed in, chunky and green and disgusting, like neon vomit. He's wearing a long grey coat, following a silver thread that winds through the nothingness like a dropped ribbon. It's her silver thread. She can retract it at will.
And she should. She remembers this man—cruel, threatening. Something to do with Daleks.
But she lets him pass, unharmed. This man—Jack Harkness, that name rings vividly in her mind—he's a dangerous man. But he knows who the boy in the green rugby shirt is, and right now, that is everything.
XYZ
When it finally happened, Jackie was almost glad. Violet had been trembling and in pain for too long, occasional sobs escaping the girl. Violet had looked desperately at Jackie, telling the Doctor she didn't want to change.
And for her part, Jackie didn't fancy herself to be a detective by any means, but it was pretty easy for her to understand, or at least imagine, what was motivating that fear. She was afraid she wouldn't be loved if she changed, especially by her grandmother. So Jackie had done the only thing she could—she sat next to the girl and promised that she'd be there, telling her over and over that it was alright to change if she needed to.
What had happened in that office had frightened her nearly to death. Violet had just said that she understood everything; that the man was a traitor to his species and worse, then lunged for him. Her agonizing cries rang through the cavernous office and the smell of burning flesh began curling off the girl. The build up and buzz of their struggling exploded the air around them, paralysing the Daleks before they could even act. Another minute after that and everything exploded, including the metal creatures.
The man was gone before the fireworks had ended, which just left Violet on the floor, screaming in the dark. As her eyes adjusted, she followed the noise, kneeling next to her granddaughter, who was clawing at the thing around her neck, smoke coming off her skin as she howled. Finally with a trembling jolt of the girl's body, it gave way, unlatching and falling next to her. Jackie pushed it away, feeling how hot it was.
In the dim of the tiny light from the smoke detector, she could see the burns on Violet's hands and neck. The girl's teeth chattered, eyes looking around listlessly. "What'd you do that for, sweetheart?" The first time she sees the girl in nine years, and her granddaughter goes and gets herself nearly killed.
Once upon a time, Jackie cut hair. She lived on a council estate with her daughter, who was a mostly good kid with a penchant for making bad decisions. She'd lived through the whole Jimmy Stones fiasco, patiently waiting out the girl's love for the troublemaker. Oh Jackie'd raised hell at first—told Rose exactly what she thought of the girl's grand plan to drop out of school and move in with that hellion. But when she saw that Rose had made up her mind… well, some things kids had to learn on their own.
Thankfully her daughter hadn't ended up pregnant or worse before she came crawling back home, broken hearted and contrite. She'd put those pieces back together…was thrilled when she started going out with someone vaguely normal like Mickey, working in a shop and being a mostly productive member of society. It wasn't thrilling, but it was normal and safe.
Now look at her. She was living in another universe with it's version of her dead husband, praying that Pete and her daughter would come home from every stupid 'business trip' they went on. Daleks, Cybermen, that horrible green thing that had snuck into the house a few years ago… the lower floor (which was quite a lot of space to cover) had been completely destroyed, walls knocked out, slime all over…before Rose and Pete had caught the thing.
All this…chaos because her daughter liked dangerous men with dangerous modes of transportation. Not that she'd trade Pete or her granddaughter for anything… but for heavens sakes… what was so wrong with having one thing be normal? Why couldn't this reunion be filled with hugs and baked goods and tea and kitchen tables? Why was it involving kidnapping, monsters from space and explosions?
The thing that twisted Jackie Tyler's heart the most was that she didn't know WHY Violet had done it—didn't know if it was worth it. Even the Doctor, when he and Rose arrived, hadn't been sure of it. She'd have questioned his presence, but seeing Violet—she knew something was afoot. More than her being abducted out of her home in the early hours of the morning, even.
Which was why she'd told them to leave, after she'd heard what Pete was saying. As much as she wanted to tell Rose to stay in the bloody ship, where it was safe, the world needed them. So she'd shooed them off, ordering them to do whatever it was they did when the whole world was going to hell, leaving her with her granddaughter.
The Doctor had told the girl to stop holding her breath, that she needed air, so Jackie did that, trying to soothe the child as best she could. Jackie knew if she ever got her hands on that man again… well, he'd have more things to worry about than Violet blowing the whole place up. He'd have her to contend with.
Jackie couldn't say it happened suddenly—Violet had been restless and less than coherent with pain for so long, it seemed to drag on forever, but when it happened…
Well, she couldn't imagine how Rose hadn't been terrified out of her mind, if that's what had happened to the Doctor, right in front of her, without any warning. It hurt—she'd only just gotten her granddaughter back. She didn't want to try to imagine how the girl would be different, the way the Doctor had been different—but in a way she was thankful. If all of these things were going to happen (not that she didn't blame the Doctor for quite a bit of it), she wasn't regretful that Violet would survive, in a fashion. It had torn her to pieces when Violet left, she'd just outright die if something permanent happened to the girl.
When it happened, Jackie instinctively pulled away, blinded by the light. That part happened so fast. She'd tried to look once, but gold-white energy radiating from the bed would have seared her eyeballs out.
It died away, leaving a stranger in her granddaughter's place. Still a girl—not necessarily older looking, just more mature. Taller, too, by the looks of her clothes being stretched to the limits. Long, straight hair—something Violet had always wanted. Jackie would miss the lion's mane though. There had been something very… Violet about that. Something tiny and petit, sweet-looking, even, buried beneath a wild mess of hair.
This girl was…not quite sweet looking. She had a long, sculpted nose and high, hollow cheeks. Her jaw was not overly pronounced, but it did slope down in a sharp V. Her skin wasn't as pale, the freckles were gone.
When the eyes fluttered open, they were a pale blue. They didn't focus. "I think there're ponies under my bed, they might eat me," a mature voice that was quite in contrast to the actual content of the phrase muttered. Eyes rolled back in the girl's head, and she passed out.
Jackie tried not to chuckle as she began brushing hair away from the child's forehead, making soothing sounds. Changes aside—it was still Violet. Her granddaughter was still in there somewhere.
Staying with Violet for a bit, Jackie finally decided to make some tea. That seemed to make everything better the last time. Of course, it meant she had to find a kitchen in this mess of a ship. She hoped none of the equipment was too difficult for a mere mortal to understand. It wouldn't be too much to ask for him to just have a kettle like a normal person?
It hadn't taken her long to find a kitchen-type thing, and there was even a kettle. The thing weighed quite a bit—it was cast iron and old. When she came back, Violet was awake. She'd meant to be there when the girl woke, so she was a bit disappointed, especially to see Violet wandering around the room like it was foreign to her. Getting the girl to drink some tea, Jackie'd held onto her until she fell back asleep, and then went off in search of food. She supposed it was only natural, it must take an awful lot of energy to reinvent yourself.
Finding something that smelled like cheese and looked bread, Jackie had decided to make grilled cheese. Pulling out a cast iron skillet, she heard something thud several halls away. Rushing towards the sound, she heard arguing in the control room. "I thought I told you to stay put!" She recognized that voice.
Then a young man's voice, equally impassioned. "Oh, right, like I'm going to listen!"
Jackie stopped just outside the control room. "Ugh. Well, don't say you're going to listen, then don't listen. I mean, now I have to worry about not being seen and getting you killed!"
The kid hesitated. "Yeah, well, if you don't trust, you then I don't trust you either! I'm not just going to let her get killed by you, or the Daleks."
The older and taller of the two threw his hands up in the air, back to Jackie. "Even if you end up dead? Fine. Love makes people stupid. Come on, lets just find her and go—before the universe implodes."
Without thinking, Jackie pulled back and swung, slamming the cast iron skillet into the back of the man's head. She'd told herself that if she ever ran into him again, he'd be one very sorry individual. When his body dropped to the grill floor of the control room, she gave a satisfied huff. "That'll teach ya."
Winding up again, the young man held both hands up in front of him. "I come in peace!"
She hesitated, seeing the terror in his eyes. "Yeah, well how do I know you're not evil, like him?" If she had to, she'd do it.
The young man cringed. "He's not evil."
Pulling back with the skillet, Jackie frowned. "Yeah? Well, he killed my granddaughter. So go ahead—tell me he's not evil."
The boy's jaw dropped and his eyes got wide. "Violet? You mean Violet? What hap--" his throat closed up.
That son of a bitch lying unconscious at her feet was right about one thing—the kid was in love.
TBC…
