Ian leaves with a grin, a wave, and a crack of thunder from his manipulator. He wouldn't tell them where he was going; only that he expected he'll see them soon. When Melody asked him about the Time Agency, Ian had paused for a moment before quipping, "Oh, my cover's blown by now anyway. No point in going back there."
Melody looks up at him; he really was exceptionally tall, even taller than John. "Are you sure you can't stay?" she asks him. They're waiting in the interrogation room for John to get back from snagging Ian's vortex manipulator. Apparently in his retrieval of Ian he'd stashed it somewhere about the TARDIS console before the Injalls sent to help him could notice it. It was tech far beyond their time; wouldn't want to change the course of history, now would we? All Time Agents were issued one, and Ian is no exception.
"We could really use your help," Melody adds.
She's sitting in the chair still; Ian's standing by the chair he was handcuffed to, hands crammed into the front pockets of his slacks, leg jiggling up and down. He'd loosened his tie and slung his suit jacket over the back of his chair, but he still looks crammed into his skin, like he'd rather be anywhere else than in this room, in these clothes.
He reminds Melody of John when he's been sitting in the TARDIS for too long; he'll bound to his feet, grab her by the hand, go explore Braveheart, because she is as brand new to him as he is to her.
Of course he'd remind me of John, Melody thinks. He's his son. She looks away when Ian looks at her.
"I hate suits," he blurts out suddenly. He paces the end of the room, turns back a sharp corner, stops in front of her. "I hate them. I absolutely—I absolutely despise them. Give me an—an ugly sweater and some jeans and I'll be fine." His mouth clams in, and for a moment he looks exactly like his father, except a slightly wider jaw and a longer mouth, and she can't catch her breath to look at him. "Hate them," he finishes, running his hands through his hair. With a short, unhappy laugh he adds, "God. He wouldn't—he wouldn't even leave you alone with me until you reminded him you had a gun to shoot me with."
"Ian . . ." Melody doesn't know what to say. "Ian, I—"
"It's alright," he says, even though it really isn't. "I talk too much."
He smiles down at her after a moment, adds, "To answer your question: no, I really can't stay and help, much as I wish to. I have important things I have to be doing, and they all have to do with coordinates on some list I'm supposed to receive soon. I can tell you something though—it's going to work. This." He waves his hand through the air to articulate "this". "The rebellion: it's going to work, and it's going to be amazing. Absolutely brilliant. Fantastic even." He hunkers down next to her, forgoing the chair. "The Free Republic is going to stretch across the next four thousand years and across six galaxies."
"That's spoilers," Melody chides gently.
"Well maybe it is," he says, "but it's a good spoiler, eh?"
Melody's spared from answering by the arrival of John, Noh hot on his heels. "Melody," Noh informs her, "the commanders want you. Something urgent." Her glance slides over Ian, cool and disinterested.
"Oh, um, alright." Melody wonders what on earth they would want her for; she'd thought they'd gone over everything with her during the briefing. Maybe something new had come up—something with Rose? "Ian, this is, um, Doctor Norma Jones."
"Pleasure," Ian chirps, grinning madly at her.
Noh's mouth tilts up. "Likewise. I hate to rush you, but they did say urgent, Melody."
"Right. Sorry." Turning to Ian, Melody sticks out her hand to shake. "Later Ian. Catch you in your future."
He clasps both of his hands around hers, peers searchingly into her face. "Take care of yourself," and with a cheeky grin in John's direction, "Mrs. Noble."
"Hardy har." Melody can't help but marvel at how open this Ian is compared to the guarded Ian she first met at the hospital. She can only assume it's in his future. Pocketing away those thoughts for later, she continues dryly, "You're a real riot."
"I do try."
Melody turns to John. "Be nice," she tells him. "We decided to trust him, remember?"
John rolls his eyes at her; his brogue comes out thick as he says, "Oh sure, sure, yeah, I'll remember that. Thanks."
"Right. And don't forget to show Ian the coordinates; maybe he can figure them out. They were, after all, in his pocket." The sour look John shoots at her is rather spoiled by the spectacles still perched on his nose; Melody only laughs at him.
Once they're in the empty corridor, Melody asks Noh what Commanders Brix and Braxtall wanted to talk to her about. "Absolutely nothing," Noh informs her brightly. "I lied. It just seemed best to let the two of them alone. I mean, John doesn't know he's his son, does he?"
Melody stops dead in the corridor. "How did you know—" she begins in a harsh whisper, horrified. Was it that obvious?
Noh hastens to reassure her. "We have a mutual friend at the university, Ian and I. Of course, we've never met before now, and when we did meet he was much older . . . the liar. He looked at me as if I was complete stranger!"
"John can't know, he can't, it might—"
"—paradoxes, really bad things happening, yeah, I know." Noh fixes her with a look. "I'm a time-traveling archaeologist, remember? Your secret's safe with me." She begins to saunter down the corridor again; after a stunned pause, Melody scrambles to keep up. "Now," Noh says, "your Mr. Noble has ever so kindly informed me that if I hurt you he'll hunt me down."
The look of surprise on Melody's face would have been comical, if it wasn't so genuine. "He-He did? I mean, he shouldn't have—threatening people is never—and I mean, if you'd wanted me dead already you would have left me in the arena! And he's not my Mr. Noble. He's not my anything."
"Sure he isn't." Smirking at Melody as she splutters, Noh adds, "I told him basically that exact same thing, about leaving you in the arena. I also informed him that I'll be teaching you how to shoot that gun while we're here; it's absolutely criminal, you not knowing at least how to defend yourself somehow. Not all of us can be as foolishly lucky as he is."
"Are you sure Noh? Really properly sure? You wouldn't mind teaching me?"
Noh scoffs at her. "Of course I'm sure. I can't be around all the time to protect you, and neither can John. I should probably teach you some basic defense moves as well, because you might not have your gun around all the time either . . ."
They spill out into the main hallway; one by one the people around them stop what they're doing as they catch sight of Melody. There's then a rustle of movement as they all touch their fingers to their forehead. "Er," Melody says, wishing they would stop, "yes." Awkwardly head bobbing, she mimics the gesture back at them. There's a murmur of approval from the onlookers; slowly, everyone goes back to what they were doing before.
"You," Noh announces suddenly from beside her, "need to go back to sleep. You've only had what, three hours? Four?" She begins to steer Melody in the direction of the living quarters.
"Three," Melody admits. "Then John wanted me to come with him to interrogate Ian, which I suppose is a good thing, because I don't think Ian would have been released otherwise, and Ian needs to go do things that involve him aggravating John in hospitals and I'm pretty sure he started that prophecy about me, the jerk." There's a pause. "Why isn't un-handcuff a word?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
After threatening him with bodily harm if he was lying and intended to hurt the universe, the TARDIS, or Melody, John hands Ian the coordinates. "I can't make head or tails of it," he admits ruefully, scratching the back of his head. "There seems to be some sort of interlaying pattern to it, some sort of code, but I can't puzzle it out, which is puzzling in and of itself, because, well, I'm me."
Leave it to Dad for humility, Ian thinks wryly.
Rolling his eyes, Ian takes the coordinates from him. At least the presence of Noh explains how the coordinates got into my pocket in the first place, he muses, although why she is even here is anyone's guess. Tricky of her, pretending to find something in my pocket to actually give it to me. Seven points for style, although the execution could have been better timed.
He give the coordinates a quick once over. Ah. Of course John wasn't able to read it. Obvious, when you know to look for it: every single coordinate flipped round, and then a appearing on the side telling him where he needs to go. Leave it to Anita to use a coding system only the two of them would know.
"It's because its psychic paper programed to respond only to my brain's wavelengths," Ian explains to him. "Didn't it occur to you to sonic the paper? The readings should have showed it to be psychic paper at the very least."
"Of course I thought to sonic it," John grumps. Whipping out the sonic from the coat pocket, he gives the coordinates a quick once over. Flipping open the cache, he looks at the readings, says, "See, I just soniced it, and you're right, this appears to be psychic paper."
"Of course," Ian says blandly, tucking away the coordinates into his pockets.
At John's noise of protest, Ian informs him that for his information, the coordinates were in his pocket to begin with. Besides (although he doesn't tell his father this, of course) Ian has a prophecy to go spread about a certain Mrs. Noble. That should be fun, although the next thing on the list, simply labeled as Snowmen, hardly looks promising. Ian highly doubts it's a reference to Icey the Snowman.
It takes two weeks for the government to topple. In the interim, Melody is kept so busy she hardly sees John. Most of her time is spent either doing promo videos for the government or working with Noh on learning how to shoot a gun. It was exhausting work; sometimes to get away from it all Melody would sneak back into the TARDIS, and curl up among the veins of her in the swing under the console, and most times fall asleep. Her guards (because she had guards now, two Darkoll women who were very nice, and an Injall man who never cracked a smile) would wait outside; the TARDIS unnerved them, they said.
I don't know what they have to be unnerved about, the TARDIS grumps. I'm only a concept across the fourth dimension; nothing strange about that.
Keep telling yourself that dear.
Sometimes John will show up, too, and in between a pot of tea and some leftover biscuits found in the tin in the kitchen, he'll share what's happening "on the ground," as he puts it, and Melody will tell him about her shooting lessons and how surprisingly difficult it was being a poster girl. "I wish I could go out and do things with you," she complains one day. "It's boring being stuck here, no matter how busy it is."
"You could sneak out you know. Put on one of the guards's uniforms—those helmets completely cover their faces—hop down with the transport group I'm in, help dismantle the arenas, galvanize the people."
Melody bites her lip, tempted. "But I'm needed here. I'm helping with tactics, too, planning out the missions that you go on." She pokes John in the side. "Although once we're done with this you'd better take me somewhere nice where I can actually run around chasing monsters and things. I deserve it."
John laughs at her. "That you do. Say, I'll tell you what: how about we go visit Florence? Seventeenth, eighteenth century? I've heard they have some lovely restaurants, and girls like to dress up for that sort of thing. You could, um, wear a dress."
"Only if there are, I dunno, sexy fish vampires involved. Love the running."
John chokes on his tea. Hacking, he rasps, "There are what involved?"
"Oh, just an adventure Mum and Dad went on with the Doctor back when they were engaged. There were sexy fish vampires involved."
"You mean the Amy and Rory in the other universe."
Melody gives him an odd look. "That's what I said."
"Right," John sighs, even though she hadn't said that at all. It isn't worth the argument. "But sexy fish vampires? This is a story I absolutely have to hear. So spill."
"Careful John—your Donna's showing."
"Oi! Shut it you. Story time. Now. And in return, I'll tell you about the time I meet the Emperor of Clabrax. A rather nice bloke; he still owes me fifty quid, though. Don't suppose I'll get it back now, what with different universes and all."
Melody hugs Noh tightly. "Are you sure you don't want a lift?" she asks her, pulling back to eye her friend. "John wouldn't mind. He's said as much."
They're standing next to the lift that will take Noh and a few others topside; the Darkoll king had been captured two days ago, his regime dismantled. And now that Noh wasn't a Declared Public Enemy anymore, she could go home.
"I need to get back to my team," Noh confesses. "I was able to make contact with them to let them know I was alright, but they can't go back to the university without me. And I'd like to see my husband straight away, and you and John aren't leaving till tomorrow, while my team is leaving today." With a grin she adds, "And who knows—with that machine of yours you two could end up anywhere, anywhen. I'm not taking my chances."
"Fair enough." Melody looks around; besides the few other people loading up the lift, the hangar was mostly empty. "I wonder where John is," she muses. "He said he'd be here to send you off."
Noh laughs. "Well, he's always late. I'm not holding my breath." Shouldering her duffel bag over her shoulder, Noh adds in an undertone, "Those creatures you talked about . . . if you ever need help come find me at Luna University. I'm sure the library will have records about them somewhere, even if they're unaware of it."
"I will. Thanks, Noh."
Louder now, Noh adds, "Remember to practice your kicks on your left side. I don't care if they're a pain; one day it might save your life. And keep up target practice. Ask the TARDIS to set something up for you."
"I will."
John running toward them, pea coat halfway on, interrupts their goodbye. "Doctor Jones!" he cries. "I thought I was running late. Good. You're still here." Melody helps him the rest of the way into his pea coat; once that's completed, John holds out his hand to shake. Noh takes it, amused by his formality.
"Take care of yourself, Doctor Jones," he says stiffly. Noh's mouth curls into a smile.
"You too. Take care of her, you hear? There's only one of her."
"Of course!" He slings an arm over Melody's shoulders. "She's my buddy; I won't let anything happen to Melody."
"Right."
Another round of hugs on Melody's part, and then with a final wave Noh is gone. Melody sighs; John puts his arm around her again, holds her close. "Partings are always sad," he says. "Even when they're happy ones."
"Yeah," Melody agrees. "They are."
"C'mon," John says, steering them around. "I heard they have pudding in the dining room."
"Actual pudding or something vaguely resembling pudding that is actually innards."
"Ahm. I have absolutely no idea. Let's find out. You'll never hear me say I wasn't willing to eat food."
"But if it's innards I'm giving it to you, no matter how much of a delicacy it may be."
"Fine by me darling. Fine by me."
"Madame Karo?" The voice is young, and has a strange lilt to its accent, as if it was being translated slightly off. Karo, her dark skin lined and careworn from her recent grief, looks from her washing. She promptly drops her husband's shirt back into the wash, because Carlil-ibar curse it, it's her.
"Fire for Hair," Karo gasps, "what are you doing here?!" Her mouth immediately pops open in horror, because that is no way to talk to the symbol of her people, but the girl stops her with a "Please, don't. My name is Melody. I'm—I'm here to talk to talk about your son, Jarn."
"My Jarn?" Karo's voice cracks. Her Jarn, who had been thieved out of his body to be put into the games—what would Mrs. Noble have to do with him? Karo and her husband had searched every channel they could on the local holo-vid, every arena trying to find him. But there were so many it was near impossible.
"Yes," Mrs. Noble acknowledges, voice low. "He was in the arena with me. I'd—I'd like to talk to you and your husband?"
"My husband Tamush, yes."
"You and Tamush about—about how brave he was."
"Yes," Karo says, faint; she clutches the edge of the washbasin for support. The water slushes around the empty tin hollow; Tamush's shirt floats on the surface like something wet and dead, the suds gathering about the broken creases of his shirt like bones. "Yes, I'll call him." And then because she can't leave her standing out in the cracked chicken scrawl dirt of her yard, with its barb wire fence and broken regulator, Karo leads Mrs. Noble inside, offers her a cup of water, and collects her husband. They listen to the story of their son's death, and despite everything her heart swells to hear of how brave he had been, even to the end.
Her brave little boy.
"So Melody, where to next? Now that we have that shindig out of the way and ooh. Never saying that again."
"Ugh, I could sleep for a week. Anyway, you promised me Florence, remember?"
"Ah yes. Florence—wizard idea! So after you get a proper night's sleep—"
"And you too. I know for a fact you were doing extra reconnaissance missions for the resistance."
"—fine, and me too. Spoilsport. After sleeping and breakfast and mm, eggs sound lovely. No, no, not just eggs, hm, maybe a quiche? Quiches? Do you like quiches?"
"John."
"Right. Mm. Florence. Sounds smashing. Ooh. Never saying that again either. Absolutely rubbish, smashing, and when you get right down to it, it doesn't make much sense—why would you want to smash something that you find interesting enough to comment on? And very much not the point. I think quiche sounds wizard. Yes. I shall make quiche."
And the bright red box tumbles out of the world and into the stars.