Alba paced the same spot in her bedroom for so long, clutching the kitchen knife, she was surprised that she didn't wear herself straight through to the next floor. On some level she recognized that she wasn't behaving rationally, but there seemed to be little she could do about it. When her brain tried the messy business of processing everything that had happened to her it just made her head spin. Half of what was so distressing to her was that she had no concept of time or its passage, aside from waking up here for the first time, and then again this morning. She didn't know long she'd been out between the slave exchange and here, and she had no idea how far from home she was. Looking down on the city she had been clearly able to see that it wasn't New London, but having never left the city of her birth before now she had no idea where else she could possibly be.
And then there was the Doctor, and that was perhaps the biggest problem of all. Not like she should have been shocked that a man who bought and traded in human slaves was reluctant to tell her his real name, but it was obvious to her that he was someone of wealth and probably stature or importance. Which of course again lead her to wondering why a good looking man who came from money hadn't been able to acquire a wife under his own steam? It just didn't make sense, not unless there was something seriously wrong with him. Which she wagered there had to be, if last night's Jekyll and Hyde routine and his seeming amnesia concerning it this morning was any indicator. Maybe the bit about needing a wife had been a lie too, although to what end she couldn't possibly imagine.
Or maybe he really was just so socially inept and awkward that it actually was easier for him to buy a mate illegally than try to find one the normal way? The man obviously wasn't a virgin, that much was obvious to her after last night. At some point in his life, he had dated or at least had some kind of physical relationship with a woman. At least she had to believe that. She didn't think even a genius was capable of learning to do some of those things just from a book without having had any real world practice.
It was a shame the...encounter, as she was coming to think of it, had occurred under the circumstances that it had. Any other time and place, the Doctor could have been a brilliant hook up, maybe more if he weren't so bipolar or whatever it was that made him manic and cheerful one moment and dark and brooding the next. It was obvious he was capable of being a skilled and generous lover, if he wanted to be, but she thought he could probably also strangle someone while humming a jaunty little tune. Maybe he was just like that when he was drinking. She could hope that, anyway, though experience had taught her that alcohol often served as a lens of truth, showing a real snapshot of a person without their inhibitions, and the snapshot she had seen of the Doctor last night had been mildly terrifying, to say the least.
So he was probably just mad. Well, more like definitely and less like probably. He was mad. That wasn't up on debate. Just how mad exactly though, she wasn't yet sure. She was still trying to cope with the attraction she felt to him, when he should be all accounts be repellant for her. Her mum had always said she had rubbish taste in men, but none of them had been bonafide nutters or sociopaths, either. Come to think of it, none of them had really been men,, more like boys than anything. The Doctor was older-she assumed twenty-nine, based on last night's conversation, though she supposed he could be younger. Either way...he was just different, although that probably could qualify as understatement of the century.
The thing that was really nagging at her though was her mother-at this point, she could care less about herself. She just wondered if her mum was okay, and if the Doctor actually intended to make good on his promise to make sure she was looked after, or if those had just been empty words to grease the wheels of acquiescence on her part. I he were being honest though, they were talking about the kind of money that could get herself and her mum out of the council estate and potentially keep them living comfortably without the need to work for quite a while.
She stopped pacing, and slid the knife under her mattress. If she decided she needed it later, it would be there, whether for him...or herself, if God forbid it came to that. For now though, she decided she needed to gather more intelligence, so she went to explore the house, in search of anything at all that might give her a clue to where and when she was. Last night she had been too wrought and incoherent to do much more besides stumble-shuffle her way to the laundry, and then to her room. It had been dark, and she hadn't really taken the time then in her drunken fog to observe her surroundings. Now, daylight was breaking and the place would be better lit. Based on how high up they were and how posh the accommodations had been, she already figured they must be in some sort of penthouse suite. Where in the hell the penthouse was located happened to be the more pressing question. She went to the library, knowing the one whole wall was made entirely of glass and would probably afford the best view.
Looking down on the city in daylight, it was a bit less remarkable than it had seemed in the night. More curiously, she didn't recognize any of the local landmarks. Wherever he'd taken her, it was surprisingly generic looking, at least from her vantage point. It was too high up to read the tiny signs on the buildings and billboards below to look for any identifying names or other clues . Whatever answers she was looking for, she decided she wasn't likely to find them staring out the window. She turned around to regard the entirety of his library, and realized with a sinking feeling that it was almost too big. Still, she decided to browse his books, thinking it might give her a hint as to his profession, or perhaps what sort of person he really was.
The books were of little help. He had volumes on such a wide variety of subjects, it wasn't clear to her that he preferred one over any other. She found a lot of medical textbooks and references-Gray's Anatomy, the ICD, and curiously enough, a copy of the DSM-IV, which was old, out of date and American, to boot. She thought he might be a medical doctor, but then he also had several different versions of the Bible, copies of the Qu'ran in English and what she assumed was Arabic, and dozens of books on the different Eastern philosophies and religions of old Earth. All these were sandwiched in between books on every topic, from astronomy to zoology. So he was really, really well-read, or he at least liked to give people that impression. She gathered though that he was the private type, so likely this library was only for his benefit. Still, she hadn't yet climbed up on the old rolling ladder and looked at the top shelves. She would assume the books he used the least would be up there, but maybe she would find something of interest.
The most interesting thing she found was a large and intricate spider's web, the occupant of which was disturbingly absent, or at least out of sight. Nervously, she continued poking around, mindful of any creepy crawlies that might be hiding out. Most of the books on the top shelves seemed to be old, outdated encyclopedias, or educational volumes with such exciting titles as iA History of Danish Cheesemaking/i and iNotes on the Domestication of Exotic Birds/i.
Right. So that was a strike out. She was about to start climbing her way carefully back down the ladder when a book with a bright red spine caught her eye. It was a couple rows away, at the very end of the topmost shelf closest to the window. She carefully scooted the ladder close enough that she could reach out to grab the book. Her fingers brushed the spine, the ladder tipped dangerously, and she snatched the book and leaned back, regaining her balance with a whooshing sigh of relief. She briefly examined the book, noticing with amusement the title: Sextrology: Seeing Stars in the Bedroom. The author was apparently a woman named Melody Pond, who had big hair and an even bigger grin in the photograph of her on the back jacket of the book. Alba flipped back to the front, looking for the contents. The book fell open on its own to a page that had evidently been read many times.
Well, and that was almost too strange a coincidence. The legend at the top of the page read "The Taurus Woman", and Alba's birthday was the first of May. She read on to see what cosmic wisdoms Melody Pond had in store for her.
It should come as no surprise that Taurus, ruled by Venus, would exhibit many of the qualities ascribed to the Goddess of Love herself. The Taurus woman is vibrant, passionate, fecund, and fiercely loyal, provided you know how to stroke her ego and other integral parts of her anatomy (ahem!). She is a tactile creature who delights in indulging all of her senses, both in her everyday life and in the bedroom. Silky sheets, rose petals, soft music, and a good-smelling lover all pave the road to a successful sexual encounter. Those lucky enough to bed a Taurean woman will find her an adaptable and generous partner, just as open to tender lovemaking as frantic fucking.
"Hello?" an unfamiliar male voice called out. Alba shut the book guiltily and jammed it back onto the shelf in front of her, hurriedly scrambling back down the ladder. Her feet hit the floor at the same time the owner of the mysterious voice entered the room, carrying an elaborate floral arrangement. Andrea Prentice had loved flowers, and Alba couldn't help but notice that this wasn't just any floral arrangement, but a rather strategically arranged one, featuring pale pinky-lavender raspberry blossoms, deep pink dog roses, and a gorgeous mix of tight-budded Amnesia roses and a more open variety known as the Ocean Song rose, both in different, subtle shades of purple. A couple large stargazer lilies were peppered throughout the arrangement, so deep a shade of pink they almost looked red. Her mind was turning over, trying to remember everything her mother had taught her about the language of flowers.
"Hi," she finally managed to croak. The man set the giant bouquet down on top of the piano, and she finally got a good look at him. He was handsome, with dark brown hair, blue eyes and a strong jaw. It was only when he cleared his throat pointedly that she realized she'd been staring at him, though he hadn't exactly taken his eyes off of her either, not since putting the bouquet down.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. The Doctor sent me, to give these to you, and to drop off some groceries. I already loaded up what I had in the kitchen, I was just looking for you," he said, flashing her a wide, toothy grin.
"Right," she replied, as if all this made perfect sense. If the Doctor had sent this man over here unattended, she had to believe he had some knowledge of the complexities of their arrangement. Or did the Doctor really expect her not to say anything to him? Maybe he did. She realized she was afraid, thinking back to the quiet menace in his voice when he implied that she should do what he wanted if she wanted her mother kept safe.
"I'm Jack, Jack Harkness, but forsaking formality I really prefer just to be called Jack. The Doctor sent me to you, in case you need anything. Here," he said, rummaging around in the pockets of his coat, which was so long it was sweeping the carpet. He pulled out an old mobile phone, and handed it to her. "It'll only dial one number, and that's me, but if you need anything at all I'm around."
"What if I need a friend? And a lobotomy?" she asked in a fit of honesty.
He just laughed, and shook his head. "The former I can handle. The latter...you're on your own kiddo, unless the Doc has Lobotomies for Dummies on one of these shelves."
"Oh, I think I did see it actually, right next to At-Home Foreskin Removal and You," she said with a completely straight face.
"Seriously?" he asked her.
"Yeah...sure," she said, unable to further suppress her giggles. For whatever reason, she found herself immediately liking Jack. Something about him set her at ease.
"Yeah, okay. Quit pullin' my leg," he said, rolling his eyes.
"Would you rather I pull on something else instead?" she asked, all innocence.
"You know...I'm just going to refrain from answering that one. This whole living thing has been working out alright for me, I'd like it to stay that way."
"Hmm. You wouldn't possibly be inferring that the Doctor might be a bit of an overly possessive and jealous psychopath, would you?" she asked, tilting one of the roses towards her nose so she could sniff it.
"No, no I definitely wouldn't be inferring that. At all," Jack said, scratching the back of his neck. "Where would you even get an idea like that?"
She just stared at him. "Either you're blind or polite, but I'm sure you've seen the bruises. Connect the dots, Mr. Harkness. Or, I'm sorry...Jack."
Jack was nonplussed. "The Doctor has his proclivities. I always fatasiz...er, I always assumed that he might be into BDSM or something. He just seemed like the type."
Realization dawned on her. "You fancy him, don't you? But I guess he probably doesn't know it."
Jack's only confirmation was the furious blush creeping into his cheeks.
"He's mad," she stated.
"Yes, and a bit magnificent, too. You just gotta get to know him. The Doc...he's had a rough go of it. But I'll let him tell you about all that in his own time. If you don't need help with anything at the moment, I actually did have something I needed to get back to."
"I suppose not," she said, and he tipped a salute at her before turning back to the door.
"Have a good one, in that case. And if you need me, just press one and send. Or shoot me a text message. Whichever you like, Rose," he said.
She caught the use of her new alias. "Did the Doc..did John tell you where he and I met?" she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity to see what the other man's reaction would be.
"Yes" he replied, but said nothing else. When she didn't respond, he just shrugged, gave her another smile, and kept on walking. She stared after him, not quite sure what to make of Jack Harkness or the vague answer he'd just given her.
Turning back to the floral arrangement, she gave one of the Ocean Song roses a deep sniff. It really was a gorgeous arrangement, but it only left her feeling more conflicted. In the language of flowers, roses symbolized beauty, but purple roses specifically were a symbol of enchantment. Lilies were also a symbol of beauty, and these stargazer lilies were flawless, some of the most gorgeous she'd ever seen. The raspberry blossoms were a sign of remorse, of course. All of those things together sort of made sense, she supposed. He was telling her that he thought she was beautiful and enchanting, and that he was sorry for what had happened. But then there were the dog roses, symbolizing both pleasure and pain. All the different types of roses had to be intentional-he could have used other blooms to express the same sentiment, but obviously had chosen not to. She wasn't exactly sure what to make of it, especially the dog roses.
For Alba, the mystery of the Doctor was only deepening.
