C7 – Plan
ground control to major tom
your circuit's dead
there's something wrong
can you hear me, major tom?
can you hear me, major tom?
can you hear me, major tom?
can you . . .
The Doctor leant back in the cheap beige armchair, thinking. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, instead of just charging into action like the old days. He was getting old and crotchety. Maybe he'd hit middle age.
Leaving Amy and Rory to console themselves with comforting marital whispers, he wandered off to find Jonah.
The man was furiously tapping away on his computer, and the Doctor was fascinated to see him so engrossed in his activity. Jonah may look physically older than him, but he reminded the Doctor of a young boy.
Unconsciously, he fingered the bruise on his cheekbone, wondering what it looked like now.
It didn't hurt like earlier. It had hurt a lot those first couple of hours, after they'd chucked him back into the basement after the session. Amy and Rory had still been asleep, and he hadn't wanted to disturb them.
But yeah, it had hurt. He hadn't told them quite the extent of the damage. Fingers crossed he didn't have to go shirtless any time soon . . .
"Can I help you?" asked Jonah without turning around.
The Doctor paused, speculating on how the boy (man, rather. He just reminded him so much of a child) knew he was there.
"Slightly psychic?" he asked.
Jonah shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. It's not like knowing will help in any way. I'm just here to do my job, nothing more."
"And what is your job, exactly? Because that's why they sent you, right? You know things, don't you?"
"I'm looking out for something."
"What?"
"I don't know. Something. Something different. I send daily transmissions to Ground Control. Nothing strange has happened so far."
"Apart from us showing up."
Pause. "Yeah, I guess. Don't think that's what NASA had in mind."
"Why did you agree to come? To die up here, all alone? You're young – there must be people down there who care about you."
Another pause. Jonah seemed to do that a lot, as if he were answering the questions in his head before saying them aloud. "I have a wife. Scarlett. She cried."
"And you're just going to leave her?"
"It's not like . . ." Jonah sounded angry, the first emotion the Doctor had heard from him all day. He took a breath and went back to the calm, quiet boy (man) he'd been before. "It's not like I had a choice. I signed a contract, before I met Scarlett. If I back out . . . I signed a contract, okay? I'm not here by choice. If I didn't go, I'd be in jail, and what would that mean for Scarlett and me?"
"Death over prison," the Doctor mused.
"You'd choose the other one." It wasn't a question. It sounded like Jonah had read him and stated what he'd do.
"I've had people die," he said coldly. "It hurts. They're gone, they don't feel it. But I feel it. I miss them. I hurt every day, because they only thought about themselves, only . . ." He shook his head, getting his temper under control.
"It's okay," replied Jonah, in response to an apology the Doctor was about to give but hadn't gotten around to.
He pretended not to be surprised. "So this plan of yours . . ."
"Under way as we speak," Jonah smiled as he spun around to face him. It was an odd look on the boy (man, Doctor. He's older than you. Kind of). Emotion didn't suit him. "Then you and the . . ." His eyes shifted slightly, as if he were concentrating incredibly hard. "You and the married couple can get back to your normal lives of . . . travelling."
"Impressive."
Jonah hesitated. "Is it?"
"It is," he replied firmly, and Jonah smiled.