Moving Day
"Doctor!" Angel cried from his small clearing of unconscious bodies. He would never reach him in time from there. The towering monster lunging for the Doctor would slash him with its outstretched claws before the Doctor could even turn around.
How entire species survived without vampire reflexes, Angel would never know.
The Doctor began to turn, the alarmed expression just starting to register as Angel tore a spike off the back of a nearby body and hurled it as hard as he could. It spun past the Doctor's face, missing by several inches, and lodged deep into the belly of the Pryan. The dark blue ooze of the heart seeped out and the creature fell.
The Doctor's face shifted through several emotions so quickly that they were barely recognizable. Leaping over the body of the Pryan, he tripped, hopped, and stepped his way into the clearing that Angel had created. "How did we end up doing this your way?" he shouted over the scream of one of the monsters. "And why is your girlfriend stealing my TARDIS?"
"She's not-" Angel started, but froze mid-sentence to snap the neck of a red something-or-other (Angel didn't bother to look very closely). He didn't get to finish what he was going to say because at the moment, the whirring, grinding noise of the TARDIS's initiation sequence thrummed to life.
"Oh! That's my cue!" The Doctor threw up his hands like he'd just realized that he was late and going to miss the bus and dashed off, weaving his way through the groggy monsters in a way that came off as much too graceful considering the amount of arm-waving that was involved. Grabbing one last monster by the shoulders and spinning him around so that they switched places, the Doctor mumbled a quick apology and stepped back into the spot where the TARDIS had been not a second before.
"Judith!" Angel yelled, leaping over bodies as he also dashed to the spot where the Doctor stood. The last notes of the TARDIS faded away and Angel immediately rounded on the Doctor, grabbing his shoulders.
"Where'd she go?" he demanded. He shoved a demon away so hard that its head cracked against the pavement when it fell.
"Where'd she go?" the Doctor repeated indignantly. "That's what I'd like to know. Now let go and hush before you ruin my brilliant plan to get us out of here alive." He twisted out of Angel's grasp and dropped to the ground, plucking the device that had previously been hooked up to the TARDIS doors from the pavement.
Angel glared at the slew of monsters before them. "Surviving really isn't going to be a problem," he muttered, tightening his hands into fists. He stepped into the fray.
Angel's mind went peacefully blank, as it always did in the face of so much violence. He saw rather than felt his knuckles against heads, his boots against chests, his fingers around necks. At one point, he looked down and noticed a twisted horn deep in his gut and pulled it out, sticking it into the eye of a Sackren before moving on. He had no idea what the Doctor was doing - he'd forgotten that he was there at all - until the Doctor had already done it.
"STOP!" the Doctor shouted. Angel realized that he had been speaking before, but didn't know what about exactly. He snapped the neck of another demon before he realized that everything else had stopped. Someone grabbed the back of his shirt collar and he spun around to throw a punch at his attacker, but realized at the last second that it was the Doctor. His fist stopped just short of the Doctor's nose.
"Thank you," the Doctor said genially, giving Angel and his blood-covered fist a small smile before he turned to the rest of the crowd. "Now, as I was explaining, you might all want to stop because I have your nice, little, psycho-amplifier. That, might I remind you, you have been working near, and have probably at least partially linked to with your own brains." The Doctor wiggled the box at the surrounding monsters. "Who here paid attention in school and can tell me what that means?"
Angel sure didn't know what the Doctor was talking about, but about half of the monsters took a wary step back.
"No one wants to volunteer?" the Doctor gave the crowd a disappointed look, like a professor who found out that none of his students had done their homework for the entire semester. "It means that I have a free, all-access pass to your minds," he said cheerfully. "Now I know you all signed up to be minions or henchmen or toadies or, well, you get the idea. But who here wants to keep their free will?"
Angel took an almost unconscious step back behind the Doctor.
Several demons toward the back of the crowd dropped their weapons and ran, quickly followed by the other demons who had already started to back up. The Doctor grinned at the remaining monsters and reached a hand back to grab Angel by the arm. He tugged Angel out to stand next to him. "As for the bottom of the class," the Doctor called, "I am not joking, and if I am you still have to fight your way through my happily blood-soaked friend here to get to me; all over a box that is no longer here. Try to think this through." The Doctor elbowed Angel in the side and whispered, "Look threatening."
Angel honestly didn't think he had to try very hard. Or at all.
"I'm getting impatient," the Doctor cautioned, theatrically pressing several buttons on the device, "and Angel gets bored easily." He made a shooing motion with his hand. "Go on, there's a football game on in an hour you could watch instead."
The crowd was quickly dwindling, leaving about three very large and incredibly stupid-looking monsters and an additional one that Angel suspected was so terrified it couldn't run.
Feeling began to return to Angel's body. That is, excruciating pain began to return to his body. Angel found that if he squeezed his fists hard enough, the blood would drip through his fingers. Angel made the executive decision that time was up. He needed to move. He stepped forward.
Every one of the creatures scattered, leaving Angel and the Doctor in a deadly-quiet street with piles of corpses around them.
Angel sighed. "Damn."
The Doctor looped a supporting arm around Angel. "Can you walk?" he asked, leaning slightly to look at the wound in Angel's gut. "Angel, how much of this is yours?"
Angel glanced down. "The blue stuff isn't mine. I don't think the pink stuff is. The red...debateable. The pain...all mine." Angel bent over to relieve some of it. It never really helped, but he felt like it could have.
"Okay," the Doctor said, in a quick but calm voice, "okay, we're going to get you out of here..."
Making sure Angel wouldn't fall over before he let go, the Doctor moved around the promenade and picked up several more sections of the device that lay on the ground and tucked them all into his pockets. He pointed the sonic screwdriver at the spot where the TARDIS had been and it screeched for several seconds before he flipped it up, reading something off of the side, and then tucked it back in his pocket.
"Okay," he said again, returning to Angel's side, "we need a place to go, Angel."
"Judith," Angel choked out through the increasing pain.
"I'll get her back," the Doctor assured him. "I promise, but for now she is safe on the TARDIS. If you pass out on the street here, who's going to protect me from all of the monsters so I can do that, huh?"
Part of Angel wanted to protest about the safety of the TARDIS. After all, it had once tried to kill him. But it had admittedly had a reason and the pain won out; he nodded reluctantly. Angel straightened up again.
"My place," he said with much effort. "It's not...too far."
"Your place!" the Doctor agreed enthusiastically. "I'd love to see your place. Come on, then, tell me where you're going..." The Doctor ducked his head so Angel could drape an arm around his neck and they started off down the promenade.
"North," Angel said, trying not to grip the Doctor's shoulder too hard as he hobbled along.
"We're heading south," the Doctor pointed out. Galway Bay was only about a hundred meters in front of them.
Angel, of course, was aware of that, but they had to head south to go along the docks, back the way they'd come earlier. "We could go north," Angel said with much difficulty, "if you can cut through the fence. Me, I thought the gate would be easier."
"Yes, probably," the Doctor replied cheerfully.
Personally, Angel saw nothing to be cheerful about. He was leaving blood like a stream behind him, much of it from the hole in his torso that he probably could have easily shoved three fingers into. Judith and the TARDIS were gone, and Judith didn't know how to steer the psycho-killer ship. That would have been bad enough on a normal ship in the middle of the ocean, but this was a time and space ship: Judith could not only be anywhere, but anywhen. And if the TARDIS was sentient enough to hold grudges against Angel, it was sentient enough to hold grudges against people close to Angel, too.
An entirely different kind of pain knotted Angel's stomach.
He pressed his free hand against the wound to try to stop the blood flow and winced at how sharp and hot the pain shot through him.
"This brings back memories," Angel said in a voice so tightly strained it sounded like it might break.
"Does it?" the Doctor asked. "Perhaps you shouldn't get impaled so often, then. I can't imagine it's good for your health…"
"No," Angel said. "This." He gripped the Doctor's shoulder a bit tighter. "Last time you were here." Angel paused, partly because breathing in air in order to speak was painful, and partly because he realized the correction he had to make. "Last time for me, not you."
"I remember," the Doctor said. "Kom and Tinik."
Angel took a moment to be impressed that the Doctor remembered their names after dying and regenerating twice since then.
"I broke my leg," Angel said. "Kom broke my leg. You had to help me to the pub."
Letting out a little laugh, the Doctor nodded. "And then you came after me anyway. If you were so keen on coming, you could have mentioned it."
"Actually, I was just glad someone else was taking care of the problem," Angel replied. "Then I realized your ass probably needed to be saved and that annoying urge to be a hero I'd been trying to bury came out and that's why I came after you."
"I hoped you might," the Doctor said. They limped a few more steps and then he added, "I don't think I knew it at the time, but I did."
"Why?" Angel half-chuckled, "Because it's always good to have a lame vampire fighting on your side?"
"I needed a friend," the Doctor said simply. "Look! Here's the gate. We're doing good."
"You know what's also good that's at the gate? A tram stop." Angel winced. "I say we walk as little as possible."
"I do like the bus!" the Doctor said agreeably. They limped onward, slowly making their way back along the empty pier.
Angel had meant it as a joke, given his bloodsoaked state. So when a few painful minutes later Angel found himself blinking first at the waiting (and half-full) tram and then at the pleased-looking Doctor, he had a hard time processing that the public transit was actually the plan.
The Doctor entered the tram, grinning and nodding to everyone on board. Several people moved down a few seats. One short-haired man bravely asked, "What is that?"
Looking around like he needed to locate whatever strange thing was happening to respond, the Doctor's eyes finally landed on Angel in all of his blood-soaked glory. "Oh!" he laughed. "We're making a monster movie! You should all come see it once it's finished. I think it'll be great! I mean, look at all the blood. The fake blood that I've dumped on my -" the Doctor looked at Angel appraisingly, "drunk friend."
"A movie?" The man's eyebrow raised in interest and he turned in his seat as the Doctor helped Angel sit down on the edge, trying to get as little blood everywhere as possible. "Say, you're not looking for more actors, are you? I'll even do extra work. Here-" He spun around, digging in the bag on the seat beside him. When he twisted back to face them, he held out a small computer chip. "My portfolio and headshots," he said. "No obligation! Just in case."
Delighted, the Doctor took the chip and turned to show it to Angel like he'd won a prize. Angel nodded back, feeling a bit sick as the tram started to move, and did his best to look less pained.
"So tell me about this movie," the man continued. "What's your budget? Are you the director? Have you done all the casting yet?"
"Well," the Doctor said, turning back. "I don't know about all that, but it's a great story. It's about these two aliens who end up in Ireland on a mission of revenge..."
For the rest of the tram ride, the Doctor recounted his and Angel's adventure with Kom and Tinik, acting out bits and gesturing so wildly that he nearly fell over as they went around the final turn onto Angel's street. He was just about to retell the fight in the woods when Angel reached out and tugged on his jacket.
"Doctor," he said.
"...he pounced!" the Doctor continued.
"This is our stop," Angel said.
The Doctor turned and looked at Angel like he'd forgotten he was there. "Oh," he said, his face drooping with disappointment. "We'll, you'll have to wait to learn the end!" he told everyone. He gave a final wave and helped Angel down from the tram.
"That was fun," the Doctor said as the tram drove away. "Now what?"
"This way," Angel said, lifting his hand part way to point. "Somewhat ironically, away from the hospital…" Angel lived right across the street from Galvia hospital, both conveniently and intentionally from where he got his blood.
Nodding away the remains of his movie-producer act, the Doctor adjusted his grip on Angel and they turned away from the hospital, headed for the front door of Angel's apartment building. Angel barely remembered getting through the door and even less about the lift ride up to his floor. He suddenly found himself looking down his own hallway with the Doctor asking for his room number in a tone that suggested he'd asked several times already.
"212," Angel finally said. "Right there." When they reached the door, Angel pressed a bloody finger against the keypad and the lock clicked open.
"Wonderful! Here we are, we'll get you patched up in no time. That looks like a kitchen so I'm going to guess the bathroom is...this way."
"That's the library," Angel said. "Bathroom's in there. Through the bedroom." He started to lead the way forward, but the Doctor soon took the lead again.
"I was close," the Doctor said as they went, "and I love that you have a library. Is your med kit in the bathroom? I've said it before, there isn't a single place that isn't improved with a library. Even a little one. How much of a problem is infection for you, by the way? Do I need to start panicking about cleaning out the wounds?"
Angel let his arm slide off the Doctor's shoulder as they reached the bathroom and he leaned heavily against the sink. "A good shower should do it," he said. "Dead flesh doesn't exactly attract infection." He took a deep breath, straightened up, and began undoing the buttons on his shirt to assess the damage.
"Good. I don't like to have to panic," the Doctor said, opening drawers until he located Angel's supply of bandages. "Why'd you have to go and get yourself stabbed anyway, Angel?"
Gingerly peeling back his blood-soaked shirt, Angel stared at the gaping, oozing hole in his gut. The twist in the horn had done more damage than usual. "I never try to," he replied. "It just kind of...happens. Will you turn on the water?"
The Doctor jerked back into motion from where he had paused, staring at Angel's wound. He strode over to the shower after a few seconds of twitching his fingers near the controls, turned on the water. "Right, rinse off and if you pass out in the shower, don't say anything, just make a loud thumping noise and I'll come help. How's that sound?"
Angel gave the Doctor a look. After a moment, he said, "I won't pass out." He winced with each motion of taking his shirt off. "Blood loss doesn't affect me like that." He winced again.
"Really?" the Doctor asked, helping Angel pull the shirt off without bothering to ask. "I figured blood loss would bother you more than most."
"After a while I go insane," Angel replied, now attempting to pull out of his shoes without bending over. "But I won't faint. Unfortunately." He gave a half-yell as he managed to get one shoe off with excruciating pain and began contemplating showering half-dressed.
The Doctor, who had been slowly turning around the bathroom holding the blood-soaked shirt as far away from himself as possible, deposited the shirt in the sink for safekeeping before turning back to Angel. He crouched to untie his other shoe. "Pick your foot up," he said, waving for Angel to lift his foot until he had enough room to work the other shoe off and, after a second's consideration, peeled the sock off too. "And the other one..."
"Thanks," Angel said through another deep breath, "It didn't go all the way through, did it?"
"If it did, it wasn't much," the Doctor said, tossing both of the socks in the garbage. "Get rinsed off and we'll reassess."
Angel nodded and thanked the Doctor again. He turned and hobbled toward the shower, but then he stopped. "Doctor...do you think you could do me one more favor?"
The Doctor paused in the doorway, glancing back, "Yes?"
Angel hesitated and then looked over his shoulder. "Heat up some blood for me? It helps the...regeneration process..."
The Doctor nodded. "Of course," he said, and left, pulling the door closed behind him.
The Doctor loved being in other people's houses. While he had traveled long and far and wide he found that actually making it into someone's home was a rare treat. The universe was, in many ways, his: the shops and the markets, the alleys and the broadways, the rising towers and the tiny huts, the caves, the forests, the mountains, and, above all, the stars.
But not this.
He thought about it briefly as he stepped out into Angel's living room, tugging the bedroom door partly closed behind him. While he did not strictly require an invitation the way Angel did, it was nice to get one and in the spinning, wonderful rush that he rode through life on he tended to miss out on invitations. When he did get an invitation it always took him by surprise - often to the point where everything else came crashing down around him, like a juggler suddenly having an 11th ball tossed at him. In his panic he often just dodged the extra ball rather than try to work it into the act.
But he loved this: seeing the collection of things, most of them common, but when compiled together form a physical representation of a person. It was almost as good as sitting on a bus and having a chat with someone. Better, even, since there wasn't that weird bus smell to contend with. And, the Doctor's fingers twitched in anticipation, Angel had asked him to do something, which was about the same as giving him free reign to snoop.
Kitchen first, of course. The Doctor found that easily enough. The flat was small and it only took a few strides to reach it. Blood would be in the refrigerator, and it turned out to be just about the only thing. Boring in a completely logical sort of way. There was a bit of milk, however, that had passed the expiration date but had not actually gone sour yet. Friends, the Doctor concluded, but only for tea.
The stove was remarkable to the point where the Doctor made a mental note to actually remark on it later. It was downright anachronistic. The Doctor, on an impulse, decided that it was anachronistic in the best possible way and that he loved that Angel had an old-fashioned stove. He lit it and went in search of a saucepan, which he found after opening a disappointingly small number of cabinets. Setting the saucepan over the flame, he picked up the bag of blood and considered it. Putting it directly into the pot seemed...messy. And he didn't like the idea of having to stir it and then it would burn to the sides and that would smell terrible.
He dropped the bag back on the counter and snatched the saucepan off of the stove and filled it with water, noting the wonderfully specific temperature of water that the taps provided in this century. Pot of water goes on the stove. Bag of blood goes in the water. A few short calculations involving the simplest of thermodynamics later, and the Doctor knew he had six minutes and 37 seconds until the blood hit human-normal temperature. Easy. Nothing to do but open more cabinets, just to check for...well, he'd think of what he was checking for later. If he had to. Maybe.
Four minutes and 12 seconds later, the Doctor was sure that he was not looking for glassware, as Angel had glassware in abundance, ranging from mugs to champagne glasses and back down to a tiny set of shot glasses. The Doctor chose a mug, as it seemed like it was the best option for holding heat and because it was a lovely shade of blue that was not quite TARDIS blue.
He set the mug on the counter. He stuck his head out the the kitchen and listened to the shower, which was still running. He listened to the uneven sound of water hitting the floor that indicated that Angel was up and moving and definitely not passed out. Moving back into the kitchen, he turned the heat down on the stove, which readjusted the time out another two minutes and 25 seconds, give or take.
And then he had nothing to do.
So he opened more drawers to discover that, for a vampire, Angel had a really boring kitchen. Blood aside. And even that was boring, since the Doctor had been expecting it. All of the drawers were organized, not in the hard way of someone who liked order a bit too much, but in the way of a place that had been long inhabited. The commonly used items had found their way closest to the things that they related to and the less used items (in Angel's case this included things like forks and plates) had been relocated over the years to the deepest, darkest corners of the kitchen.
Stable, the Doctor thought. In spite of his existence on the fringe of humanity, Angel leaned toward stability. When life and the universe had taken away much of Angel's choices, he had proceeded to carve out this little section of the world that was his and filled it with things that he chose, like stoves from the wrong century. Consistency had been vigilantly added to his life until… The Doctor closed the last drawer in the row, unsure of what it was that the stability provided. He could guess, but it was the opposite path from the one his own life was on. When his life had lost all sense of order, the Doctor had chosen to grab the chaos by the hand and shake it firmly until they were friends.
More or less friends anyway. The Doctor leaned his head against the wall, listening again to make sure that Angel was still in the shower. Angel was, and the Doctor let himself breathe out a long, tired breath and lean more of his weight against the wall.
He stayed there feeling old and tired for longer than he normally allowed himself to. Pressing his head harder against the wall he told himself that Angel was fine, that Judith was...probably fine. He took the image of Angel covered from head to toe in blood and looking positively serene and locked it in a box of logic and nestled it amongst several other very similar boxes in the back of his mind behind a sign that read, "Do not think about this too hard." It left him with a nagging sense of worry.
"You're fine," the Doctor told himself out loud. He gave it a moment to settle in and then forced himself to stand up and go turn off the stove. The blood was probably a bit above human-normal now, but that would make up for cooling off while it waited for Angel.
He didn't really feel fine at all. It was perfectly reasonable, what with his friend having a hole in him that had to be a full 8 centimeters across. The Doctor had never really liked blood when it was anywhere but inside of people and he certainly didn't like it oozing out of gaping wounds. Certainly not like Angel liked inflicting giant, gaping wounds on what the Doctor had to admit were probably some not-very-nice monsters.
He put that thought back on the shelf with an uncomfortable shiver.
No, it wasn't the thought...it was the kitchen. Something about Angel's kitchen made him uncomfortable. The Doctor turned around, eyeing the cabinets, searching for something wrong, for something off. Nothing looked wrong, so he listened and found nothing but the hum of electricity from all of the right places. He ran his finger along the counter and then licked his finger: blood, cleaning supplies, sugar...icky, icky, why did he do that? Time was slow here, but moving. The antique appliances and consistency of the place clung to the time like a finish. Psychic energy seemed...normal.
Normal. Normal. Boringly expectedly normal...and wrong somehow.
The Doctor paced across the floor a few times waiting for whatever it was to click in his mind. It would come and in the meantime he loved a good mystery. Pausing on the spot a little inside the doorway that made his instincts crawl and his hair stand on end, the Doctor leaned down and extended every sense he had. He reached out his left hand slowly to touch the tile floor...
The water turned off in the bathroom and the Doctor leapt up. He tugged his jacket into place and tried to look innocent. A moment later he realized that he might be a bit jumpy. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, checked that his smile was firmly in place and went to get Angel his mug.
Angel emerged from the bedroom, clean and half-dressed with a shirt slung over his arm, a package of bandages in one hand and a washcloth in the other, which he pressed as hard as he could stand against his wound. It was still seeping blood, which told Angel that it was worse than normal. He sat down on the apothecary table with a groan and set the shirt and bandages beside him.
"Where did you get a gas stove in this time period?" the Doctor asked, sounding slightly indignant as he shoved a mug into Angel's free hand. "Better yet, who is supplying you with gas? Give me that, no, you take the mug. Stop trying to help. I know what I'm doing. I'm the Doctor." The Doctor took over holding the washcloth over the wound and waved Angel's hand away.
Angel, unsure and unwilling to decide which of the Doctor's remarks to reply to, simply took the mug and drank from it instead. Angel should have guessed that the Doctor would have known (and figured out how) to heat the blood to human body temperature, but it still surprised him.
It didn't seem like the Doctor had been expecting much of a reply anyway, or at least he didn't repeat the questions when they went unanswered. Instead, he went right on asking new questions or making odd statements as he tended Angel's wounds. Did Angel bleed more just after eating? He liked the wood, the TARDIS interior had been mostly wood at one point. Did Angel have any of the skin glue that they made these days? At this last question the Doctor did peer up from his work to look at Angel expectantly.
Angel made a bit of a face. "I'll be fine," he said. He glanced over his shoulder as far as he comfortably could. "It didn't go all the way through, did it?" he asked again, since it was easier to see now that he was clean.
"It didn't go all the way through," the Doctor assured him. "Not that you should try it again. There are very few things this wouldn't have killed, Angel." The Doctor let that comment hang as he started wrapping Angel's chest in bandages. "You didn't have to go taking on a whole army by yourself."
Angel sighed. "Yes I did. I've taken on more in worse moods. It...helps."
"It does not," the Doctor said, still intent on wrapping. "It gets you hurt and I-" he paused and took a breath. "Lift your arm a bit," he said instead of finishing his previous sentence.
"The pain gives me something else to focus on until I can make my next move," Angel said, flinching at the pressure of the Doctor's hands against the bandages. "I can deal with physical wounds. I've had a lot in my time. It..." but Angel paused and, like the Doctor, let out a deep breath instead of finishing his thought.
"It's familiar," the Doctor guessed at finishing Angel's sentence for him.
Angel shifted slightly. That wasn't what he was going to say, but it was true, so he said, "Yeah."
Angel's state of mind when he was in intense physical pain was similar to intoxication. His mind was more focused than with alcohol, but a little less clear and certainly less inhibited by his social surroundings. He was just as likely to react with violence as he was with calm rationale - it all depended on which impulse struck first. That must have been why he suddenly found himself adding softly, "It helps me deal with other kinds of pain. It's more concrete."
The Doctor finished taping off Angel's bandages. Several seconds of silence passed as he checked to make sure that they were secure and then he backed away. "I will get her back," he said, his voice just as slow and deliberate as his hands had been moments before. He leaned forward slightly, looking Angel in the eye. "I promise."
Angel swallowed and did not break eye contact. "Are you done with the bandages?" he asked.
"Ish," the Doctor said, pacing a few steps to the side to get a better look at a gash on Angel's arm. "The other wounds are closing up fast enough to make bandages seem..." He reached out a hand, almost touching the wound on Angel's arm and then quickly pulling it back again. " ...Excessive."
Angel took a deep breath and pushed it out as he stood up; the muscles around his wound burned so sharply he nearly gave a half-yell, but he managed to keep it in and stand without support. "Okay," he said after he'd caught his breath. "So let's go find her."
"Right! Of course," the Doctor agreed. He spun on his heel and made for the door. A few steps later, he turned back to Angel, his fingers twirling nervously in front of him. "The thing is..." he said.
"No," Angel interrupted sharply, pointing a finger at the Doctor's chest. "There is no 'thing.' We're going to find her and bring her back. You said so."
"We are!" the Doctor agreed quickly. "But, Angel...it's going to take a bit of time."
Angel couldn't help the low growl that rumbled deep in his throat. He tried to stay calm, but the corkscrew turn his night had taken was becoming just a bit too much for the part of him that liked consistency and predictability. He could deal with things that happened suddenly, but mostly because they tended to end quickly and he could resume his normal, quiet life. But the suddenness of the Doctor's arrival that evening hadn't slowed down yet, and Angel had planned to (probably) end the night with Judith at his flat-not with the Doctor at his flat, a gaping hole in his abdomen, and without a clue as to where Judith was.
Angel did not like change.
He narrowed his eyes at the Doctor, both daring and demanding for him to continue.
The Doctor hesitated, seemingly picking up on both the dare and the demand. He shifted his weight a bit and then took the dare.
"The TARDIS made a jump. That is obvious. Now what we can't do is go running out into the streets and calling her name." The Doctor waved his hand at the windows behind Angel. "Well, we could but she probably is well beyond hearing us at this point in time. We need to find out when she showed up."
Angel crossed his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly to show that he was listening, but impatiently.
"So we're...uh," the Doctor shifted. He didn't look like he'd actually thought out the explanation this far and had been counting on Angel to interrupt before he got to this point. "We're going to measure the...it's like echoes. Or ripples. Do you know how sonar works?"
Angel nodded curtly.
"It's not actually like that but..." the Doctor grinned and took an excited step forward, "but it is close. Picture sonar..."
"Doctor," Angel interrupted. "Just do whatever you need to do. I don't care what it's like."
"I already did."
Angel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You- You did. Okay, and...?"
"And now we have to wait at least twenty-four hours and I'll take another measurement." The Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and displayed it to Angel as evidence of his active problem-solving.
"Twenty-four hours?" Angel let out the growl again. "That's not good enough. We have no idea where she is and I am not just going to sit around and let her stay lost for twenty-four hours."
The Doctor pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "It's a TARDIS, Angel. It travels in time. For all we know, she's twenty-four years from now."
Angel's fists tightened, but he took a deep breath to calm himself. "That's not helping, Doctor. She could also be twenty-four million years in the past, running into dinosaurs. Or a thousand years in the past, running into Genghis Khan's army. Or three hundred years in the past, running into me. Do you see why I can't just sit back and do nothing?"
The Doctor quickly stopped his enthusiastic nodding at all the adventures that Angel had been listing. "That would be...bad."
Angel punched him. He winced a bit at the pain from his wound with the sudden movement, but it was completely worth it. The Doctor spun all the way around from the impact and collapsed onto the floor where he stayed, rubbing his jaw.
"Not that she's going to get a chance to do any of that...ow, Angel. Every time, honestly."
Angel frowned and stepped carefully around the Doctor to stand by his head. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Why won't she get the chance?"
"Because we'll find her before she gets a chance," the Doctor said with a sigh. He touched his lip and then looked at his fingers. "I'm not bleeding am I? Listen, if we take the correct measurements we can sort out a way to jump directly to whenever she ended up and drag her back home before she has any fun."
Angel narrowed his eyes again at the Doctor. He wasn't sure he entirely understood, but he was fairly certain he didn't need to, as long as he got the Doctor's word that they would reach Judith before she stepped out to explore wherever she landed. "We can do that?" he asked.
"Sure," the Doctor said in a less than comforting, why not? sort of tone.
Angel knelt down and drew back his fist again.
The Doctor held up his hands. "Yes, definitely!" he said, scooching away from Angel as best he could. "Or I might get the TARDIS to come to us, but that's pretty much the same, right?"
Angel lowered his fist slowly. He opened his hand and held it out to the Doctor. "Do it now."
The Doctor took his hand and held onto it. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but what exactly do you want me to 'do now'?"
Angel gripped the Doctor's hand a little too tightly and stood up with a groan, pulling the Doctor with him. He nearly wasn't able to do it with the blinding pain in his stomach as his muscles tightened. "What you just said," Angel answered, trying to contain the agony, tightening his hold on the Doctor's hand with the effort. "Call the TARDIS here."
Wincing at Angel's grip, the Doctor said, "Great. Perfect. I'll just set up a bit first." The Doctor pointed to the apothecary table, taking a few hesitant steps in its direction.
Angel let go of the Doctor's hand and watched him carefully. Once the Doctor seemed sure that Angel wasn't going to punch him again, he wandered over to the table and pulled the device he had retrieved off of the street from his pocket. He set it and several other gadgets from his pocket on the table. Picking up the main piece, the Doctor looked at it for a few seconds and then said, without looking up, "What sort of tools do you have?"
Without a word, Angel went into his bedroom to fetch his (rather small) box of basic tools from his closet. When he returned, he held it out to the Doctor.
The Doctor took it without so much as a nod at Angel. Setting it on the table, the Doctor gave it a cursory glance before he pulled his own sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and set to work.
Angel crossed his arms over his chest again and watched the Doctor. Angel watched for a very long time, mostly without moving and without comment. The Doctor even glanced at Angel once with a somewhat impressed expression. The night aged slowly but steadily and Angel waited with all the innate patience of a 450-year-old creature that depends on stalking for prey for survival. It was about an hour from sunrise before anything interesting happened.
The Doctor shook the tiny device next to his ear, listening. Then he set it on the table, tugged the hammer from Angel's toolbox and gave the whole thing a solid knock. It hummed and sparked.
"There you are," the Doctor said, smiling at the device like it was a toddler awakening from a nap. "Now, you are going to help me find the Old Girl aren't you? Yes, you are." The Doctor picked the device up and placed a gentle kiss on the top of it. Electricity ached between the device and the Doctor's lips. He jumped, but only slightly, like he'd been expecting it. "There you are, have a bit of me to go on now."
Angel let out an audible sigh. He knew better than to comment on the Doctor's unconventional methods, but that he still had to wonder how much kissing the thing really helped. It was his experience that technology hated him, and would not work better through kindness.
Given, he'd never been that kind to any technology. The Doctor was tucking it in now or something, nestling it amongst the tools on the tools on the table and patting it gently with one hand. He stood, like he'd finished telling it a bedtime story and watched the sleepy ebb and flow of a yellow light on top of it. Satisfied, he moved to the couch and slumped onto it with a sigh, swinging his legs up and setting his feet on the only clear spot on the table.
After several minutes of even more waiting with no more movement from the Doctor beyond tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes like he fully intended to go to sleep, Angel cleared his throat expectantly.
"Hmmm?" the Doctor mumbled, not opening his eyes.
"Is it working?"
"Mmm," the Doctor hummed with a slight nod.
"So where's the TARDIS?"
"Can't tell you till we take that second measurement. I might need a third to really pinpoint it."
Angel sighed again. "I thought you said you were calling it here. So why do we care about measurements? Why isn't it here?"
The Doctor opened one eye to look at Angel. He seemed deeply amused by whatever he saw. Smiling, he shrugged himself deeper into the couch. "Sit down, Angel."
Angel hesitated, but decided that the little bit of movement might be good for him, so he uncrossed his arms and slowly circled the apothecary table to sit down next to the Doctor. He could almost hear his muscles creaking. He gingerly rested a hand over the bandages on his stomach.
"How often do we need to change those bandages?" the Doctor asked, blinking his eyes open briefly as Angel sat down.
Angel glanced down. "Depends," he said. He pulled his shirt up to look at the bandage. The blood was just beginning to seep through. "Pretty soon, I guess," he muttered. "Just until it stops bleeding."
"Sounds good. We'll do that and I'll give this thing another sample and then naps all around."
Angel stared at the bandages for a moment. "Doctor," he said eventually, looking up. "I have to do something."
The Doctor slumped even lower. "Go order breakfast. You don't have anything except for blood and milk."
Angel thought for another moment. "Is that the most I can do to help right now?"
One second, the Doctor had been lazily reclined on the couch and headed swiftly towards sleep, and in the next second he was fully awake and had snatched Angel into a hug. Angel rethought exactly how inhumanly fast the Doctor might be; he also wondered if the Doctor was faking the sleep bit. Or maybe he was just annoyingly affectionate.
Angel was caught so off-guard at first that he didn't move at all, but the Doctor's embrace outlasted Angel's shock, and now Angel squirmed uncomfortably. The Doctor did not let go. Angel tried repositioning enough to free an arm to pat the Doctor's back (a gesture Angel thought was indicative of the end of a hug, but apparently not in Time Lord culture). Finally, the Doctor let go and sat up straight, looking at Angel with an expression of joy mixed with something Angel couldn't identify.
"What?" Angel asked.
The Doctor continued to look at Angel with that expression. Wonder, maybe, Angel thought, or possibly pride, although he couldn't see a reason for either.
"You are...fantastic, Angel. I think I forget just how fantastic you are and then I meet you again and there you are." The Doctor beamed and Angel tried to move into a more defensive position to ward off any other hugs that might be directed at him.
Angel was not quite sure what to say in the face of such a glowing compliment. He so rarely received compliments at all, let alone one as adoring as that, and never from anyone who was less than a lover. Or Lorne.
"Er...thanks?" he finally said.
For a moment the Doctor continued to smile in spite of Angel's half-hearted acceptance of the compliment and then he seemed overcome by that awkwardness that seemed to be a part of his nature, like it was added in to balance the careless confidence that he exuded the rest of the time.
"Right," the Doctor said, standing. He took a step, nearly running into the table, and stopped short. After a bit of consideration and a lot of spinning, he sorted out a direction and headed back into Angel's kitchen. Angel heard the refrigerator door open and close and the Doctor shouted, "Do you need to eat again, Angel?" Several cabinets were opened and closed. "Angel, you don't have anything in. I'm going to have to go out. Do they have pie here?"
Angel stood up with a slight groan and shuffled into his bedroom to find his Palm in the pocket of the pants he'd been wearing earlier. "What kind?" he called back. The Palm was bloody, so went into the bathroom to rinse it off in the sink.
"I don't know," the Doctor answered, "the breakfast kind."
Angel sighed and took it as a sign that the Doctor knew just as much about human food as Angel did. He could work with that. Fiddling with his Palm as he went back into the living room, trying and failing to search for "breakfasty pies," and he finally suggested,
"There's a bakery at the corner of the street. They might know."
The Doctor practically danced out of the kitchen. "I love bakeries!" he announced like Angel would find this deeply exciting news. "We should definitely do that. Forget the pies. They're filled with nothing but that nasty, globby fruit stuff."
Angel started to say something, but then he thought better of it and just shook his head. He went to get his coat, trying not to move so stiffly.
"You, um..." the Doctor started, watching Angel put his coat on with a sympathetic wince, "don't have to come if you don't want...since you're hurt." He scuffed his shoe against the floor and looked like somewhere, deep down, he was trying to put on a brave face.
Angel tried to shove the thought that he'd suddenly become responsible for a 900-year-old puppy into the back of his mind. "No, I'll be fine," Angel said. "Can't have you...getting lost or something." Angel resisted the urge to add, What would your parents say?
"I'll have you know that I have a perfect sense of direction. I could find my way out of a maze in the dark," the Doctor replied, proudly adjusting his bowtie. "Or, no, I might get lost; you should definitely come."
"Mm-hm," Angel replied, opening door. He liked the Doctor just fine, but he would trade the Doctor being lost for Judith in a second. He kept that to himself, though.
In all of Angel's decades of living at his flat in Galway, he had never stepped foot inside that next-door bakery. It was small; quaint. It reminded Angel vaguely of the bakery his family used to buy from. He glanced over at the Doctor: this was now entirely in the Doctor's court.
He seemed to know it, too.
"Yes," he said, pointing at a pastry the second he walked through the door. "No, hate those. What is that? I'll take three...no...best try the first one first. Hold the three." The Doctor spun around twice, his arms spread wide. He paused briefly facing Angel, lifting his arms a bit higher like he was trying to lift Angel's enthusiasm from across the room. When Angel made it perfectly clear that that was not going to happen, the Doctor spun back around and turned all of his attention to the girl behind the counter. He sauntered up to the counter and leaned both of his elbows onto it.
"Hello!" his eyes scanned down to the nametag pinned to her shirt, "...Skye."
Skye smiled, wrinkling the smudge of flour on her cheek. She was petite, and her long blonde hair was pulled back, already messy from a long morning's work, even though dawn hadn't yet broken.
"Morning," she said, plopping her own elbows down on the counter, mirroring the Doctor's posture. "S'not often we get folks so cheery this early in the day. How can I help?"
"Well," the Doctor said, turning slightly so that only one elbow rested on the counter. Angel was sure the Doctor thought this looked much less dorky than it did. "I'm a morning person...and an afternoon person. I'm actually an all-around time person." He winked at Angel who made it a point to roll his eyes very clearly for the Doctor to see.
The Doctor waved his hand dismissively toward Angel and turned his attention back to Skye "Could you possibly direct me to the very best thing you have in this shop? And do you do samples? I'm very picky."
Skye smiled confidently. "Oh, I don't think you'll need samples," she said, straightening up. "I am excellent at matching the right person with the right patisserie. To start: sweet or savory?"
"Oh, she's good, Angel," the Doctor said over his shoulder and then turned back to the shopgirl to tell her that he wanted both at once. Angel stepped a bit closer to watch.
Skye seemed unfazed. "Cheese?"
"All the ones I don't hate," the Doctor replied. "You don't have brie back there do you? It's nasty and melty. Who wants cheese that melts at room temperature? Why bother making it?"
"Clearly, you've never had a proper brie roll, which would make sense if you've never here before." She winked. "Here: free sample." She bent and pulled a roll out of one of the display cases and cut off two pieces for the Doctor and Angel to try (Angel politely refused his). The Doctor held his free sample up to Angel like he'd won it at a fair.
"Now, a series of unconventional questions," Skye continued. "Answer the first thing that comes to mind: India or Japan?"
"Kites," the Doctor told her and stuck the bread in his mouth. Before he even had time to chew he pulled the bit of roll out of his mouth again. "No, no, icky cheese. Definitely one of the ones I hate."
Skye frowned pensively as she picked up a small rubbish bin by the payment kiosk and held it up for the Doctor to toss his brie roll bite. "Interesting," she said. "Ecuador or Kenya?"
"Rabid wolves."
"Seashells?"
"Love letters," the Doctor said and then actually looked a bit ashamed. "Er...unwanted...love...letters..."
Skye's mouth quirked knowingly. "Ashes?"
The Doctor stood up suddenly. "Are you just messing with me?" he asked. Angel didn't think the Doctor should be allowed to ask anyone that question.
Skye straightened up. "Absolutely not, sir," she said with mild offense. "This is a time-tested, scientific questionnaire that has matched thousands of lost customers with their perfect baked good. Please, I am an expert."
"I do love an expert," the Doctor admitted, relaxing back onto the counter. "Go on."
"Ashes," she repeated.
"Toast," the Doctor lied. It was good as far as his lies went, but Angel thought the set-up sort of ruined it.
"Mars."
"Warriors."
"Leprechauns?"
The Doctor ducked his head sheepishly. "Betting pools."
"Home."
"Ear..." the Doctor lowered his voice, "biting."
The girl blinked, but recovered quickly. "Cyanide."
"Giant killer bees," the Doctor immediately and then added after a pause, "also preachers."
"Last one: angels."
The Doctor paused. "That one sounds important," he said. "I don't want to mess it up… I think...stillness."
Skye hmmmed and then went to fetch a small plate behind her. She set it on the counter and opened a jar near the cash register, picked up a pair of tongs, and pulled out a long dark piece of something that was seemed to be sprinkled with sugar crystals. Angel leaned forward a bit. There was a symphony of smells coming from the thing, and it clattered on the plate as she set it down and replaced the tongs and the jar lid. She picked up the plate and held it out to the Doctor.
"Salted spicy chocolate biscotti," she said. "Secret ingredient: mashed avocado and diced persimmons. A clash of complimentary tastes that honestly can't quite decide what it wants to be and requires a..." she smiled. "Sense of adventure. On me."
"Ha!" the Doctor seemed like he'd be laughing if he wasn't too busy looking absolutely delighted. He plucked the biscotti off of the plate, considered it, smelled it, licked it and then finally took a hesitant bite. He swallowed it, which Angel took for a good sign.
"This is why you should always go to a professional, Angel," the Doctor said with his mouth full. "If anyone asks I will be sure to tell them that the best bakery in four star systems is this one right here."
Skye beamed. "We do have a perfect record," she said, and then turned to Angel. "Your turn."
Angel took a step back. "Er, no...thanks. I don't eat...pastries. Ever."
"He's not a morning person," the Doctor said in a loud whisper.
"We have something for that!" Skye exclaimed and whirled around. "Back in a mo'!"
"No, really," Angel called after her, but it was too late. She'd already gone into the back, a wave of hot, floury air hitting them as the door to the kitchen shut behind her. Angel sighed in defeat.
"You should do the test, Angel. See if she gives you blood oranges," the Doctor said, walking along the counter and running his fingers along the cases of pastries.
"But I don't like blood oranges," Angel said.
"Turtle blood soup?" the Doctor suggested. "I'd be very impressed if she had soup stashed back there just for you."
"She'd have to be psychic," Angel said. "I've never been in here." Angel started contemplating the idea that the girl might actually be psychic.
Skye returned presently with a plate and pastry in hand. She held it up and stopped at the counter. "Espresso coffee cake," she said, and started to offer it to Angel, but then pulled back. "No..." she said thoughtfully. "You seem more like a tart kind of person. Simple. Intense. Sweet or savory?"
"Er…" Angel glanced over at the Doctor uncertainly. The Doctor waved at him encouragingly.
"Salty?" Angel guessed. "And sweet. But not savory."
She nodded. "Spain or Ohio?"
"Spain."
"Kenya or the Congo?"
Angel hesitated, glancing again at the Doctor. "Egypt," he replied.
"Seashells?"
"Gritty."
"Ashes."
"Eternity."
This seemed to give the girl pause, if only for a second. "Train wreck," she prompted.
"Orchestrated."
"Time."
Angel paused briefly. "The Universe's biggest joke."
The Doctor snorted behind Angel. The girl shushed him. "This is important," she scolded. "Last one: fear."
Angel swallowed. "Power."
"Interesting," Skye said, frowning slightly. "I stand by what I said before. You're a tart sort of person. Here," she stepped farther down the counter and pulled out a chocolate tart so dark it was almost black, topped with a deep red jam-looking substance. "Devil's Advocate. Chocolate, slightly sweetened with liquor and fresh-mashed raspberries."
Angel was skeptical, but he took the plate anyway and the fork she offered and tried a bite. He was impressed. Angel did not typically like human food, but this one had an intensity and a depth that he found appealing. And he had always thought that everything could be made better by liquor. He nodded.
"That's good," he said. "Thanks."
Skye beamed.
The Doctor did too, and enthusiastically cheered Skye's success. He congratulated her and insisted on shaking her hand. Twice. By the time Angel and the Doctor exited the bakery, Angel felt like the Doctor might have arranged a news crew to show up and document the whole thing. Thankfully, he had not.
"I can't believe you've never gone in there," the Doctor said, as they strode back up the street. "The smells alone are lovely. You could show up and breathe."
"I smell it enough living nearby," Angel replied. "And I don't eat human food."
"But it's about the experience. It's not an experience if you're down the street."
"I...experience things," Angel argued. "I just don't have to experience everything."
"And why did bakeries get scratched from the list, then?" the Doctor inquired. "Don't give me the human food line again, you could have gone with someone."
Angel shrugged. "Never really seemed like a fun thing to do, I guess. Not eating human foods makes the smells not all that exciting. Kind of...irrelevant. And think about it Doctor," Angel added, holding the door to his building open for the Doctor. "A vampire in a bakery?"
The Doctor stepped through and waited for Angel to follow to say, "I'm not saying you'd have to live there. I'm just surprised that you never visited."
Angel shrugged again and called the lift for them. Angel generally didn't like using the lift-he only lived two floors up and it seemed the lazy way to do things-but his abdomen still had a gaping hole in it. He was going to have to drink more blood soon. And sleep.
"Doctor," Angel said after a brief moment of silence had passed. "What actually comes to your mind with the word 'ashes'?"
The Doctor glanced over at him. "Of course," he said with a shake of his head. "You're going to have to tell me how you do that sometime."
"Do what?" Angel asked, leading the way into the lift as the doors silently opened.
"Remember," the Doctor said, running his finger along the outline of the control box on the elevator. "Most of the time when people catch me lying there's enough...stuff that happens after that they forget to ask again."
"Mm," Angel said thoughtfully. "It was an interesting thing to lie about," he answered after a moment. "So? What comes to mind?"
The pause lasted long enough for Angel to think that the Doctor wasn't going to answer at all. The lift reached Angel's floor and they walked down the hall to Angel's door.
"Arcadia," the Doctor said as Angel pressed his finger against the lock. "It wouldn't have been useful in that context."
"What's Arcadia?" Angel asked.
"Exactly," the Doctor said, pushing open the door. "No good for a questionnaire. More of an essay question. Might be able to fit it into that game show. Whatsit? The one with the questions for answers. 'What battle was the turning point in the Time War?' Arcadia was..." the Doctor paused, looking up at the ceiling, "a city. A battle. The outer domes melted in the heat like..." the Doctor stopped and shook his head. He smiled at Angel instead of finishing the sentence.
"Oh," Angel said slowly, wincing as he took off his coat. He rested a hand over his wound as he hung the coat on the hook. He remembered the last time the Doctor was around, walking through the golf course with him looking for alien tech. Angel had asked about the Time War and the Doctor had not really answered except to say that the fires were still burning, and later that he preferred ashes to flames. If the Doctor was bringing it up, the ashes must be falling, now. But that didn't mean the embers were ready to be stirred.
"Right," Angel said, nodding with a half smile to return the Doctor's. "That's probably too involved."
"Hmm..." the Doctor agreed, looking around Angel's flat like he hadn't seen it before. "And I suspect toast gets across a similar meaning. Metaphorically, anyway."
Angel nodded, more to show agreement than actually agreeing. He stopped and looked between his bedroom and his kitchen, trying to decide between food and sleep.
"So when is the next measurement?" he asked instead of deciding.
The Doctor looked at his watch. "18 hours," he said and then added, "-ish."
Angel nodded with a resigned sigh. "You'll have to find your own food after this," he said. "I'm going to pass out for a lot of that."
"Sounds...good," the Doctor said, still lingering by the door. "Get your strength up."
"It helps the healing process," Angel replied. "You okay by yourself for a while?"
The Doctor made a face. "Yes, Mum," he sighed.
Angel narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't break anything," he said.
The Doctor smiled at him. It looked ominous. "I'm the Doctor," he said, adjusting his jacket, "I don't break things."
Angel did not believe a word of this. Nevertheless, he started to make his way to the bedroom door, but he paused halfway there. He turned back to the Doctor. "Are you sure there isn't anything else we can do to get her back now?"
The Doctor continued to smile. "Do you need me to redo the bandages?"
Angel sighed and glanced down. He shook his head. "I can do it," he said. He hesitated an extra second before turning again and going the rest of the way into his bedroom.
It took the Doctor the better part of an hour before he got really bored. He'd already explored Angel's kitchen and there just wasn't a lot to the rest of Angel's apartment. The apothecary table in front of his couch in the living room did contain several drawers of interesting ingredients, and some not-so-interesting ingredients. There was a chest of weapons along the wall near the door to Angel's bedroom. Each weapon had been carefully sharpened, polished, and tucked away with care. The library was interesting to explore, but the Doctor was feeling too antsy to read.
By the time the sun was glinting behind the blinds, the Doctor decided that he would have to go out. After all, Angel would likely sleep through the day. Plus, the Doctor thought that there were a few loose ends from the night before that could definitely use some tying off. Or cleaning up.
Did one trim loose ends? That seemed like a metaphor for violence. If he dealt with the loose ends before Angel woke up, maybe they wouldn't be trimmed!
On that note, the Doctor headed out into the city.
Galway had a certain glow in the daytime that the Doctor hadn't really gotten to appreciate with his last visit. The glass walkways that crossed between buildings refracted the light in all directions making the city seem just a little too bright to be Earth.
He always liked when he had pleasant scenery to look at while he tracked down a megalomaniac.
