26 - Doubt
"So... when did you start drinking again?"
Two days later.
It still felt unbelievable.
She never was really able to keep track of how much time had passed on the TARDIS, with all that jumping from place and time, but the (permanent, she uneasily noted to herself) line of dots had grown from her wrist up almost to her elbow, and even if she couldn't exactly say how much time she had spent with the Doctor - any Doctor, she definitely had stayed in Farringham for more than a month. Crammed in two days.
Her first feeling had been a little anxiety at the idea that she was never going to get her own age right again.
Her second feeling had been disappointment: She had been gone two days and apparently the only one who wondered where the hell she'd had been was Paul. She had three flatmates, and truth be told, she wasn't used to hang around them, because of her bizarre work schedule, but when she walked through the door of her apartment they barely acknowledged her return. I've been on different planets! I've met aliens! I've seen the London Blitz!, she wanted to scream, but she had to admit sometimes, before meeting the Doctor, she'd been gone a lot more than two days without telling them, and it made sense that they weren't that worried. When she stepped inside her bedroom, the usual mess reminded her of the disaster waiting for her in her atelier at the studios. Clothes hanging on chairs and on the bedpost, scattered like lump clocks in a Dalì painting, made her think back at Vincent Van Gogh. The weeks in 1913 somehow fuzzed all her memories of the adventures that came before, unable to tell how much time in her past that had been, but it felt such a long ago. Well, it's all gone now, she bitterly said to herself, before deciding that the dreaded explanations she would have to give to the producers about the cybermen incident could have waited, and that whatever, she was going to call Paul back first.
"Zoe?".
This time, his voice had the effect of snapping her back to the current reality, and only then she noticed the flute of champagne she was absentmindedly holding, half filled. Upon realizing she must have drunk the other half, she regained her focus.
"Oh... I... I didn't, actually", she apologetically said, looking into his worried eyes. "I wasn't thinking".
She quickly looked around and put down the glass to the nearest table.
"Are you all right?", Paul asked, gently, his hand on her upper arm. "It's like you don't even know where you are".
She giggled. Sometimes Paul seemed to have the power to read straight into her mind.
Where am I? Zoe couldn't help but feel misplaced. When she called him earlier, he was on his way to a very posh party, something to do with politicians. Years of high-level drug dealing had put him in a very closed, high rank circle of acquaintances, and it wasn't unusual for him to be spotted around important people. Election day was around the corner, and Paul kept waltzing to parties on a daily basis. Put a nice dress on, he had told her, I'm coming to get you. It had sounded like a good idea, at first, just to get her mind distracted from everything, to ease herself into numbness again.
Yet everytime she wasn't being introduced to someone, or smiling politely while Paul made his conversations, her mind wandered to the Doctor and Martha, and she kept questioning her own decision to leave. It seemed like the only thing she could do, and although the Doctor didn't agree - he even appealed to her abducted status, something that she had easily forgotten as their friendship became stronger - as soon as the TARDIS landed in 2008, she bolted out of the door.
Ok, maybe that had been a little abrupt. But the last time she had escaped by touching the console, the spaceship had sent her to a very dangerous situation, and she had ended up accidentally killing someone. Hell no. Also, the Doctor didn't exactly rush out to follow her, so. Either not caring or too busy being mad at her. Zoe knew the whole TARDIS adventure was anyway supposed to be temporary - she had noticed how the Doctor never gave her a key, while Martha had one.
"I'm sorry", she said, focusing to smile at Paul. Not that it would usually take an effort, but her head was elsewhere.
"Tell you what", he said, searching his jacket pockets for the cloakroom receipt, "let's get out of here". He wiggled his hand at her until she wrapped her fingers around his. "If you want drinks, there are more comfortable places to get a beer. I won't judge".
"Comfortable places?", Zoe repeated, with a somehow wilder smile.
"I meant a pub", he winked at her, giggling. "But of course, I'm open to suggestions". His whisper, so close to her ear, was always a turn on. He knew it.
He went to get their coats while she lingered at the entrance of the mirrored hall, so anonymous in its elegant appearance, just like any other posh party location. She looked at all the formal faces and clothing around her, the Chanels and McQueens, the shiny leather of men's shoes, the ties. and went back to check at her own reflection. All night she had the eerie feeling someone was staring at her, as if something about her screamed I don't belong here. Long sleeved, knee lenght blue embroidered dress, she was blending in. it was probably just a bit of paranoia. She loved her YSL sandals, which she almost never wore in fear of ruining them, but after what felt like an year in boots and chuck taylors she had felt at ease in slipping some nice high heels on. They weren't shoes made for adventure, and she made a point of avoiding adventures, at the moment. She had even managed to spray and gel her messy haircut back into a decorous style. Her bag only contained cigarettes and her keys. No universal roaming mobile or psychic lipstick. Out of her context, she almost couldn't recognize herself, but she was blending in. And her only thought was what the hell am I doing here?.
Again, Paul brought her back from herself, helping her into her coat, ever the gentleman.
He took a step to the exit, but she was just standing still, searching the faces around.
"Looking for someone?", he asked Zoe.
She looked around one last time.
"No... it's just, I feel like I was meant to see someone, and I forgot".
"What, were you supposed to meet someone else here?", he opened the taxi door for her.
"No, that's what strange".
"You're not making any sense", he noted, sliding his arm around her neck. "Whatever", he cut off any further inquiry on the subject by kissing her, hungrily, and her mind was finally in peace, giving in to Paul's sexy kiss.
"You look... thinner".
Sex was a good distraction, she pondered. Still, as soon as it was over, her mind had started roaming again. She turned to him, and smiled. "If I get any thinner I'll just disappear".
"I mean, fit. I never noticed how athletic you look. Been doing sports lately?".
A bitter giggle. "Just running, actually".
Paul's loft had big windows that spread the fazed moonlight like a mist over the scandinavian wooden furniture. Zoe was standing naked, idly smoking, the light giving her an allure impossible for Paul to take his eyes off. He knew something was up with her, that her thoughts were far from that bedroom. He wasn't offended, she wasn't his girlfriend, after all, but he cared about her, the former junkie who kept saying "I'll be clean someday", and who actually got clean. So many people had come passing through his life, coming and going, a lot of them gone forever, but she had stayed.
He stretched to stand and walked behind her; he placed a soft kiss at the base of her neck, and she shivered, as if awaken from a dream. Zoe turned her head just enough to feel his cheek on hers. Again, his breath gave her goosebumps.
"It's still chilly outside", he whispered. "You'll get a cold".
His fingers started gently caressing her arms, until he wrapped his arms around her, and held her close. It was relieving, Zoe felt, to be that close to an actual human being. Their affair, although based entirely on mutual physical attraction, was one of the few stable things she had. Neither of them had ever expressed - or actually wondered - the desire of a more serious relationship, but, exactly as when she needed help in her bad days, Zoe now felt that Paul was the perfect man to keep her grounded. He was someone she could rely on.
She turned around and kissed him, not with passion this time, mostly with gratitude, and she knew that his somehow magical sixth sense told him something was wrong with her.
"Ehi", he smiled. "It's okay".
She drew back a little, stretching her arm to put out the cigarette.
"Thanks".
"For what?".
"Just... just being here".
He picked up the shirt he was wearing before and draped it around her shoulders, tugging it to warm her up.
"What happened to you?", he finally asked.
You wouldn't believe me if I told you.
"What do you mean? Nothing, nothing, I'm fine". Whoa, that came out too quickly. Worst acting ever, she thought.
"Come on", he said, putting up his trousers, taking a step back to sit at the edge of the bed.
She sat beside him, a little groan escaping her lips.
"We had dinner plans the other night and you didn't show up. I go to the studio and there's a mess there, you don't pick up your bloody mobile, and two days later you're back with a haircut you had ages ago, a new bizarre tattoo and your head in the clouds. What the hell-?".
"I just met someone...", she started, hesitantly. She couldn't tell him, how was he supposed to understand? She wasn't even sure anyone was supposed to know about the Doctor. "I can't stop thinking about it".
He nudged at her shoulder. "Ehi, I'm not jealous". He laughed.
"I didn't mean that". His earlier mention of the studio got her back to her responsibilities. The Doctor sometimes left places without taking care of the mess they left behind, but one thing she had learned was that there was always someone who would. People he helped, survivors, somebody always put a right to the bizarre situations that made the Doctor's path.
"Gotta go", she said suddenly, standing up from the bed, searching the room for her clothes. She had to deal with the studio, better sooner than later. No escaping from that.
"What, now? It's the middle of the night".
"I'm sorry". She said. Already half dressed, she turned her back to him so he could help with the zipper of the dress.
His fingers smoothly ran on her shoulders, careful not to lose contact with her skin.
"Where's your necklace? I've never seen you without it".
Instinctively, her hand went to her neck. "I've... forgot it somewhere".
He turned her around and kissed her lips, fondly.
"Don't you mean... with someone? I have this strange feeling, like if I let you go I'm never going to see you again".
"Who knows". She simply stated. There was nothing much else she could say. The necklace...
He put on the shirt she had just took off. "At least let me drive you wherever you're going".
"Don't worry about me, Paul".
"I just... you don't look okay", he groaned, as she went to the door.
She smiled at him, tying her expensive shoes.
"Thanks".
"You already said that. Why do you make everything sound like a goodbye tonight?".
She didn't answer. She put on her coat and placed a last kiss on his lips, only to hear him sigh heavily.
"Zoe...", he cupped her face. "I hope you find him, whoever it is you can't stop thinking about".
She walked out.
"I'll be okay someday, Paul".
He laughed. It felt like a goodbye, but he believed her, he wasn't worried anymore. She was an impossible girl, but this last thing she said was charged with trust in herself, and he saw it.
"I know. Go get your necklace back".
He closed the door, but Zoe was freezed outside. Those words, those exact words. The Doctor, the... Her mind raced - how could have she been that stupid? Bow-tie Doctor said the exact same thing, didn't he. Go get your necklace back. He wasn't alone in the TARDIS, future Zoe was with him, she had heard her talk to him. She had piloted the ship. Time can be rewritten, but she now had the complete feeling that her run from the TARDIS was just another detour, that she was going to see the Doctor again. Sure, he was mad at her, Martha was mad at her, but she knew their path hadn't come to the last crossroad yet. she knew she would make it back on the slow path, permanently. Oh, she had been so stupid. She didn't think. Facing her responsibilities didn't mean taking care of the studio, she just shouldn't have left the TARDIS. Too late for that. Still, uncaring of her not-made-for-adventure-shoes, she started to run to the nearest cab company.
The parking lot was easily accessible by foot, and for months the emergency exit through which studio staffers went out for a smoke had been forgotten open, much to the dismay of the owner who kept sending unsuccessful reminders to everyone.
As expected, after passing the few production cars that were permanently parked there, Zoe found the door was not only open, it was ajar. Lucky me, she thought. Maybe I'm so lucky the Doctor and Martha would come and pick me up.
Her confidence was soon gone, as she stepped into an obviously deserted studio. The filming area was clean. The elevator was working. No traces of the dismantled backdrop, or of the cybermen suits, of the weapons, nothing.
Like in a James Bond movie, somebody had already been there to sort out the disaster. As to who it might have been, a slight suspicion twinkled at the back of her mind, and she started pacing to her atelier.
The door was open, but, much to her relief, nobody was there. Nobody seemed to have been there, the place was just as she left it, mess, scattered pieces of fabric and metal, notebooks, everything as she had last seen it.
Her eyes lingered on her sketches, at the many creatures she had designed before seeing them. She swallowed hard, a bad feeling in her throat upon realizing the Doctor had been right, she hadn't invented anything. And now, the doubt crept into her as it must have had with him; the room she had spent so much time working in filled with the weight of something very wrong. Her hands were on the wall, inspecting the drawings. Why? How did she know those things?
More than ever, she knew, right then, that there was no escape, that she had a link with the Doctor, a link that couldn't be ignored, not by playing innocent, not by running from him. Gently, she took a drawing pin from the wall and carefully folded one of her sketches, again with that creeping sensation of impending fate. How silly, she thought, it's just a drawing. But it wasn't just that. Something in the room was quite not right. As if-
"Fuck", a thick voice said.
Following an instinct she didn't know she had, she had twirled quickly on herself just a second before the weapon hit her.
"What the fuck-" she said, but she was now drawing back to her desk, while the man - obviously scorned at her anticipating him - launched himself at her.
"What the f-" Her attacker repeated. He wasn't big, but she was still wearing a tight dress and not-that-comfortable-after-all shoes, and he easily got a grip on her, plunged over her as she bent, his pressure on her back forcing her to her knees. He was struggling too, trying to lock her hands with only one of his arms as the other hand searched for... a weapon?
"Atelier, quick", she heard him say, just inches from her ears. Not a weapon, then, communications. Quick? He wasn't sure how much he could keep her there, then. Great.
Again, survival instinct took over, and she fought with all her strenght as she struggled for release, however there wasn't much she could do. Zoe reared her face as much as she could and slammed her head back into his nose. The sound she heard wasn't good, but he immediately let go and she jumped forward to the door.
Her foot was barely in the corridor when she spotted someone at the other end pointing a gun at her. "Stop right there!". Shit.
She let out a sigh and turned around, prepared to run the other way. Another person, another gun. Taken aback, she raised her arms, as the man came out of the room and quickly took her hands to cuff her wrists behind her back.
"You just had to go and break my nose, didn't you?", he hissed, without letting her go. His colleagues ran closer. Two women, one with a genuine look of surprise, the other talking.
"Oh my God, what do we do. what to we do, what do we do?".
"Kill on sight, she's on that list". The man said. Wait, what?
"Wait, what? What list...-" Zoe muttered. Not that lucky after all.
"Screw the list, there'll be some questioning". The first girl said, while the man pushed Zoe to the wall, her head tilted to one side just as quickly as to avoid her own nose being crushed.
"What is this? Who are you?" Zoe tried to ask.
The girl insisted "We better wait for-".
But she didn't finish her sentence, as the answer to Zoe's question came, from behind the girl, on Zoe's only line of sight with her head pushed like that. Someone she... that coat... no, no way. No. Fucking. Way. The whole situation had gotten so ridiculous she let out an hysteric laugh.
"This is Torchwood", Captain Jack Harkness said. "Nice shoes, by the way".
A/N I'm sitting in a corner crying over Matt Smith leaving the show. Which is ridicolous because I cried so much when Tennant left, so my hopes are high that I'm going to love the next Doctor as well. (Just so you know, I'm rooting for Ben Whishaw although it's never going to be him)(he's already too famous, I suppose) - on a totally different note, I'm playing with the idea of Madame Vastra's Jenny being the same Jenny as Jenny-the-doctor's-daughter. But actually whoever she is I'm all for the idea of a spinoff series based on Madame Vastra, Jenny and Strax solving crimes with people fainting every two takes. I'd call it Victorian Badassess or something like that.