The next morning, I woke up with a high fever. I called out of work and sank into bed after taking a number of pills to help quell the fire raging under my skin. It wasn't an infection. I'd gone to the hospital on day two when my fever reached a hundred and three, and they reassured me that my injury on my side was healing fine. Better than expected, actually, when I lied about getting it a few weeks ago instead of a few days (who knows how quickly the Doctor's medication worked on human injuries). Yet, the fever remained. By day four, I was so ill that I didn't leave my bed and slept through the next day without waking. Day six, things finally changed. I had a visitor.

I was asleep when their voice brushed over the edges of my consciousness and something cool pressed itself to my forehead. I was too weak to move though. Too sick to open my eyes and see clearly enough to figure out who it was. I couldn't even recognize the voice, which sounded muffled and slurred to my ears. It confused me though. I had no one. I was an orphan here, abandoned and friendless. I'd done it purposely and also unconsciously, but it hadn't bothered me much until now. I'd been sick before, but never to this extent. I'd never really felt the need to have a friend in this life. It was strange, seeing as I was rather friendly in my last life and had a decent number of friends.

Perhaps it was the abuse. No, it was probably my age. My mental age that was always twenty-five years ahead of those alongside me, so one could imagine the struggles of a thirty-year-old mentality trying to get along with those of a five-year-old. And then there was the Doctor. It upset me how easily I got along with him for the few hours I was there by him. I was comfortable, concerned, friendly. Yes, he treated me a little like a child, but in comparison to him, I was. Yet, he also treated me like an equal. He listened to what I had to say, even when I was demanding him to let me go home. I didn't know how to react. I still didn't know how to react. It felt too easy. It felt as though there was a catch. I was missing something. Something that explained why he was able to treat me this way. Why I treated him the way I did.

I had immediately assumed it had to do with my future self. That because he knew me from my jumping around his time stream, he was immediately friendly because he knew me and what I liked. He knew how to deal with me and my reactions. Whereas for me, it was a bit tougher. I knew him from the television show. There'd be changes. There would be things I didn't see or things that were never shown in the series. He was real now. An actual person, but one I was familiar with. One I had always looked up to and will continue to look up to. He wasn't my hero, but he was something similar. He was someone I respected and someone I hoped to get acknowledgment from, but how was I supposed to do that when he would look at this younger version of me and always wish for something better? Wish for the future version he'd grown to like? Because it was obvious he'd liked me from the Tenth Doctor on, at least.

But this me? I was different. I could see the disappointment in his face when he heard where I'd come from. When he'd found out that I wasn't the Russell he wanted. That meant I had changed. Changed in numerous ways to the point where my showing up immediately set off bells in his head saying, 'that's wrong'. So, what could I do but return home and try to wrap my head around things? I had to leave him at that time because I knew staying there would only hurt the both of us. But now what? I had to get back to him. I already knew I would, but would I be prepared for it? Could I stand up to my future self that the Doctor so desperately wanted even though I was anything but?

It was a terrifying thought, to be fighting nothing but the idea of my future self. A thought that brought the nightmares and the shadows. Dreams of being trapped in ice, rescued by the Doctor only to see disappointment and have shadowy claws come up and pull me back, as he turned away and called out my name despite my being right there. I dreamt of the shadowed figure stabbing me again, only for me to die on the cold stone of the museum floor as other shadows whispered like a breeze and slithered forward to devour me. Then, a whisper grew louder. Louder than all the others as a pressure began to press down on my chest.

"He won't save you now. You're not the one he wants. You should just let go. Let go and leave him behind. Leave them all. Come with us and forget the Doctor. Abandon him just as he abandons you."

Something cold trailed down my cheek and I shivered, my eyes opening only to go wide. The weight on my chest wasn't from a nightmare and neither was the chill. A shadow hovered over me with a hand pressed to my chest and a long black claw lightly trailing down my face. My breath hitched in my throat as the dark head of the figure leaned ever closer to me; no facial features present in the black void other than two darkened sockets where eyes might have once been. I couldn't breathe. The pressure on my chest was growing heavier. I didn't know what to do. The last time I'd been confronted with a shadow, I'd been lucky and someone found me before it could do much damage. The three long scars on my right forearm burned, just being this close to another, and I didn't dare move with its hand so close to my heart. Just then, a familiar voice rang out.

"Get away from my Russell."

The Eleventh Doctor used his sonic screwdriver and the shadow growled and writhed in pain before vanishing and I sucked in a desperate breath of air that I hadn't known I'd been holding as he hurried over.

"Russell. Russell, are you okay? Did it hurt you at all?"

I closed my eyes and allowed a choked sob to escape me as I pressed a hand to my face to hide the tears.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm s-so sorry."

"Hey, now. Hey. It's alright. You're okay, Russell." He said softly, sitting on the side of the bed and brushing some hair from my sweaty forehead. "You don't need to apologize. I understand."

"I-I didn't know what to d-do." I continued to cry, unable to help the rush of emotions in the state I was in. "I c-couldn't think. Why was I-I here? Why with you? Y-You treated me s-so nice, b-b-but I'm not her. I-I'm not that Russell. How am I s-supposed to live up to that? I-I can't even get over a stupid fever."

"You don't have to do anything, Russell, other than be yourself." He said softly. "You're not trying to live up to your future self, you're trying to get there. And one day, you will, but right now, you're just you. Don't worry about the future, just get through each day as best you can."

"You were upset," I argued pathetically. "I-I saw it. You didn't want this me."

"You're right. I was upset, but not because it was a younger you, Russell." He said, lightly tugging my hand away from my face so I could see his small smile. "I was upset that I had forgotten some of the things that made you, you. I had forgotten about some of the challenges we had worked through together and how hard it was for you, and that upset me. I should always know how to make you happy and I'd gotten so used to seeing you happy, that I'd forgotten you weren't always that way. I'd forgotten how I fixed it. How I helped you grow to become happy. What kind of friend am I, if I forget something as important as that?"

I was growing tired again. "You won't tell me why I'm here…"

He smiled a little. "We never really figure that part out, honestly."

I blinked slowly, eyelids getting heavier. "What… What am I supposed to do?"

He pushed another stray strand from my forehead. "Just do what you feel is right."

"Do I… always travel with you?" I asked, eyes closing.

"Mostly. You come back here sometimes when you need a break or something interesting happens at the museum." He answered.

"Is it fun?... Traveling with you?"

"You always seemed to enjoy it, once you got used to it."

I began taking in long, slow breaths as my mind drifted; not really thinking about what I was saying anymore. "I always thought… that you were… very brave."

"I know."

"I wanted… to be like you too."

"I know."

"Am I?"

"Oh, you are far braver than me, Russell. You will always be so much more than I could ever be, and no matter how many times you say that's not true; I know in my hearts that it is."

Something soft pressed to my forehead that reminded me of before with the Tenth Doctor, as the Doctor settled in a chair beside me and I drifted off.

"Don't worry, Russell. I'll stay right here and save you from the shadows."


I felt significantly better when I woke up the next time and was able to sit up and even stomach some food the Doctor cooked up. I had been slightly surprised that Amy was just sort of hanging out in my living room, but gave her a small nod of greeting as she joined us.

"So." She hummed, eating a bite of an omelet as I did much the same. "Not that I don't mind hanging out here, but what's the plan?"

The Doctor smiled. "We're going to the museum!"

I raised a brow. "Not my museum, I hope. I'm still on sick leave."

He shook his head. "No, no. Different one. An art museum!"

Vincent Van Gogh then? I mused once we were finished eating and on our way to said museum. Rather like that one. Feel bad for the monster thing though. What was it called again? I shook myself out of my thoughts as the Doctor snuck us into the museum with his psychic paper and we got a good look around the Van Gogh exhibit.

"Thanks for bringing us," Amy said to the Doctor, lightly whacking him with her scarf.

"You're welcome."

"You're being so nice to me. Why are you being nice to me?"

I watched the two interact, knowing exactly why, before spotting a shadow hovering over a nearby man's shoulder. I shivered and shifted further away from him as the Doctor responded to Amy.

"I'm always nice to you. And Russell just got better." He said, patting my shoulder and making me flinch, earning a small worried glance.

I turned away though, not wanting to worry him.

"Not like this." Amy went on, looking at me. "He took me all sorts of places. Arcadia, the Trojan Gardens, now this. I think it's suspicious."

"What? It's not. There's nothing to be suspicious about." The Doctor said back seriously and Amy grew more worried.

"Okay, I was joking. Why aren't you?"

I nudged the Doctor lightly, tipping my head towards the other side of the room. "I'm going to head over there."

He frowned though, looking concerned. "What? Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I grumbled, a bit annoyed that he assumed something was wrong. "Though there's a reason I work night shifts. I don't care for crowds."

He hummed. "You mean, you don't care for what comes with the crowds." He countered and I shot him a glare. "Are there many?"

"No," I muttered, looking around the room. "Only a few, but I'd rather not be anywhere near them, thanks. So, I'll shift over to the less crowded section."

"Alright. Just call out if anything happens."

I grunted and headed off, looking at Vincent Van Gogh's painting, La nuit étoilée. I heard more than saw Amy drag the Doctor to the Church at Auvers painting as I moved over away from someone with a shadow heading in my direction. I pointedly ignore the dark figure hovering slightly closer to me as I passed, though I couldn't resist the goosebumps that went up my arms when it did. I'm even more anxious around these things than before, thanks to that one. I wonder what it wanted with me. They usually don't hang out by themselves unless it's a particularly dark area like an alleyway or a home they're haunting. One coming into my home and outright attacking me is… odd. Something's changed and I don't like it. I shivered, very nearly jumping out of my skin when a hand landed on my shoulder and the Doctor quickly retracted it.

"Sorry. I was calling your name, but I don't think you heard it. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, sorry," I muttered, not bothering to share my concerns with him over the change in the shadows' behavior towards me when he was obviously in a hurry. "Vincent Van Gogh?"

He smiled and nodded, taking my hand. "Yup! Anything I should know?"

"It's not evil."

He looked at me in surprise as we stopped at the exit of the museum, though I didn't look at him.

"It's just… lost."

He squeezed my hand and nodded, and we hurried to the Tardis to go find Vincent Van Gogh.


"Right. So, here's the plan. We find Vincent and he leads us straight to the church and our nasty friend."

"Easy peasy." Amy grinned, looking excited, whereas Russell just hummed.

"Well, no. I suspect nothing will be easy with Mister Van Gogh. Now, he'll probably be in the local cafe. Sort of orangey light, chairs and tables outside."

Amy looked over her exhibition guide from the museum and stopped at one of the pictures.

"Like this?"

"That's the one."

"Or, indeed, like that." She smiled, pointing out an identical café.

"Yeah, exactly like that." He went over to the café's manager. "Good evening. Does the name Vincent Van Gogh ring a bell?"

"Don't mention that man to me." He grumbled, heading into the café, so the Doctor turned to a waitress.

"Excuse me. Do you know Vincent Van Gogh?"

"Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" Amy questioned.

"He's drunk, he's mad, and he never pays his bills."

"Good painter though, eh?" The Doctor offered, and the people around us laughed.

The Doctor sat down heavily at the table Russell had already taken a seat at and he frowned at her slightly amused expression.

"What?"

"Weren't you listening to the man at the museum? Vincent Van Gogh was hardly liked when he was alive. 'Could have sold his entire collection of art for a couch and a couple of chairs', as the man said. Though it is amusing to watch you get laughed at."

"You—"

The Doctor's complaint was cut off as a man's shouting came from within.

"Come on! Come on! One painting for one drink. That's not a bad deal."

The Doctor grinned at her and then at Amy, who smiled back at the possibility of Vincent being the one coming out of the café. Then, when the man came out with the manager, he and Amy both fangirled silently.

"It wouldn't be a bad deal if the painting were any good. I can't hang that up on my walls. It'd scare the customers half to death. It's bad enough having you in here in person, let alone looming over the customers day and night in a stupid hat. You pay money or you get out."

"I'll pay if you like." The Doctor offered, head bowed slightly in his attempt to look heroic.

"What?"

The manager and Vincent both turned to him.

"Well, if you like, I'll pay for the drink. Or I'll pay for the painting and you can use the money to pay for the drink."

"Exactly, who are you?" Vincent demanded.

"Oh, I'm… new in town."

Russell sighed heavily and dropped her chin in her hand as Vincent got snappish with him.

"Well, in that case, you don't know three things. One, I pay for my own drinks, thank you." He said, enticing the café to laugh. "Two, no one ever buys any of my paintings or they would be laughed out of town. So, if you want to stay in town, I suggest you keep your cash to yourself. And three, your friend's cute, but you should keep your big nose out of other people's business." He turned back to the manager. "Come on, just one more drink. I'll pay tomorrow."

"No."

"Or, on the other hand, slightly more compassionately, yes?"

"Or, on the other hand, to protect my business from madmen, no." The manager countered, but Vincent didn't give.

"Or—"

"Oh look, just shut up, the pair of you," Amy said loudly, making the two men turn towards her. "I would like a bottle of wine, please, which I will then share with whomever I choose." She said, sending a pointed look at Vincent.

"That could be good." He murmured and the manager sighed.

"That's good by me."

"Good."

Amy smirked at the Doctor and Russell and headed in as the manager shoved Vincent's painting back into his arms. The rest of the group—and Vincent—went in to join her and were soon seated at the table sharing drinks. Well, some of them, anyway. Russell was keen to keep the Doctor away from the wine; knowing that he would undoubtedly spit it back into the cup.

"That accent of yours. You from Holland like me?"

"Yes"/"No," The Doctor and Amy said at the same time.

"She means, yes." The Doctor corrected. "So, start again. Hello, I'm the Doctor."

"I knew it!" Vincent shouted, but Russell spoke.

"Not that kind of doctor, Vincent." She said calmly and Vincent turned to her in surprise. "We weren't sent to cure you of your madness or whatever."

"I… see. And you are?"

"Russell Doyle. Pleasure."

Vincent watched her for a minute, unsure what to think of the woman seated across from him before the Doctor cut in; pointing at the painting Vincent had.

"That's incredible, don't you think, Amy?"

"Absolutely. One of—" She winced, glaring at Russell, who had kicked her under the table and spoke.

"It's nice, generally."

Amy caught the hint then and nodded. "Right. One of my favorite paintings that I've ever seen, generally."

"Then you can't have seen many paintings then. I know it's terrible. It's the best I can do."

"That's all that matters," Russell said, catching Vincent's eye. "Doing your best."

"Yes… I suppose you're right." He nodded slowly, before turning his gaze back to Amy. "Your hair is orange."

"Yes. So is yours." She answered, leaning forward.

"Yes… it was more orange, but now it is—of course—less."

The Doctor rolled his eyes at their subtle flirting and quickly cut in. "So. Um, Vincent, painted any churches recently? Any churchy plans? Are churches, chapels, religiousy stuff like that, something you'd like to get into? You know, fairly soon?"

"Well, there is one church I'm thinking of painting when the weather's right."

"That is very good news."

A scream suddenly rang out then and the Doctor perked up.

"That, on the other hand, isn't quite such good news. Come on, Amy, Russell, Vincent!"

Vincent and Russell downed their drinks before hurrying with the woman who'd burst in to go find what had happened.

"Please, let me look. I'm a doctor." The Doctor said, pushing a few people aside and hiding the body as best he could from Amy upon finding the young woman a little more than shreds. "Oh, no, no, no."

He knelt down before a woman shoved through.

"Away, all of you vultures. This is my daughter. Giselle. What monster could have done this? Get away from her!" She snapped at the Doctor who held his hands up in surrender. "Get that madman out of here!"

The crowd gathered up rocks and began throwing them at Vincent and, consequently, the Doctor, Russell, and Amy.

"You bring this madness! You!"

"He's to blame!"

The group made it out of range and the Doctor turned to Vincent in concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm used to it." He answered, before catching sight of something. "Ah, Russell, you're bleeding."

The Doctor whipped around as Vincent fumbled about with a handkerchief for the cut across her eyebrow that was bleeding.

"Russ!" The Doctor scrambled to her as she took the cloth Vincent handed her and pressed it to the cut.

"I'm fine, Doctor. It's just a small cut."

"I am terribly sorry," Vincent murmured, head bowed. "This is all my fault."

Russell glared at him though, startling him. "This cut is no one's fault but the person who threw the rock and my own, for not paying attention when it was thrown. If you grow old blaming every little thing on yourself, Van Gogh, then you will die a very sad man indeed."

"Russell!" Amy scolded her and she huffed, but Vincent shook his head with a small smile.

"No. She is right." His smile faltered though. "But for another murder to happen like this, after only a week? It is a terrible time."

"As I thought. As I thought." The Doctor murmured, starting to walk off. "Come on. We'd better get you home."

"Where are you staying tonight?" Vincent asked and the Doctor pat his shoulder.

"Oh, you're very kind."

Vincent stared in confusion at the mystery Doctor, even as Amy chuckled and they went off after him to Vincent's home.

"Dark night. Very starry." The Doctor commented.

"It's not much. I live on my own, but you should be okay for one night. One night." He emphasized.

"We're going to stay with him?" Amy asked the Doctor, who nodded.

"Until he paints that church."

"Watch out," Vincent said, unlocking his home and putting his straw hat on a peg as he pointed to a painting. "That one's wet."

"What?" Amy turned to look and her eyes went wide as she stared back at The Bedroom in Arles painting.

"Wait until you see inside," Russell muttered as she passed Amy and Vincent cleared his throat.

"Sorry about all the clutter."

"Some clutter." The Doctor murmured, in just as much shock as Amy as they looked around the home at the paintings hanging up and scattered about.

"I've come to accept the only person who's going to love my paintings is me."

"Wow. I mean, really. Wow." Amy breathed out in stunned surprise, though Vincent misread her exclamation.

"Yeah, I know it's a mess. I'll have a proper clear-out. I must, I really must."

The Doctor and Amy looked around in stunned awe, though Russell settled down on a stool and admired from afar.

"Coffee, anyone?" Vincent offered.

"Not for me, actually." The Doctor waved off, though Russell raised a hand.

"I'll take a cup."

Vincent nodded and set the coffee pot down on a still-life as he grabbed another cup, before picking it up and idly wiping at the painting; which made the Doctor wince.

"You know, you should be careful with these. They're precious."

"Precious to me. Not precious to anyone else."

"They're precious to me," Amy said, making Vincent look at her in shock.

"Well, you're very kind. And kindness is most welcome." He replied, handing Russell her cup and wincing when she pulled away the slightly bloodied handkerchief. "I'll get you some water to clean yourself up."

Russell nodded, keeping her one eye closed with the dried blood on it as she sipped at the hot cup of coffee.

"Right. So, this church, then." The Doctor piped in, heading over towards where Russell was and making her frown at his closeness. "Near here, is it?"

"What is it with you and the church?" Vincent complained, bringing back a damp rag that the Doctor took from him to clean up Russell's wound.

She quickly handed him her coffee though and took it herself with a grumble about not needing his help.

"Oh, just casually interested in it. You know."

"Far from casual. It seems to me you never talk about anything else. He's a strange one." He said to Amy, loading up the fireplace with logs.

"Okay, so let's talk about you, then. What are you interested in?" The Doctor offered instead.

"Well, look around. Art. It seems to me there's so much more to the world than the average eye is allowed to see. I believe, if you look hard, there are more wonders in this universe than you could ever have dreamed of."

"You don't have to tell me." The Doctor smiled softly, settling down beside Russell by the fireplace as the night grew later; the woman dozing off lightly as Vincent went on to describe his thought process in a flurry of coffee.

"It's color. Color that holds the key. I can hear the colors. Listen to them. Every time I step outside, I feel nature is shouting at me. Come on. Come and get me. Come on. Come on! Capture my mystery!" He shouted, having grabbed the Doctor by the lapels and startling Russell from her sleep.

"What's that?" She slurred, blinking away her tiredness as the Doctor lightly tugged Vincent's hands from his coat.

"Maybe you've had enough coffee now. How about some nice calming tea? Let's get you a cup of chamomile or something, shall we? Amy. Where's Amy?"

There was a scream then and the Doctor and Russell shot up.

"No, no, no! Amy!" He hurried outside with the other two following him, spotting a pale Amy on the ground. "Amy? What happened?"

"I don't know. I didn't see it. I was having a look at the paintings out here when something hit me from behind."

"It's okay. He's gone now and we're here." The Doctor comforted, looking around before he spotted Russell's pale features. "Russ?"

Vincent cried out then, backing away from something and the Doctor tried to calm him down.

"Take it easy. Take it easy!"

"What's happening? What's he doing?" Amy asked, concerned.

"I don't know."

Vincent went to grab a pitchfork, but Russell dove at him.

"No! No! Don't!"

"Get off! Run! Run!" Vincent shouted as Russell struggled to get the pitchfork from him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's not a bad idea. Amy, get back. He's having some kind of fit." He moved Amy back towards the door of the home. "I'll try to calm him down."

Unless this is something else. He thought silently. Russell is acting odd too, though if she knew about this—which she probably did—then it would explain some things.

"Easy, Vincent!" The Doctor called out, but Russell glared over her shoulder at him.

"You moron! Get in the house! Hell, help me get him into the house!"

"What?" The Doctor blinked in confusion before Russell's eyes widened.

"Look out!"

Something slammed into the Doctor and knocked him aside, stunning him as something sliced through one of Vincent's paintings near Amy.

"I can't see anything. What is it?!" Amy called out.

"That is a good question. Let me help you!" The Doctor said, getting up and heading towards Vincent and grabbing a pole.

"No, you—Gah! You idiots! Put the weapons down and get in the house!" Russell snapped, yanking the pole from the Doctor and tossing it aside.

"You can see him too?" Vincent questioned and Russell groaned.

"Oh, I can see much more than that, Vince. But let's not get into that right now."

"Russ, do you know what to do?" The Doctor asked.

She nodded. "Everyone needs to get back into the house and shut up. No noise, no talking, nothing. It'll leave on its own."

"What?" Vincent questioned in disbelief, but the Doctor nodded, shoving him back towards the house.

"Listen to her. If she knows what to do, then I trust her."

"But the creature—"

"Doesn't even know what it's doing." She murmured, turning to Amy. "Get me a pan and a spoon."

"O-On it." She hurried into the house and handed them over as the Doctor looked concerned.

"Russell? What are you going to do?"

She glared at him. "Just do as I said. Shut up."

She quietly moved out into the yard and the Doctor resisted calling her back as she hit the spoon onto the pan. She was walking backward through the yard, occasionally hitting them together as she whispered to herself.

"Come on, buddy. This way. There's nothing here."

When she finally reached the stone fencing closest to the trees, she banged the two together repeatedly before ducking to the ground. Then, everything was silent and Vincent blinked.

"It's gone. She sent it off." He headed over and helped her up. "How? How did you do that?"

"It follows noise." She panted, slightly out of breath. "I just led it to a clear escape route. It was… just as scared as the rest of us."

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair as the group headed back inside. "Right. So, he's invisible. What did he look like?"

"I'll show you," Vincent said, reaching to paint over a picture of violets, if Russell hadn't passed him a blank canvass.

"Try this." She murmured and the Doctor let out a sigh of relief as Vincent took it and began to use a bit of charcoal to sketch the creature he and Russell could see.

He revealed it to the Doctor who nodded.

"Okay. Okay. Right. Amy, Russ, make Mister Van Gogh comfortable. Don't let any invisible monsters in through the front door."

"But it could be outside, waiting," Amy argued.

"Well, don't worry. I'll risk it. What's the worst that could happen?"

Russell scoffed. "Idiot. You'll jinx yourself."

Amy agreed. "You could get torn into pieces by a monster you can't see."

"Oh right, yes, that. Don't worry. I'll be back before you can say, 'where's he got to now'?" He said, ducking outside only to pop back in and startle Vincent and Amy. "Not that fast! But pretty fast. And I'll remember to stay quiet, Russ. See you around."

Russell rolled her eyes as he left and Amy shot her a confused look.

"What?"

"He could have just asked."

Amy blinked, before remembering that Russell knew things and chuckled. "Well, he's not the brightest, is he?"

"Obviously not."


"Russ."

I grunted, shifting closer to the chair I was curled up in even as someone brushed their fingers over my hair.

"Russ, it's time to get up."

Something soft touched my temple as a small sigh escaped them.

"Come on, Russ. Amy's in the courtyard with breakfast. Might give you a nice backrub if you ask."

I begrudgingly opened my eyes and glared at him, though he grinned at the sight.

"Good morning."

"It's only good if it's afternoon," I responded, slowly untangling my limbs from the chair and stretching.

"I've got to go wake up Vincent, then we can talk about what I found."

"Could have just asked me," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair.

"Yes, well… I try not to." He answered, with an expression that was almost sorrowful before he perked up again. "Now, go on. I'll be upstairs."

I watched him go, brows furrowed at his back, before shaking off the heavy feeling in my chest as I headed outside for a shoulder rub from Amy Pond. She made it brief because Vincent soon appeared in the window.

"I thought I'd brighten things up to thank you for saving me last night. Or, well, attempting to since Russell did more of the saving."

I grunted in acknowledgment and sipped at the orange juice on the table.

"I thought you might like to, you know, possibly to perhaps paint them or something? Might be a thought."

I snorted as the Doctor came over and smiled at me, making me raise a brow. It's weird how nice he is to me.

"Yes, well, they're not my favorite flower," Vincent answered Amy.

"You don't like sunflowers?"

"No, it's not that I don't like them. I find them complex. Always somewhere between living and dying. Half-human as they turn to the sun. A little disgusting. But, you know, they are a challenge."

"And one I'm pretty sure you'll rise to. But, moving on, there's something I need to show you." The Doctor cut in and I grumbled a bit. "Right. After we eat, of course. Russell can get a bit finicky without breakfast."

I frowned, but he just smiled and I huffed, returning to my juice and wondering how things would turn out now.