Chapter 14 – Fred
Devorah put her black poke bonnet on and tied the ribbons under her chin with deft movements. She swirled her cape around and settled it on her shoulders, fastening the clasp, while her mind worked through the possibilities for her evening meal. Black boots clicking on the cobblestones, she strode out, face set in a frown.
"Miss Trelunder!" Mr. Taylor's light tenor called her out of her abstraction and she turned to see him clattering down the steps after her. The misty gray light that filtered through the ice clouds above them illuminated him but faintly.
"Mr. Taylor," she acknowledged him, but kept her face impassive. He stumbled to a halt beside her and she noted the way he held his top hat in front of him, like it was some sort of primitive talisman to ward off ill luck.
"I was just leaving as well, may I escort you home? There's a fish advisory tonight." His words tumbled over each other and she was surprised to see him so nervous and unsure, usually he was quite collected.
She hesitated. On the one hand, she was lonely and his company as she walked the dim streets home would be welcome. The globe lights carried by some and the gas lanterns that lay scattered along the road were not enough to drive away the dark completely. On the other hand, she was wary of encouraging the familiarity. He was watching her and his face was growing sad as she hesitated. His forlorn expression decided her and she smiled at him.
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Taylor," she replied and his face lit with happiness. Side by side they walked through the streets and Devorah felt a quiet contentment in the moment.
"It's the atmosphere!" Susan confirmed and Rose frowned at the readouts, baffled by what they were showing.
"It's surrounded by a cloud layer that seems to be made of electrically charged ice crystals," she marveled and the Doctor grinned at her. She paused and realized that she had spoken that sentence without a trace of her usual cockney accent and she shivered a bit. "That was weird! I'm talking all posh now!"
"Naw, you're brilliant, no matter how you talk!" her husband assured her with that grin she loved so well. "Oi! There are fish! There are fish swimming in the air! Brilliant! I wonder what they eat?" he was looking at the screen and also punching in corrections to their course to compensate for the electrical charge and how it was distorting their sensor readings. She nodded as she watched him work and went back to trying to analyze the cloud cover. "Hey! A shark! There is a big ol' shark swimming around out there, hundreds of feet above the ground!" he chortled and she grinned back at him, sharing his enthusiasm.
"There is also a sound wave generator that is controlling the clouds," Susan commented with a repressive air. "How did I end up as the more mature one?" she grumbled to herself, but her lips were twitching and Rose could feel the amusement that underlay her exasperation.
Ignoring the muttered commentary, the Doctor and Rose helped pilot the TARDIS to the planet's surface.
Devorah paused in front of her brownstone and gave Mr. Taylor another smile. The moon was shining through the clouds, bathing the world in a romantic silvery light and she had a feeling of hope rising in her heart as she looked up at the gentleman beside her. Maybe it was all right for her to get just a bit attached. There was no real reason for her distance, after all, just that vague feeling of not belonging that sometimes washed over her.
"Thank you for your escort, Mr. Taylor." She was feeling somewhat flustered and shy, but also pleased.
"It was my pleasure, Miss Trelunder," he replied, warm eyes lingering on her face and hands twisting together in nervous excitement.
"Fred! It's you!" the joyful cry meant nothing to her, but then suddenly she was enveloped in a hug. There was a shock of familiarity and then she pulled back sharply from the stranger who was mauling her.
"Unhand me, sir!" she insisted and Mr. Taylor stepped between her and the madman. Peering around him she saw a skinny fellow with a shock of messy hair, a long brown trench coat and a tight suit in brown pinstripes. He had a long and narrow face with mobile brows and expressive eyes, but he was a complete stranger to her. "What sort of madman are you?" she choked out.
"Sorry, sorry, Romana, forgot that you don't remember me! I was just so excited to see you again! You look good with black hair! I do like it, the face is good too, very pretty, you're a bit too skinny, but then, who am I to complain, I mean, look at me!" he babbled and Devorah stared at him in bafflement. "It's looks good on you, anyway."
"How dare you speak to Miss Trelunder in that odiously informal manner?" Mr. Taylor demanded and Devorah watched as two women emerged from the fog to stand behind the madman.
"Ah well, we go back a long way, we do, Miss… what did you call her? Trelunder? Yes, that makes sense, it's part of her name even if it isn't all of it." He kept talking in a cheerful stream of nonsense that was giving Devorah a headache.
"I insist that you depart, sir, you are distressing the lady!"
"Grandfather, we really ought to go a bit slower you know, we're confusing these poor people," a ginger haired woman chastised him and Devorah felt a stirring of memory.
"Your name is Susan, and you're the Doctor," she whispered and the familiar strangers smiled at her.
"Yes, I'm Susan," she answered, her voice soft and gentle.
"That's right! Romana, you do remember!"
"You know them?" Mr. Taylor asked her and Devorah shook her head in confusion.
"I have these dreams, about another world with an orange sky and red grass…" she whispered and the other three looked suddenly sad.
"Gallifrey," murmured the man and Devorah gasped in shock.
"Yes! That's what was called! But that was just a dream I had!" she insisted.
"No, Romana, that was reality and this life, the life of Miss Trelunder, that's the dream," he informed her and she shook her head in denial.
"Leave her alone!" Mr. Taylor interrupted. "You're mad, all of you!"
"Romanadvoratrelundar, that's your full name, your real name," Susan told her and the pity in her eyes wasn't feigned. "I'm sorry, but you've been in hiding, living under false memories to keep you safe. But now, the danger has passed and it's time for you to come home."
"False memories?" Mr. Taylor looked sick and he turned to stare at her with eyes filled with doubt and sorrow. "Could it be true?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I have always felt like I didn't belong, like there was something missing, something that I had lost, but I could never remember…" she dropped her head into her hands and felt tears leaking from her eyes.
"Nothing is ever really forgotten," the Doctor said, his voice soothing and his eyes sympathetic.
"This your flat?" the blonde, who'd been silent up until now asked her and she nodded her head. "Then let's all go in and get a cuppa tea, talk it through, okay?"
"Who are you?" she asked and the Doctor and the blonde exchanged glances.
"This is my wife, Rose Tyler," he introduced them and Mr. Taylor frowned.
"Wait, she called you the Doctor?" he asked with a look of incredulity.
"Yes." The man responded with a slight smile.
"Doctor who?" Mr. Taylor asked, obviously becoming somewhat frustrated.
"Yes."
Devorah felt a sense of déjà vu overcome her. It made her both slightly annoyed and rather dizzy.
"Let's go in and get some tea. Mr. Taylor, if you would join us? I would prefer not to be alone." She could hear a slight shakiness in her voice that made her uncomfortable. Mr. Taylor nodded and extended his arm to her.
"A nice cup of tea, yes, that always fixes things right up!" the Doctor insisted and they retired to her flat.
The Doctor ushered them all upstairs and feeling quite pleased with himself, gave Romana a broad smile. It was so very good to see her again; especially when he'd thought he'd been responsible for her death.
He'd felt for so long that he'd murdered his closest friends and family and to see them safe and well was a huge relief. It didn't make up completely for all that was destroyed, but it helped, oh heavens it helped.
Rose slipped her hand into his and looked up at him with love and understanding in her eyes. If anyone understood how he'd suffered with guilt and self-loathing, it was his wife, who'd held him close as he'd cried himself to sleep far too many times. She squeezed his hand, obviously picking up on his emotions and he dropped a kiss on her cheek, taking comfort in the warm scent of her. His wife. He grinned and rolled that word around in his mind a bit. He loved calling her that.
"Wife," he murmured to her and her hearts overflowed with emotions so radiant and powerful they nearly brought him to his knees.
"Husband," she whispered back and he lost all awareness of the world beyond her eyes.
"Doctor," Susan called his attention back to the room and he grinned at her rather sheepishly.
"Newlyweds?" Mr. Taylor asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah," the Doctor admitted. Rose was smiling and holding his hand, her cheeky grin unrepentant. "Three months, actually, the most wonderful in all my life." His wife's feelings enthusiastically agreed with him and he squeezed her hand in response.
"We're here to talk to Romana," Susan reminded them and rolled her eyes.
"Are they always like that?" Romana, or at least, Miss Trelunder asked with an arched brow that reminded him quite strongly of her first incarnation.
"Yes," Susan confirmed, but then turned to study the sensibly dressed young woman who lacked so much of Romana's fire and energy. The Doctor wondered if that's how he'd looked to Martha when he was John, like a faded photograph of his old self. It was as though the greater part of herself had been cut away, leaving her a shadow that flickered and wavered in his sight. She wasn't real.
"Why was I in hiding?" Miss Trelunder asked as she moved into the small kitchen to fetch tea for them.
When he thought about the apartments she'd had on Gallifrey, the flat seemed barely adequate for her. A tiny front room with furniture that was obviously second hand, but tasteful and without a speck of dirt anywhere to be seen. That much hadn't changed about her, he realized.
"There was a war," he began and could feel his face tightening as the memories came crowding back in. "We lost." Mr. Taylor shot him a sudden look of sympathy and the Doctor found himself warming to the slender dark man with the carefully hidden kindness and formal exterior.
"We were being hunted," Susan added, leaving out who exactly was doing the hunting. "If we'd stayed as we are, there would have been no way to escape. So, we turned ourselves human."
Miss Trelunder spun and stared at them all and Mr. Taylor's mouth dropped open a bit before he snapped it shut.
"We're Time Lords, Miss Trelunder, as are you," the Doctor could feel nothing but sympathy for the flustered and confused young woman who stared at him with huge blue eyes in a face gone milky white. Her rich ebony hair was gathered into a prim bun, which was so unlike his Romana that it made him even sadder. As the bumbling John Smith lurked beneath the Doctor's wall of arrogance and confidence, did the straitlaced Miss Trelunder, shy, sweet, rather reserved, lie beneath the surface of Romana? Which of them was real and which was the act, he wondered, and not for the first time.
"I've never heard of anything so ridiculous…" Mr. Taylor protested, but it was a fragile thing as three pairs of ancient, sad eyes turned to him and he sagged under the weight of their power, their age, and their grief.
"There aren't many of us left, Mr. Taylor, a small handful of refugees gathering together to try to rebuild what we have lost. Many are still in hiding, waiting for us to find them and bring them home." Susan's voice, so calm and resonant, with the weight of so much loss and pain, so gracefully carried, caused the human to drop his head.
"I'm not sure that I want to be a Time Lord," Miss Trelunder informed them and he turned and studied his old friend with grave eyes.
"You already are, Romana, you know that. You dream about orange skies and red grass, about silver leaved trees that seem to catch fire at sunset. You dream about mountains so tall that they pierce the cloud cover and a domed city with silver spires, which looks like a snow globe against the sky." He knew she dreamed about these things, because he had dreamed them as John Smith, he remembered waking crying and not knowing why. They'd been the same tears that now leaked from Miss Trelunder's eyes.
"Why am I crying?" she asked in a small sad voice.
"Because it's gone," Susan told her gently. "Our world was destroyed in fire and darkness, the Daleks came and it was destroyed. In all the universe there are only we few, perhaps twenty survivors from a world that once housed millions of us. We've lost our home, our families, our friends, everything."
"And that's what you want me to remember?" Miss Trelunder gasped out, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"That's what we need you to remember so that we can start again, so that we can rebuild Gallifrey. Without Time Lords to protect it, history is vulnerable. Timelines are already warping and failing, universes are being sealed off from each other, the Reapers are feasting on paradox, and balance is tipping towards the Dark. We need you to help put all of that right," the Doctor explained, hands out before him pleading with her to understand.
"Why me?" she asked, her voice raised in a wail of denial. Mr. Taylor moved to her side, taking the teapot from her hands and wrapping her up in his arms.
"Because it's your duty, Miss Trelunder, just as it was mine to go to war and be a soldier for my world, it's your duty to help your people when they need you." Mr. Taylor's voice was steady and sure, his dark eyes intent on her face and the Doctor felt a deep respect for the man welling up. He had to know that he was letting go of her, that he was urging her to leave his life, his world, yet he stood square of shoulder and showed no hesitation.
"As you say," she agreed and the Doctor felt a deep relief.
Rose had been silent through the whole conversation, but he'd seen her poking around the flat as they talked. Now, she stepped forwards and placed a silver pocket watch in Miss Trelunder's hands.
"Open it," she urged and with a confused expression, Miss Trelunder obeyed.
Devorah Trelunder died then, in a glow of golden light, the briskly efficient secretary, the quiet, prim, young woman, daughter of a shop keeper and granddaughter of the rector of the local parish church, all her pretend history was washed away and Romanadvoratrelundar raised her head and turned ancient eyes that still glowed golden to look at Mr. Taylor.
He met those eyes, nodded, and then quietly left the flat.