Tibik-kìzis

The next morning dawned cold and bright, another day dividing Tom from Ben, his lost son never far from his thoughts. He strode into the workroom, bearing a tray containing the Doctor's makeshift breakfast, a bowl of oatmeal and a bottle of water. Tom wasn't exactly sure what extra-terrestrials ate, whether this one even ate at all. But the Doctor just averted his face, staring at the ground instead.

He'd spent all night in the workroom, surrounded by soldiers, their whispers and rifles aimed in his direction. Every instinct to run and find Vivien had been repressed, for he knew they'd open fire on him on the slightest provocation. Porter might be in charge, but revenge was the real master they would obey in the end. In a way he couldn't blame them, he understood revenge, but at the same time, he sought to escape its yoke, whilst they willingly embraced it.

So he'd sat it out, remembering the distant stars, constellations that had called to something in Vivien, both mere ghosts of themselves. He imagined her ebony hair falling across her pale face, the way her brow furrowed even in sleep, and something inside him cracked. Tom noted the anguish in the alien's eyes, and despite himself, he wondered at how it could feel; how it could experience such human emotion.

Porter came into the workroom, shadowed by two soldiers. He looked tired; even his moustache was drooping. "Has he said anything?" Porter asked Tom, glancing at the Doctor with that odd satisfaction that disturbed Tom so.

"No," Tom replied, trying to hide his discomfort. "And I don't think he's going to."

"No matter," Porter said, dismissing Tom's doubts with a wave of his wrinkled hand. "He'll start talking soon enough, and since nothing's came after him so far, I think it's safe to assume he's no longer in contact with the Skitters at least."

Tom just looked down at the tops of his scuffed boots, trying and failing again to hide his unease. Capturing the Doctor might be the breakthrough they had been so desperately searching for, but his presence was causing panic amongst the civilians, even the soldiers and fighters. It wasn't just about him being an alien, but the fact he didn't look like one. Mechs and Skitters looked like something from another world whilst the Doctor didn't, the oppressor wearing the face of the oppressed.

Unperturbed, Porter studied the Doctor for a long moment before beckoning Tom to follow him out of the workroom, the two soldiers accompanying them. "I'm moving out this morning, as you know," Porter said, "reconnecting with my med and science people. But I'm not taking the Doctor with me, he's going with you."

"What?" Tom said, astonished that Porter would leave his prize prisoner behind, out of his sight and protection.

"I'm entrusting him to you."

"Jim..."

"Keep him alive, Tom," Porter said abruptly. "And that's an order."

Smoke clogged the air, flames casting amber shadows, the silence overwhelming. She tried to sit up, only to find her legs were trapped under a metal dumpster, the rest of her completely covered in rotting, stinking rubbish. With great difficulty, she pulled herself free, bones feeling almost but not quite broken, before crawling through the debris like a cockroach, coughing and choking her guts up.

She only covered a few feet of distance before her body gave up the ghost. Collapsing face down amongst the rubble, panic took possession, lending her false strength, propelling her to her feet, only for her legs to give way under her once more. As she lay there, her ears ringing from the explosion, her grip on reality began to slip. Then it was going, going, gone from her. She rolled onto her back, staring almost unseeingly up the sky. Flames flickered and blurred, the stars dimming, dying. The world reeled above her, then darkness fell, pulling her under, unaware of the red-eyed gaze watching her from the shadows...

Vivien woke up with a jolt, her forehead bouncing off something oddly hard but squidgy at the same time, nearly knocking her out all over again. The something stirred, chittering in complaint to itself, before falling silent once more. Vivien stared at the mottled green underside above her, a scream clawing its way up her throat. She choked it down, trying to hold herself together, eyes darting from side to side for an escape route. But all she seen was legs, forming bars like a cage. Whatever it was, it had her trapped, like a hen sitting on an egg. Terror and astonishment battled each other for supremacy, astonishment winning.

She just lay there, trying to wrap her head round it all. When this didn't work, she tried pulling what she could remember of the past together, fast forwarding to when she was reduced to rubble amongst the ruins, the stars dimming above her. Scrunching up her eyes, she tried to remember what came afterwards, but all she could conjure up was a vague recollection of being poked sharply in the side by something claw-like, then being hoisted upwards before the darkness claimed her again.

Rallying her courage, Vivien cleared her throat, making the creature raise itself on its spiderlike legs before slowly side-stepping away from her, allowing Vivien to sit up. She looked around, hugging her knees to her chest, feet aching and crusted with blood, trying and failing not to be scared as several pairs of lizard-like eyes met hers. With a shock, she recognized one of them as the creature from the warehouse, the left hand side of its face even more horrifically scarred up close, some instinct telling her it had been the one almost nesting over her.

The scarred creature tilted its head to the side, almost querying, before suddenly lashing out. Reacting on pure reflex, Vivien threw herself sideways, crashing into some crates, landing heavily on her side. Head spinning, she tried to crawl away from the creatures, but she was cornered, surrounded, their claws clicking, voices chittering. Then the static flooded her mind, invading, suffocating, deafening. The sound of screeches and caterwauling echoed through the caverns of her consciousness. She was sinking, sinking, sinking...

"For God's sake, stop!" she begged, feeling her subconscious starting to slip away. To her shock, everything suddenly fell silent. Vivien raised her head, staring at the creatures in confusion, the scarred one raising its front leg or arm - she wasn't sure - slowly this time, reaching out to her with its clawed appendage. Through the fear, she kept very still, scrunching up her eyes, hoping the end would be quick. To her even greater shock, the claw didn't dash her brains out, but actually stroked her hair, the scarred creature making strange chittering noises which sounded oddly comforting.

Vivien opened her eyes, not quite believing what was happening. Then there was a short explosion of hissing from somewhere behind her, but still she didn't move a muscle, only watching as the creatures scattered, the scarred one falling back as well, staring at Vivien with daunting devotion in its odd eyes. She couldn't say for sure, but she thought it was female. Head spinning, she unsteadily got to her feet, turning to face with some trepidation whatever was intimidating the others.

It was another creature, its right eye completely red, the infection spreading through its veins, starting to colour its skin crimson. This one looked to be a male, but again, she couldn't say for sure. It raised itself up on its back legs, towering over her, trying to intimidate or so it seemed to Vivien. She stood her ground regardless. Then the static struck once more, making her fall to her knees, hands hopelessly clamped over her ears.

As though from far away, feet skittered across the floor; then a warning screech, the answering one angry and outraged. The static stopped. Vivien raised her head, feeling like she was going to throw up, only to find the scarred creature standing in front of her, the red-eyed one clicking its claws, the two of them locked in some sort of stand-off.

Head reeling, Vivien got to her feet again, before staggering forwards, making the scarred creature turn to face her. Vivien hastily held her hands up, trying to convey the message she wasn't a threat. The scarred creature reluctantly stepped aside, the movement awkward and inelegant. Vivien hesitated, before speaking, trying to keep her voice steady. "I mean you no harm," she began almost ironically.

Red-Eye just glared at her, claws still clicking.

"The static and the screeches in my head," she continued, switching subject, "if - if that's you trying to talk, I don't understand - I can't communicate with you like that, through my mind. It hurts too much, so... so please stop trying to, alright?"

Red-Eye tilted his head, claws finally silent.

Vivien dropped her hands to her sides, hoping they were meeting on some sort of middle ground now. "I have to find my friend," she said slowly. "Have you seen him? Tall, wears a suit? Awful sideburns?"

Red-Eye edged forwards.

"Have you seen him?" she repeated.

Suddenly the static returned, making her double up, hands clutching the sides of her head. Again, as swiftly as it started, it stopped. She looked up, stars exploding in front of her eyes, Red-Eye's face contorted with frustration and confusion.

"You don't understand why I can't understand you, do you?" Vivien spat. "I'm receiving but not responding, yes? Well, get this, Flubber, I'm not a bloody radio, alright? This isn't CB Central."

Red-Eye just hissed, sounding exasperated.

"Screw you!" Vivien snapped, making Red-Eye rear up on his back legs again, claws clicking threateningly. She turned to leave, only to find her way blocked by the scarred creature and its companions. "Let me pass!" Vivien cried, trying to barge past them, only to go flying as something trunk-like slammed into her chest, knocking the wind out of her.

She hit the merciless ground, limbs asprawl, completely stunned, feeling like her ribs were broken. A set of angry screeches raged overhead, punctuated by skittering feet, clicking claws, and then the floor started to shake, a low droning sound drilling into her skull, the stomping of metallic footsteps making the creatures fall silent, their body language an odd mixture of fear and defiance, posture prostrate, eyes angry.

Vivien slowly sat up, only to find herself nose to nose with Red-Eye. The creature tilted his head to the side once more, making Vivien spring to life. "Don't," she said quickly, voice cracking. "Just don't. I get it. It's too dangerous for me to go out there, not with these metal things jiving about anyways."

Red-Eye chittered.

"What the hell does that mean?" Vivien exclaimed, feeling like she was banging her head off a brick wall. "Yes? No? Or something totally random like will you marry me?"

Red-Eye chittered again.

"Well, if it does mean that, the answer is no," Vivien said. "I prefer bipeds - no offense," she added hastily.

Red-Eye studied her for a long moment, before turning and side-stepping away, gait awkward. The scarred creature stepped forwards, eyes becoming filled with frightening devotion again. Vivien gazed at it, thinking she preferred Red-Eye's painfully blunt approach to this weird veneration. The scarred creature gazed at her in return, almost like it was waiting for her to say something. Vivien ran her hand through her tangled hair, perplexed.

"Erm... thanks," she said, suddenly inspired, "you know, for defending me back there."

The scarred creature tilted its head à la Red Eye, but Vivien wasn't sure if it understood a word she was saying. Suddenly something came spinning across the filthy floor towards her, striking her foot. Looking down, she was surprised to see it was a half empty bottle of water. Then something smacked her in the side of the head, knocking her sideways. All the creatures started chittering, almost laughing. Clutching her head, she snatched up what had hit her. It was a chocolate bar, crushed in the middle.

Vivien glanced up, her gaze meeting Red-Eye's. The creature inclined his head, before skittering up some steps, a number of the others following it. There was the sound of hinges creaking in protest, skittering feet, and then a door clanging shut. The scarred creature sat down in front of Vivien, carefully tucking its legs away, looking at her expectantly with its lizard-like eyes. Sighing heavily, Vivien took the hint and tore open the chocolate wrapper, feeling like she was five years old again, being force-fed Brussels sprouts.

The remaining creatures scuttled up the walls and over the ceiling, making Vivien freeze. She watched wide-eyed as they settled into position, hanging upside down like bats, eyes fluttering shut. Several hours later, her fascination had become broken by boredom. After studying them for a while, she'd observed they seemed to come and go in shifts, alternating between leaving and skittering around the basement, scaling its walls or sleeping suspended from the ceiling. They didn't seem to eat either, though she supposed they did this outside, perhaps hunting the local wildlife. She'd nervously wondered if humans, hybrid or otherwise, came under that category.

Vivien had attempted verbally trying to bridge the gap between her and the scarred creature, nicknaming it Scarface Sally, no longer defining the creature as an it, but after firing a barrage of unanswered questions at her - what are you, where are you from, why are you here, what's going on, is there a war, where is the TARDIS, it's a blue box, your kind took it away - she had been reduced to trying to teach Sally her own name. However, she'd reached the uncomfortable conclusion the creature just liked listening to her voice.

It had become quickly obvious to Vivien that the TARDIS had shut herself down as a measure of self protection, no longer translating, just barely existing. And escaping to find her was out of the question, not with Sally watching her every move, like some scaly eight-legged bodyguard. The whole situation had Vivien bamboozled. The creatures had taken the TARDIS, maybe the Doctor too, and someone or something had given the order to hunt her down like a dog. Yet, here she was, being protected by those who had been hunting her, from those who still were.

Vivien got up, going over to sit on a crate instead. Red-Eye hadn't returned yet, and no other food seemed to be forthcoming. Yet just as she was thinking this, the door at the top of the stairs creaked open, Red-Eye filling the doorway, before descending the stairs in a sideways fashion, looking like he was about to break into a Fred Astaire routine. All he needed was a top hat and cane to complete the picture.

"Hey," Vivien said, standing up as he came over to her, "are you going to tell me what the hell's going on?"

Red-Eye just stared at her, tilting his head to one side, contemplating Vivien as though she was an insect.

"Are you going to answer me or what?" Vivien snapped, shoving him hard, only to be suddenly flung aside, crashing into the crate she had just been sitting on. She landed heavily on her hip, the pain ricocheting through her like fire. Time seemed to slow down, almost stopping. Then Vivien slowly got to her feet, Red-Eye looming over her, his shadow eclipsing hers.

Girl and monster stared at each other, locked in a stand-off between the species, the tension becoming sky-high, the other creatures chittering nervously to one another, Sally circling the pair, clicking her claws anxiously, but even she knew better to interfere this time. Red-Eye tilted his head to the side again, and that's when Vivien backed down, fearing the onslaught of static. Without a word, she took a step back, hunching her shoulders as she wrapped her arms around herself and her rags, feeling uncharacteristically self conscious, her mind exaggerating the slight swell of her stomach, the faint thickening of her thighs and the wide curve of her hips.

Two pregnancies had altered her body beyond recognition, shaping it into something else altogether. Yet youth had kept her figure largely in line in parts, losing control everywhere else. She no longer saw in the mirror the long lanky girl she used to be, but in this moment, her past and present collided together, making her feel as awkward and gangly as she had at twelve, yet as unfurled and unfocused as she did now at twenty, her falsely human frailties lying on the floor for all to see.

"Where's the TARDIS?" she asked quietly, trying to hold onto the only home she ever had.

Red-Eye suddenly reared back, screeching, making the creatures scatter. Vivien remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear as his front legs crashed back onto the ground, making it shake. Then the static struck her again, making her drop like a stone to the floor, arms wrapped hopelessly around her head. Through the chaos, his wrath raged, cursing her stupidity, her ignorance, and at the heart of all this, was the TARDIS, the catalyst for his catastrophic anger, its very existence an insult to him. But despite this insight, she still didn't understand.

"Why?" she whispered, tears rolling down her face. "Why?"

Red-Eye just threw her a scornful look before turning and walking away, claws clattering across the floor.

In the full moon's light, I listen to the stream
And inbetween the silence, I hear you calling me
But I don't know where I am
And I don't trust who I've been...

The Doctor dragged his feet as they walked up the steep hill, once again fighting the urge to break free and run. That's all he wanted, to run all the way back to South Boston and find Vivien, so she could laugh at him for being a sentimental old fool. All around him the 2nd Mass stumbled on, a motley procession of vehicles, bikes and people on foot carrying children, backpacks, weapons, or pulling shopping bags on wheels, as well as pushing bicycles and supermarket trolleys laden with black bags.

Tom was just up ahead, falling into step beside Dr. Glass, the rich reddish mahogany highlights of her long hair flashing like fire in the sun, Tom brushing something off her shoulder, the gesture unconsciously intimate. With great nosiness, the Doctor watched the way Tom kept stooping down to listen to something Anne was saying, their conversation coloured by the wide curve of Anne's smile, then Tom's answering boyish grin. Finally growing bored with the ridiculous mating dance humans so liked to indulge in, the Doctor glanced around him, properly this time, taking in the lush green verdure and majestic houses spanning the sloping streets.

"This is Bartlett Hill," the Doctor said in surprise, making Tom glance over his shoulder at him, brow furrowing.

"Shut up," the fighter to the left of him spat. "This ain't a sightseein' tour."

"About four hundred years ago, this was all Pennacook settlement," the Doctor continued, as though the fighter hadn't spoken. "Merrimack people. Algonquian speaking. Called me Tibik-kìzis which means moon by the way. Smallpox sadly wiped them all out in the end though."

"Wish I could wipe you out," the other fighter said dangerously.

"Like chalk off a blackboard," the Doctor replied, waggling his eyebrows.

After walking for another hour or so, the 2nd Mass made a stop outside a Sundash in Belmont, vehicles slowing to a halt, people swarming the storefront. The Doctor was forced to sit down on the edge of the sidewalk, fighters standing around him in a foursquare. A group led by Anne, went into the Sundash, covering their noses with hankies or their hands, the stink of rotting fruit polluting the air.

As they sifted through what was left of the food, the Doctor made a point of inhaling and exhaling enthusiastically, as though he was enjoying fresh mountain air. Anne, who was standing by the door, stacking tins into a cardboard box, her nose tucked into her shoulder, shot him a funny look, but the young woman beside her almost smiled, her grin cut short by Weaver who descended on her like a dark cloud.

"What are you smirking at, girl?" he asked, trying to keep his temper under control, knowing full well what she was smirking at.

"Nothing, sir," Lourdes said hastily, casting her gaze to the ground.

Weaver studied her for a moment before marching over to Tom, shaking his head to himself as he moved. Lourdes watched Weaver go before glancing at the Doctor again, her big brown eyes glittering with curiosity. The Doctor shot her a wink, making Lourdes hastily duck her head, her curtain of long dark hair falling across her hotly flushing face. Anne stared coldly at the Doctor, but he just raised his eyebrows questioningly in return, and she resumed packing her tins into their cardboard box, albeit with more force than before.

"That thing is trying to corrupt our women!" Weaver exclaimed to Tom, who was amused against his will. "He's got Lourdes all goo-goo eyed over him, and as for Anne, well she acts like the ice maiden, but still waters run deep" -

- "You should stop right there," Tom said sharply, Weaver cutting too close to the bone for his taste now. "I think your imagination is getting a bit carried away with itself" -

- "What, you really want his grubby little hands on your woman, huh!?" Weaver said, getting upset now. "Seducing Anne with his alien charm" -

- "That's enough!" Tom snapped, flushing hotly, before being distracted by Hal and Karen heading towards them on their bikes.

"Every food store and cache between Belmont and Acton has been picked clean!" Hal hollered as he screeched past, not stopping, wheels kicking up a cloud of dust as he went.

"So, it's one of the ShopSmarts then, either the store in West Newton or the distribution centre in Watertown," Tom said, recovering himself as he turned to Weaver who was now pulling a map out of his back pocket, unrolling it.

"We can't go back, not with this group, too many, too slow," Weaver said, shaking his head.

"Maybe half your vehicles and half your fighters could go back, get the food, and then catch up with the rest of you later," the Doctor called from further down the sidewalk.

Tom and Weaver turned to look at the Doctor, who just beamed at them from behind the fighters' legs. Weaver strode down the sidewalk, cursing the Doctor under his breath, the fighters parting like the Red Sea as he drew level with them. He came to a halt in front of the Doctor, almost standing on him.

"Hello!" the Doctor said cheerily.

"This little expedition you're planning, who's gonna lead them? You?" Weaver said sarcastically, clenching his fists, crumpling up his map in the process. The Doctor just looked at him as though he was an imbecile, his gaze then sliding sideways as Tom stepped into the fray.

"No, me," Tom said quietly, making Weaver gawp at him.

"You wanna go back?" Weaver spluttered. "On the advice of this Skitter loving shit-pie?"

"Yes."

There was a long silence, and then Weaver folded up his map, concentrating just a little too hard to make sure the edges were all in alignment. "Fine," Weaver then said from between gritted teeth. "But I'm only giving you the pick-up and six fighters."

Tom's jaw tightened. "Weapons?" he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice neutral.

"What you got, and as many mags as you can carry," Weaver replied, before turning and walking away from Tom.

"One of the RPGs?"

"No," Weaver hollered over his shoulder.

"Some C-4?"

"No!"

"All right, we'll make do," Tom muttered under his breath, before kicking a lamp-post, much to the Doctor's amusement.

People started piling out of the Sundash, laden with bags and boxes, Anne and Lourdes leading them over to the vehicles. Weaver stood at the top of the street, shouting orders, follow the commuter rail west, the Doctor being hauled to his feet again, we'll meet at the Littleton Bridge. Tom ran his hand over his beard, exhaling sharply.

"That's a nice beard by the way, though it could do with a trim," the Doctor said from behind Tom, making him whirl around.

"What is it with you!?" Tom exclaimed, fighting the urge to deck the Doctor.

"What do you mean, Mephistopheles?"

Tom's face reddened at this particular folkloric jibe, but he forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. "For starters, why do you keep sticking your oar in when it's not wanted or needed?" he said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"I'm just trying to help."

"We don't want or need your help, what part of that don't you understand?"

"Why are you doing what I suggested then?" the Doctor asked, raising his eyebrows.

Tom ran his hand over his face, trying and failing to control his temper, before whirling on the Doctor again. "What are you up to, huh?" he spat, face becoming blotchy with rage. "Are you setting some elaborate trap for the 2nd Mass or something?"

"I have no intention of making your children orphans," the Doctor snapped.

"You keep my sons out of this."

"If you want them to survive, I suggest you keep following my advice."

"Yeah, when hell freezes over," Tom retorted, before turning and stalking down the sidewalk.