When the Bough Breaks, Part 4
To TimeasunderQ, shepherdmoon, Rill with a view, drox and Samantha 2074: thanks so much for your feedback! I'm glad to know I'm doing a good job so far. Your kind words are inspiring me all the more. I hope everyone enjoys this next part.
"The longest kiss/Feeling furniture days/Drift madly to you/Pollute my heart, drain/You have broken me/Broken me/All your mental armor drags me down/Nothing hurts like your mouth."
"Mouth," By Bush, from the "Razorblade Suitcase" album, copyright by Bush, lyric used w/o permission.
Three days. She'd not heard a word and it had been three days. Now she felt as though she was going mad as well.
She'd stayed in the TARDIS because... well. She felt closer to him there. It wasn't rational, or logical, and she was sure that if he knew he'd probably give a good derisive snort. But she didn't care. And if he came back, that was the first place he'd go. Back to his home, back to her.
Only he hadn't done that. She'd seen nothing, not even a fleeting glimpse of his scarf. She'd gone round to some of the shops, figuring that if she had to be stuck in this place for who knew how long she might as well do something while she was stuck. She'd even been to the pub once or twice. That had proven to be her only source of information, and on this day what she learned had served to confuse and dismay her in equal measure.
"Oh, yes, I've seen that fellow," one of the staff told her. "He came round just yesterday evening. Must be having a party tonight."
"What do you mean?" She'd asked.
"Well, he bought quite a lot of drink. Best sale I had all day."
Sarah's heart had sunk. If the Doctor was drinking, either he thought it would help him or he'd given in to despair. And she had no way of knowing which was the case.
"Did he say anything? Anything at all?" She'd asked, urgency sharpening her tone.
The man looked at her in puzzlement. She tried a different tack. "Look, I'm a close friend of his and, well, we had an argument. I don't know where he's at and I'd like to sort it out." She smiled, hoping she'd sounded convincing.
"Well, he did say one thing. But it didn't make any sense to me."
"What?"
"He said he was... he said he was going to walk along the Seine." He shook his head. "Does that make any sense to you?"
Sarah frowned. It was a reference, that much she knew, but as to what...
"Not offhand, but maybe I'll figure it out later." She bought a small bottle of karberry wine and stuck it in her purse. "Thank you."
Now she was racking her exhausted brain to puzzle out the meaning. It had something to do with Earth, that name was familiar. Something she'd heard him say once...
No. Not say, she realized with a sudden flash of triumph. Sing. Something she'd heard him sing.
She ran to the TARDIS library room.
The Doctor had an old fashioned Victrola there, along with an impressive collection of records dating back from the 1930's up to 2007 when Earth had finally stopped making phonogram recordings. She began flipping through the records, exasperated once again that they were not in alphabetical or any other sort of recognizable order, but grouped in a way that only made sense to the Doctor. How in the world was she supposed to know where to look?
She drew a deep breath. Calm down.. Think. For once, try to think like the Doctor and not like Sarah Jane Smith.
Well. He sometimes ordered things by planet. No, not in this case. By genre? No, too straightforward. Blast. If I was a Time Lord, how would I organize my records?
The answer came to her so suddenly and easily she laughed.
"By the time period!" She exclaimed aloud in delight.
She glanced through the first batch. Duke Ellington, Glen Miller, Billie Holliday, Johnny Mercer, Nat King Cole... yes! All 40's and 50's artists! Now, she only had to figure out the decade of the song, or who sang it. It could take some doing: the collection was vast. The Doctor had around 500 records easy. And time wasn't on her side at the moment. But at least she knew how to begin.
Watch it, Doctor, she thought to herself. One day I might be able to puzzle you out!
Finally she found it. As her eyes burned and her throat was parched and her initial triumph fading, she found it.
"You will find your love/When you walk along the Seine..."
She played that verse over several times. She didn't understand it. Why would the Doctor have used this line? The Seine was on Earth, in Paris. It was a river. They were by a sea. It made no sense, unless...
Unless he wasn't really talking about the Seine. Maybe it was his way of saying he was going to walk along the seashore here. But still, why? What was he going to find?
"Blast you, Doctor!" She sighed aloud. There was at times no telling what he meant. He was infuriating, complicated to the nth power, exasperative, mystifying, and, and...
"And I love him so much it hurts," she whispered.
She'd never said it before: not to Harry, certainly not to him, not even to herself. She'd managed to avoid putting it into words, ruthlessly pushing it down. He was a Time Lord. Over seven hundred years old. He understood every language and easily had the wisdom and knowledge of a hundred "doctors." She was a human, a journalist whose most exciting adventure before him had been witnessing a robbery. How could she possibly hope to get him to notice her as more than just Sarah Jane Smith, "old girl," faithful admiring companion? She'd always thought it as likely as peace breaking out in the galaxy. So she'd kept silent.
But now he'd kissed her...
She rubbed her hand absently across her lips. Her skin seemed too hot. She could still feel the cool velvet touch of his, the touch that had seared her like a brand. It had probably meant nothing to him. But it had meant everything to her. What was she supposed to do now? How could she go back to being who she'd been with the memory of him tasting like tangerine copper burned into her memory?
There was something warm and wet on her face. Sarah blinked several times and discovered that she was crying. Well, it doesn't matter, she thought fiercely. He needed her, even if he didn't want to admit it or have her endure it. She couldn't abandon him. No matter what he'd ordered her to do, she could not stand by any longer and let him sink deeper into whatever hell he'd created. She would go to him, talk to him, help him. No matter what.
She left the TARDIS, locking it behind her. She wasn't far from the sea. She hoped he would still be there. She hoped he'd not done anything mad: like, well, go mad. What if he had? She stopped. Her hands flew to her face, clutched handfuls of her long brown curls. What if he'd gone to the sea to end it all?
NO!
She ran so fast she couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet.
To TimeasunderQ, shepherdmoon, Rill with a view, drox and Samantha 2074: thanks so much for your feedback! I'm glad to know I'm doing a good job so far. Your kind words are inspiring me all the more. I hope everyone enjoys this next part.
"The longest kiss/Feeling furniture days/Drift madly to you/Pollute my heart, drain/You have broken me/Broken me/All your mental armor drags me down/Nothing hurts like your mouth."
"Mouth," By Bush, from the "Razorblade Suitcase" album, copyright by Bush, lyric used w/o permission.
Three days. She'd not heard a word and it had been three days. Now she felt as though she was going mad as well.
She'd stayed in the TARDIS because... well. She felt closer to him there. It wasn't rational, or logical, and she was sure that if he knew he'd probably give a good derisive snort. But she didn't care. And if he came back, that was the first place he'd go. Back to his home, back to her.
Only he hadn't done that. She'd seen nothing, not even a fleeting glimpse of his scarf. She'd gone round to some of the shops, figuring that if she had to be stuck in this place for who knew how long she might as well do something while she was stuck. She'd even been to the pub once or twice. That had proven to be her only source of information, and on this day what she learned had served to confuse and dismay her in equal measure.
"Oh, yes, I've seen that fellow," one of the staff told her. "He came round just yesterday evening. Must be having a party tonight."
"What do you mean?" She'd asked.
"Well, he bought quite a lot of drink. Best sale I had all day."
Sarah's heart had sunk. If the Doctor was drinking, either he thought it would help him or he'd given in to despair. And she had no way of knowing which was the case.
"Did he say anything? Anything at all?" She'd asked, urgency sharpening her tone.
The man looked at her in puzzlement. She tried a different tack. "Look, I'm a close friend of his and, well, we had an argument. I don't know where he's at and I'd like to sort it out." She smiled, hoping she'd sounded convincing.
"Well, he did say one thing. But it didn't make any sense to me."
"What?"
"He said he was... he said he was going to walk along the Seine." He shook his head. "Does that make any sense to you?"
Sarah frowned. It was a reference, that much she knew, but as to what...
"Not offhand, but maybe I'll figure it out later." She bought a small bottle of karberry wine and stuck it in her purse. "Thank you."
Now she was racking her exhausted brain to puzzle out the meaning. It had something to do with Earth, that name was familiar. Something she'd heard him say once...
No. Not say, she realized with a sudden flash of triumph. Sing. Something she'd heard him sing.
She ran to the TARDIS library room.
The Doctor had an old fashioned Victrola there, along with an impressive collection of records dating back from the 1930's up to 2007 when Earth had finally stopped making phonogram recordings. She began flipping through the records, exasperated once again that they were not in alphabetical or any other sort of recognizable order, but grouped in a way that only made sense to the Doctor. How in the world was she supposed to know where to look?
She drew a deep breath. Calm down.. Think. For once, try to think like the Doctor and not like Sarah Jane Smith.
Well. He sometimes ordered things by planet. No, not in this case. By genre? No, too straightforward. Blast. If I was a Time Lord, how would I organize my records?
The answer came to her so suddenly and easily she laughed.
"By the time period!" She exclaimed aloud in delight.
She glanced through the first batch. Duke Ellington, Glen Miller, Billie Holliday, Johnny Mercer, Nat King Cole... yes! All 40's and 50's artists! Now, she only had to figure out the decade of the song, or who sang it. It could take some doing: the collection was vast. The Doctor had around 500 records easy. And time wasn't on her side at the moment. But at least she knew how to begin.
Watch it, Doctor, she thought to herself. One day I might be able to puzzle you out!
Finally she found it. As her eyes burned and her throat was parched and her initial triumph fading, she found it.
"You will find your love/When you walk along the Seine..."
She played that verse over several times. She didn't understand it. Why would the Doctor have used this line? The Seine was on Earth, in Paris. It was a river. They were by a sea. It made no sense, unless...
Unless he wasn't really talking about the Seine. Maybe it was his way of saying he was going to walk along the seashore here. But still, why? What was he going to find?
"Blast you, Doctor!" She sighed aloud. There was at times no telling what he meant. He was infuriating, complicated to the nth power, exasperative, mystifying, and, and...
"And I love him so much it hurts," she whispered.
She'd never said it before: not to Harry, certainly not to him, not even to herself. She'd managed to avoid putting it into words, ruthlessly pushing it down. He was a Time Lord. Over seven hundred years old. He understood every language and easily had the wisdom and knowledge of a hundred "doctors." She was a human, a journalist whose most exciting adventure before him had been witnessing a robbery. How could she possibly hope to get him to notice her as more than just Sarah Jane Smith, "old girl," faithful admiring companion? She'd always thought it as likely as peace breaking out in the galaxy. So she'd kept silent.
But now he'd kissed her...
She rubbed her hand absently across her lips. Her skin seemed too hot. She could still feel the cool velvet touch of his, the touch that had seared her like a brand. It had probably meant nothing to him. But it had meant everything to her. What was she supposed to do now? How could she go back to being who she'd been with the memory of him tasting like tangerine copper burned into her memory?
There was something warm and wet on her face. Sarah blinked several times and discovered that she was crying. Well, it doesn't matter, she thought fiercely. He needed her, even if he didn't want to admit it or have her endure it. She couldn't abandon him. No matter what he'd ordered her to do, she could not stand by any longer and let him sink deeper into whatever hell he'd created. She would go to him, talk to him, help him. No matter what.
She left the TARDIS, locking it behind her. She wasn't far from the sea. She hoped he would still be there. She hoped he'd not done anything mad: like, well, go mad. What if he had? She stopped. Her hands flew to her face, clutched handfuls of her long brown curls. What if he'd gone to the sea to end it all?
NO!
She ran so fast she couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet.