Hey, guys! So, it took me a little longer to get this up than I had hoped, but a week late is better than a couple of months. This is part two of The Hemovore Arc, there should be one more chapter after thi to complete this arc.

I'm gunning to get part Three out of the way as fast as I can, because there is only one more arc (three-ish more chapters) until Rose makes a reappearance, and two more arcs until we get to the episodes.

God, it feels like it's taken forever. This fic is around 280 pages long, and it feels like I've barely even gotten into the story yet. But anyway, here's a more laid back adventure before the angst of the next arc. I just really wanted to play with the character a bit more before I started having to write her in more heavy plot lines.

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Chapter Twenty: The Hemovore

Part Two

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My heels clacked loudly on the white tile floor. I focused on the sound, trying to keep myself from panicking. This had seemed like a great, albeit ridiculous plan when I thought it up, but now that I was here and about to go through with it, it seemed like the stupidest thing I could ever do. Other plans started to swirl through my head, but I pushed them away. I'd already made eye contact with the young woman at the front desk. I squared my shoulders. Too late to back out now.

The young woman at the desk was pretty. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat french braid that trailed over one shoulder, save for a few wisps strategically freed in order to frame her face. She flashed a friendly smile, displaying perfectly white teeth as she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

I stopped admiring the shape of her soft grey eyes and flipped open my psychic paper. "Agent Carly Whittford. FBI."

On the way over I'd decided that it would be best to give a different name. I had no clue as to what the Doctor had told the police, so there was a chance that he'd already told them he had a friend called Buffy.

The young woman frowned, studying the blank paper carefully, and I internally cringed.

I felt ridiculous, like a kid in grownup clothes. It didn't help that I already felt like a fish out of water in my black pantsuit with all my hair piled on my head in a tidy bun. This wasn't going to work. I was going to get arrested right alongside the Doctor. Maybe we'd be cellmates, at least then we could plot our next move together. I hated having to do this sort of leg work on my own.

I was already contemplating the best way to get on the right person's nerves enough to deserve to be put in with the man they assumed was a violent killer when the young woman nodded.

"I'll let the Commissioner know," she said tapping away at the electronic panel embedded in desk in front of her.

I tried not to get antsy as the moments ticked by, refusing to let my anxiety show. I distracted myself by taking the time to study my surroundings. The part of the building, the lobby, had once been clean and white. A robot vaguely resembling a roomba with an arm droned lazily around the corners of the room, doing nothing to clean up the splotches and scuffs the floor had collected with time. Behind the front desk was a glass wall. Guards wandered on both sides of the bulletproof glass, dressed in dark blue with sleek guns and shiny batons strapped to their belts.

"He'll only be a few more minutes," the secretary promised.

"No problem," I said, managing to sound much calmer than I felt.

"That's a nice bracelet, by the way," the young woman commented, nodding towards the silver cat in my wrist.

"Thanks," I said, glancing down at the object in question. I had forgot I'd even put it on. I mentally cursed myself. FBI agents would not wear CAT jewelry. "It's new."

She nodded, not giving any mind to the unprofessionalism. "Do you have a cat? I've got two."

"No. I'd like one, but my… landlord... would never sign off on it. What's your name, again?"

"Drakenson." She blinked rapidly upon realizing I'd meant her first name. "Leah! I mean… Leah Drakenson."

"Leah," I repeated, testing the name on my tongue. "That's a nice name."

Her smile broadened and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Whatever she opened her mouth to say was cut off by the arrival of Commissioner Ronald Grady. He was a stout man in his late fifties with a head of thick silver hair and a mustache to match. He reminded me somewhat of my grandfather, a no-nonsense scowl offset by a cheerful twinkle in his beady blue eyes. He extended a worn hand for me to shake.

"Not that I'm not happy you're here," he began as soon as the initial introductions had come and gone, "but what does the FBI want with the Hartford case?"

"We've… seen some similarities between this particular case and some other incidents that we're following," I explained, having rehearsed what I would say several dozen times during the walk across the city. Grady opened his mouth to question further, and I quickly added, "I'm not at liberty to say more."

Grady frowned. My heart sank. I kept my face schooled into an expression of professional neutrality despite the panic that was fluttering in my chest. I prayed to every deity in the universe that he would buy it.

"Can I take a look at your badge, please?" He requested coolly. "Procedure. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course," I replied, matching the false pleasantness of his tone. I retrieved the leather bill fold from the lining of my blazer and flipped it open for the Commissioner to inspect.

He squinted at the paper for what felt like eons, noting every letter and number that his mind filled in on the blank sheet. I bit my tongue and forced myself not to hold my breath.

Finally, Grady straightened back up and offered me a more relaxed smile. "Well, we'll use you as long as you've here. It's not often I get to pick a suit's brain, if you'll pardon the expression. My office is this way."

I followed him past the security section and into the depths of the station. The place was big. From what I gathered from the TARDIS, there were six floors. The first floor was on the ground level, but instead of extending up from there like buildings usually did, this one went down. The top three layers were offices, filing, and storage, while the lowest three contained holding cells, interrogation rooms, and evidence storage for ongoing investigations.

The Commissioner's office was one floor down from the main entrance. It was a decent sized room, vaguely reminiscent of a principal's office with a large wooden desk in the center, two stiff backed chairs on one side and a large squishy leather one on the other. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with a random assortment of files, papers, and random knick-knacks Grady had collected over the course of his career. A few medals and trophies peeked out amongst the clutter, half forgotten.

Commissioner Grady flopped down in his leather chair while I perched on the edge of the one opposite. I delved into my bag and withdrew a leather bound notebook, settling it into my lap with a fair amount of self-importance.

"Now, tell me everything, from the beginning."

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The first victim was a woman. Lucy Hartford. 34. Lucy was at an outdoor concert. Her wife, Alivia Hartford, 32, and sister Freema Green, 29, reported that they were separated when Lucy went to find a bathroom. Police were called at 7:24 pm, when Frankie Hayward, 23, found Lucy unresponsive in the handicap stall. Lucy was declared dead at the scene by responding officers.

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I stared wearily at Lucy Hartford's pale face. I'd seen a lot of corpses during my time on the TARDIS, but they turned my stomach and made my skin itch each time.

The Coroner in the white coat droned on about lacerations, scuffs, and bruises, prodding at the thin pattern of wounds just beneath the dead woman's jaw through thin latex gloves.

I kept watching her face.

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The second victim was Howard Johnson, 63. Howard was at his grandson's football game. He was found behind the bleachers by one of the assistant coaches, Grayson Hand, 27, during the third quarter. Hundreds of people were in attendance, but no witnesses have come forward. Howard was declared dead at the scene by responding officers.

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I paced around Howard Johnson's body, studying the wounds on his neck with a critical eye.

"Are the lacerations deep enough for the victims to have bled out?" I inquired.

The Coroner and the Commissioner glanced up at me, one from the body of Howard Johnson and the other from a stack of papers that I assumed was the coroner's report.

"Eventually," the Coroner said.

"But they didn't die slowly," I reasoned, "They died fast. Within a couple of minutes, right?"

"Less than five, by our estimates."

"But the cause of death was blood loss," Grady argued. "So what could've sped up the bleeding?"

The Coroner pursed his lips. "Some kind of anticoagulant on the weapon, maybe."

"It would take a hell of a lot more than that," I pointed out. "This guy lost roughly 3.3 liters of blood. That's about sixty percent of his blood volume. Gone." I snapped my fingers. "Just like that. And that doesn't even really look like a stab wound,"

"We were thinking some kind of razor," Grady offered, "so the attacker would have sliced instead."

"Which would've caused even less blood loss than a puncture wound," the Coroner added.

I frowned. The lacerations were about half an inch long and a quarter of an inch deep. There were 37 cuts, in total, arranged in a slanted circular pattern, like someone had drawn a dandelion with simple, straight lines.

"But what about the pattern?" I pressed. "What does that look like to you?"

The coroner hesitated. "What does it look like to you, Agent Whittford?"

"A bite." The men looked doubtful, and I could understand why. "If someone was sucking out the blood- like, really sucking like a vacuum, could that explain the blood loss?"

"But that definitely isn't a human bite," Grady protested. "And everything else suggests that it was a person."

I shrugged.

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~0~0~0~

The third victim was a young woman. Hayley Stream, 20. Hayley was shopping at the outdoor shopping center, the same one that the Doctor and I had wandered into in our search for mousetraps. Hayley has been shopping with her two friends, Carla Trent and Sam Cress. Hayley was found at the south end of the market, in a small alley between Madame Sarah's Boutique and Miss Gracely's Jewels. Shoppers reported hearing Hayley scream. Mrs. Betsy Torell, 87, who was coming out of Madame Sarah's Boutique, responded and reported seeing a tall man in dark clothes pinning Hayley to the wall. Mrs. Torell retreated into the boutique and called the police. Three minutes later, an officer stationed on-site arrived at the scene to find a white male, 40, kneeling over Miss Hayley Stream.

Suspect was arrested and is in police custody. The suspect, only referred to as 'the Doctor', was positively identified by Mrs. Torell. 'The Doctor' maintains innocence. He claims that he responded to Hayley's scream and that he did not see Mrs. Torell or an aggressor.

~0~0~0~

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The cool wall pressed solidly against my back. I rubbed my temples, trying to ward away the headache that was starting to build. I was waiting to talk to the Doctor, which had been my initial goal, but there was always something else that had to happen first. Before I could talk to the Doctor, they had to get him into the conference room. Before they could get him into the interrogation room, they had to do the paperwork documenting that we were going to use the space. Before that, they had to do more paperwork about who we were going to question. Before we questioned anyone, Grady had wanted to talk to the Coroner, but before we could talk to the Coroner, the Coroner had to do paperwork. And before we talked to the Coroner, Commissioner Grady had wanted to go over every single detail and file he had on the case.

I admired the dedication and attention to detail, which was slightly ironic considering that the Commissioner was absolutely, irrevocably positive that the man he had arrested was the killer, but I couldn't help but wonder how the man ever got anything done at all. I had been spoiled by my travels with the Doctor, when we could usually cut straight through all the red tape and jargon and get to the problem at hand.

I closed my eyes. The hallway was bright, full of artificial light that refracted off of the wall made of concrete blocks covered with glossy white place reminded me an awful lot of my old high school; shiny and white to try and cover up the oppressive atmosphere that weighed everything down and the stress that seemed to bleed out from the very walls.

A warm, pleasant scent flooded my senses. Coffee.

I opened my eyes and was rewarded by the sight of Leah holding out a mug of coffee with a shy smile.

"I wasn't sure how you like it," she explained, her voice tittering slightly, "so I put just a little bit of creamer in it. You look like you like it sweetened, I think."

"You thought right," I praised, taking the mug with a grateful smile. I took a sip. It was thin, awful coffee, but I didn't let that particular opinion show."Thanks."

"You're welcome." She preened slightly, taking a swig out of her own cup. "I'm on my break, and- well- you looked like you could use a pick me up." Her cheeks reddened. "Not that you look bad or anything. You just look kinda tired- No! Not bad tired, just-"

I laughed, caught off guard by her awkward, yet endearing rambling. "It's alright, I know what you mean. It's been a long day."

Leah tucked a loose strand of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear. A dimple showed on her left cheek when she smiled coyly. "Sorry , I guess it's inappropriate to comment on the appearance of a federal agent."

"Oh, I don't mind," I said easily. Disappointment tricked down my spine at the realization that, even if she was being more than casually friendly, nothing would come of it. Such was life on the TARDIS.

Her smile became more confident as she leaned back against the wall beside me. Our elbows brushed when she took another drink from her mug.

"So Leah," It really was a pretty name. It suited her. "You're working as a…?"

"Administrative assistant," she finished. She rolled her eyes. "But it's just a fancy way of saying 'intern with pay.'"

I nodded. We were about the same age, though I'd dressed to make myself look a bit older. She was in her early twenties, old enough to know what she wanted out of life and what she was capable of, but too young to have the experience necessary to get there.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I'm still in school, but I want to be a- you know- detective."

She said it like she was embarrassed to admit it. I wondered if there was a story there. Unsupportive family, maybe? Condescending professor?

"You're definitely getting some experience here, then," I pointed out. "I was always told that working as an assistant was good because you get to see the ins and outs of the job through the paperwork and phone calls and stuff."

"I guess so," she admitted begrudgingly, like she'd heard that a thousand times.

"But?" I prompted.

She sighed. "I do learn things. But what happens if I notice something no one else does? Do you think anyone will listen to me if I have a theory? No. It's all 'go get this file, Miss Drakenson' and 'leave the investigations to the professionals, Miss Drakenson.'"

"Do you have a theory, Leah?" I inquired, watching her curiously.

Leah fumbled and cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Nevermind me. So how did you get all the way to FBI agent? Did they rush your training?"

I narrowed my eyes, trying to decide if I should press her further. Either she knew something but wasn't ready to share it, or she didn't know jack shit and was embarrassed to admit it after going off about not being listened to.

I let her divert. I shrugged, knowing that I had to keep my answer vague but near enough to the truth. "Something like that, I guess. I made some good connections. A lot of on the job training, things like that. My mentor kinda rushed me along."

"You must be really good, then."

"I have my moments." I chewed the inside of my cheek thoughtfully, allowing myself a moment to reflect on my own character development. "My mentor takes a lot of the credit, though."

"Must be a pretty great mentor," Leah said solemnly.

I snorted and bit back a snide comment. "I guess."

"I wish I had a decent mentor." Leah frowned, her nose scrunching adorably despite the intended bitterness. "All I've got is Professor Burns. He smells like cheese and has never solved a case in his life."

"I'll introduce you to mine if I get the chance."

She perked up at that. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

"Does he take new apprentices?"

"Sometimes." I realized that I'd talked my way into a corner. It was turning into a bad habit, making promises I didn't intend to keep.

"So is there some kind of, like, application process of something?"

"Nah. You have to impress him, though."

"Do you think he'd like me?" She seemed genuinely concerned about this, about impressing this apparently god-like mentor that could somehow magically train and rush an apprentice through all the convoluted hurdles required to become an FBI agent.

I smiled fondly at her innocence. "Well, I like you, so that's definitely a start."

Her blush, which had vanished as our conversation wore on, came back in full. She breathed in sharply and wet her lips.

"I think I like you too," she admitted. I was suddenly hyper-aware of how close we were standing. I could literally feel the heat from her body as she shifted almost imperceptibly closer, but that could have also just been me feeling my own blush.

But before I could work out the appropriate response, we were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the adjacent hall. Grady poked his head around the corner. He took in our soft blushes with narrowed eyes, but didn't otherwise comment.

"We've got him ready for you," he said.

~0~0~0~

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"I'm not sure you'll learn anything from this guy," Grady explained, leading the way into a dark room. A few people loitered about, one messing with a panel controlling what looked like recording equipment while another sat at a long table made of heavy looking wood. "This guy's a bit of a nut."

I snorted, but didn't otherwise agree. You don't know the half of it, I wanted to say.

I looked through the glass and into the room beyond. It was dull and grey, featureless except for a green wooden table that was aided by two uncomfortable metal folding chairs, one of which was occupied by a familiar lump of leather.

The Doctor was seated at one side of the wooden table, hands cuffed to the metal hook driven into the battered green surface. I was relieved to see that he looked none the worse for wear; just bored and annoyed, like this was all just a minor inconvenience.

"I guess we'll see," I mused, making my way to stand by the door separating the two rooms. There was a man, a police officer standing guard beside the thick steel door. I froze when I caught sight of his face. It was the policeman that I'd met at the market, the one that had threatened me when I'd tried to get past him. He was even more unpleasant looking in the dim light. His face was encased in shadow, making his angular features look even sharper and his eyes appear completely black.

"This is officer Beckett," Grady introduced, moving to rest his hand on the meal latch on the door. "Beckett, this is Agent Whittford."

"Ma'am," Beckett acknowledged, his voice low and smooth. Thankfully, there was no recognition in his dark eyes, and I was able to breathe a little easier. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, no," I said, just a bit too quickly. I composed myself with an easy smile. "It's not my first time, officer. I think I can manage on my own."

"If you're sure."

Commissioner Grady opened the door for me. The Doctor looked up at the sound of the door opening. All trepidation from seeing Beckett left me at the sight of my friend. His eyebrows shot up and I smiled back at him smugly. The door clanged shut behind me, and we were alone. Sort of; I knew they were still just beyond the glass, listening.

The Doctor continued staring at me skeptically as I pulled out the other metal chair and settled down, carefully organizing the file I'd been given in front of me and flipping my notepad to a blank page with a certain level of pretentiousness that I knew would drive the Time Lord insane.

"Who're you supposed to be?" He demanded after I readjusted my pen for the third time.

"I'm Agent Whittford, FBI," I said, showing him the psychic paper.

"Carly Whittford?" He scowled at me doubtfully to keep up appearances, but the sparkle in his eyes expressed simple curiosity. "What, did you make that up yourself?"

"No… my parents gave it to me." I kept my tone tight, clipped, like a real agent might if she'd been asked such an odd question. "If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few baseline questions for the record."

"Fine," he grumbled, tired of answering the same questions. He tugged at his cuffs passively.

"What is your name?"

"The Doctor."

"The Doctor," I echoed, rolling the name around on my tongue. "The Doctor."

"Somethin' wrong with that?"

"Well, that's not really a name is it?" I mused. "Sounds like some obscure television character, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he scoffed, realizing I was teasing him. "Hilarious."

"D and D?"

"No."

"Stripper name?"

"What?"

"Fursona?"

"If you're just gonna sit there and-"

"Then what's your real name?"

"John Smith," he growled, his eyes flashing with warning as he started to genuinely get annoyed. "Just leave it at that."

"Thank you-" I gave him a playful grin and his scowl softened. "-for your cooperation."

"Couldn't you come up with any better questions?" He complained.

"What were you doing at the marketplace?"

"Shopping."

"For?"

"Mouse traps."

"Have you got a rodent problem?"

"Something like that," he snarked. "But my friend's gone and named it, so I don't know if I'll ever be rid of the bloody thing now."

"Sounds annoying."

"Yes. Very." He tugged at his cuffs again. "Can we get a move on?"

"Why, do you have somewhere to be?"

"No. But my friend-" He glared at me pointedly. "-has a habit of gettin' herself into situations she can't get herself out of."

I rolled my eyes. "Where's your friend now?"

"Makin' a nuisance of herself, I'm sure."

"Ah, give her a chance. I'll bet she saves your sorry butt more often than you'll admit." I smirked at him and he wrinkled his nose in response. "Walk me though what happened at the mall."

"I've already gone over that with the other blokes."

"Is there anything new you'd like to tell me?" I made the intention behind the statement very clear through the tilt of my head and raised eyebrows: if he knew anything that the police wouldn't believe, now was the time to communicate it.

"I got a chance to look at the wounds," the Doctor began slowly, chewing on his words. "Looked an awful lot like an animal bite."

"Did it, now?" I mentally congratulated myself. "Have you seen it before?"

"Once," he said firmly. "A very long way from here." It's an alien.

I didn't do anything to acknowledge the gravity of the statement. Commissioner Grady had made his stance on aliens and everything that Doctor had otherwise suggested painfully clear. At the moment, the man thought I was legitimate and any suggestion that I wasn't who he thought I was could hurt my position. Instead I smiled wearily, pityingly, like the Time Lord had just started rambling about fairies and gnomes, all the while communicating my concern through my eyes.

"And this- uh- this animal, how would it pass in a crowd? Hayley Stream was in the middle of a mall, someone would've seen an animal big enough to take down a human."

"It blends in, that's what it was made to do," the Doctor elaborated, voice laden with warning. "They're loners. They find a society full of hot-blooded apes and assimilate. And feed. It's intelligent, so it'll know exactly where and how to hide." He paused, eyeing me worriedly. Warmth flooded through me at his concern. "Look after yourself, Agent Whittford."

"I wouldn't worry about me," I drawled, jotting down a few pretend notes before standing. "You should worry more about yourself. If it turns out that you did do what you're accused of, they'd lock you up for life."

"That'd be awfully ambitious of them," the Doctor said smugly. He tried to lean back in his chair and cross his arms, only to have them jangle awkwardly against the cuffs. He frowned, returning to his irritated demeanor. "Who knows? I might make a run for it."

"Will you?" I frowned, hoping that he wouldn't, at least not yet. Although having the Doctor to investigate would bring the killer to light faster, it would be extremely difficult to balance him and the police. Then I'd have to worry about the Doctor getting arrested again as well as a homicidal alien-vampire running around drinking peoples' blood.

The Doctor looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "Nah, I'm right where I need to be."

I watched him carefully for another moment, waiting to see if he had anything else to add, then inclined my head in farewell. The Doctor smiled encouragingly.

The heavy lock to the steel door clicked imposingly as the people on the other side allowed me through. Commissioner Grady was leaned back against the dark wooden table, studying his nails.

"What did I tell you?" Grady said with the slightest hint of smugness. "The guy's a wackjob."

I sighed, pondering the Doctor's warning about how well the alien could hide and wondering if the Time Lord had already worked it out. He hadn't told me directly, but if he already knew, he might not say so long as he thought it was simple enough for me to do on my own. It was something that had caused more than one argument between us. He would figure something out but pretend that he hadn't until I'd worked it out, then he'd get that smug little smile on his stupid face becuase he was 'teaching' me. It made him feel clever and he thought it made me feel clever too, no matter how much I insisted that I would much rather get whatever conflict we were facing over with so we could move on to something less dangerous.

"You have no idea," I muttered.

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Responses to Comments:

Kassi1989 : Yeah, it'll be a while before anything substantial happens between them. I'm a sucker for a slow burn. But dont worry, it'll happen eventually ;)

bored411 , sophiewhettingsteel , CrystalAris , GhostlySights , Alikai , savethemadscientist : Thanks so much for commenting! You have no idea how much it means to me that you guys took the time to let me know what you think!