The Enemy's Enemy
"Watch my leg, man!" Billy shouted from somewhere unseen, his voice echoing oddly, making Vivien glance up, every inch of her on high alert. Maggie stood up, readying her rifle as the double doors at the back of the auditorium flew open, smashing off the walls, Pope and his partisans pouring through the doorway, Cueball and Whitey carrying a heavily bleeding Billy between them, the others dragging in five strangers, their faces hidden by the black cloth bags flung over their heads.
Vivien crawled forwards, clutching the bars of her cage as the five strangers were forced to walk blind down the aisle, hands bound behind their backs, guns aimed at their heads, before being shoved into several front row seats, Cueball and Whitey carrying Billy up the steps and onto the stage, Pope hard on their heels. The rest of his gang surrounded the strangers, training their weapons on them, Maggie hesitating before whipping the bags off their heads in quick succession, revealing their faces.
Three of the strangers were young, two not much more than teenagers, the boy dark-haired and dark-eyed, scared but trying to hide it; the girl blonde and pretty, with her long hair tied back in a messy ponytail, face defiant; the other in his early twenties at least, with cropped hair and ebony skin, his brown eyes filled with rage. The other two men were older, one in his thirties, Vietnamese, handsome with high cheekbones; the other about forty, overly tall and awkward, looking like he could do with a good scrub and shave.
But he instantly held Vivien's attention, making her sit up a bit straighter in order to see him better. He was no beauty, with an unkempt beard, messy brown hair and a long face with an equally long hawk-like nose, his skin pale beneath his ruddy tan. His dark gaze darted wildly around the auditorium, reminding her of a bee trying to escape out of a closed window, buzzing hopelessly against the glass. Almost against his will, he glanced at the cage, only to do a double-take, the sight of the girl staring back at him through the bars making him freeze in his seat, his spine stiffening.
Somehow knowing without knowing, Tom knew it was her, the girl in the picture, the ghost the Doctor had been chasing. Her black hair fell around her filthy face in a knotted tangle, her clothes nothing more than rags barely covering her soot-stained skin, making her look oddly Dickenesian. Yet all the same, it was her, her eyes blazing like blue fire, bridging the distance between them. Tom fell back in his seat, feeling like somebody had just dealt him a mortal blow.
"Think he'll pull through?" Pope was saying, his voice shaking as he smoothed the hair off Billy's face, Maggie looking away, eyes suddenly alive with revulsion.
"The view ain't lookin' good from where I'm standin', man," Whitey said morosely, "he's bleedin' like a stuck pig."
"Bastard's probably nicked an artery," Vivien spat through her gag before she could stop herself.
"Can it, bitch," Pope snarled, getting to his feet.
"Hold up," Whitey said hastily, grabbing Pope's arm, "slut's right, but he's not nicked the artery - he's severed it."
"He bled out?" Vivien said, becoming drawn in despite herself.
"Yeah," Whitey replied, his eyes narrowing. "Bled out already."
"Well, use your belt and bind his leg tight," Vivien instructed, hating herself for helping. But that was the Doctor's influence on her, an influence she sometimes railed against, but always surrendered to in the end.
To everyone's surprise, including hers, Whitey did as she said, hastily unbuckling his belt and yanking it out of his jean loops, before quickly strapping it around Billy's thigh, Cueball taking it as his cue to step in, hastily rifling through his rucksack and pulling out a packet of suspicious looking white powder. As he proceeded to dope Billy up, Pope got to his feet, taking his sweet time about it, Tom and the others watching wide-eyed as he swaggered over to the cage, pausing dramatically before suddenly springing forwards, ripping Vivien's gag off, almost enjoying her gasp of pain.
"Bastard," Vivien hissed, hunching over.
"This isn't Catch Me If You Can, Red-Coat," Pope drawled, fiddling with a ring on his finger as he spoke, twisting it round and round in circles, "so unless you really are a board-certified micro-surgeon, I suggest you shut your trap."
"I might not be an expert," Vivien said from between gritted teeth, "but I bet I know more than your homeboy over there does" -
Pope slammed his fist into her face, busting her mouth.
"I told you to shut your trap," he said quietly before turning and crossing the stage again. Vivien slowly raised her spinning head, blood leaking out of her mouth, her stare slamming into the stranger's again. Something flickered behind his bland gaze, something she couldn't decipher. The closest she could get to understanding was that he was trying to see past her, through her almost.
"Any of you medical personnel, fix my brother?" Pope asked the assembled prisoners as he descended the stage steps, gesturing almost carelessly to Billy behind him. They just stared at him, united in mutinous silence. "No?" he said, shaking his head. "THEN WHAT GOOD ARE YOU!?" But again, they just stared at him, still silent, unshaken by his shouting. Pope stared back at them, before suddenly grinning, clapping his hands together. "So where you from?" he asked casually, moving towards the front row as he spoke, making Tom and the others instinctively shrink back in their seats. "Where you from?" Pope repeated, rolling his eyes.
"Cambridge," Tom said quickly, too quickly.
"And how are things in... Cambridge these days?" Pope said, looming over Tom, who lowered his head, as though he was cowering in fear before Pope. But his gaze furtively found Vivien's again, making her sit up and focus on him afresh, sensing his display of fear was just that, a display meant to decieve.
"Worse than they are here," Tom replied, still staring at Vivien, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Can't be any worse than where I am," Vivien retorted, stung by his stare, blood choking her words.
"Ignore the parrot," Pope ordered, his gaze flickering over Tom and the others. "So what are you, family?" Pope then asked, his gaze dwelling on Anthony and Dai in particular, eyes becoming filled with disdain. "Well, obviously not all," he observed dryly, glancing at his gang, who laughed on cue.
"Shut your fucking mouth," Vivien snapped before she could stop herself.
"Like I said, ignore the parrot," Pope said, rolling his eyes again. "So are you family or what?"
"No," Tom replied, dropping his gaze to the ground. "Just came together a couple months ago."
"You part of some resistance?"
"No, just a group of people trying to survive."
"Then where'd you get the weaponry?" Pope asked, stooping down, forcing Tom to look at him.
"Dead cops. National Guard," Tom said in a rush, trying to cover his lies with a cloak of false terror.
Pope studied him for a second, before standing up and surveying them all again, glancing over his shoulder at Vivien in her cage. "So altogether my haul consists of a lobsterback cootie slut," he said, before turning back to Tom and the others, pointing at them all in turn with a theatrical finger, "Papa Smurf, a sexy freedom fighter girl, a strapping young fellow, and two men of colour, three, if you include Click the corpse back at the armoury."
"Screw you!" Vivien spat as Anthony lunged forwards, only to be slammed back in his seat by Maggie.
"Whoa, see we've got hands across the world over here," Pope said sarcastically, picking up a sword propped against the stage. "How ironic, considering whose side you're on."
"Oh, just piss off!"
"Uh oh, someone's getting a little stir crazy," Pope said in a sing-song voice, swinging his sword like a golf-club as he ascended the stage steps. "Want me to put you out of your misery, Red-Coat?"
Vivien just spat on the stage, teeth bared, Maggie watching the scene unfold with oddly glittering eyes.
"Ohhh, you're just asking for it, aren't you?" Pope growled, before suddenly charging at the cage, sword half raised, Vivien throwing herself backwards against the bars despite herself.
"NO!" Tom shouted, almost against his will, making Pope falter and then stop. He turned around, brow furrowing, before descending the stage steps, sword still half raised, Tom swallowing hard as Pope approached him as stealthily as a panther.
"You say something?" Pope asked quietly, tilting his head to one side.
Tom just looked at the ground again, the others shifting nervously in their seats, Vivien clutching the bars of her cage, heart in mouth.
"She runs with aliens, buddy," Pope said scathingly, "and anybody that runs with aliens deserves to be run through with a sword. Question is, does the sword deserve such a fate? Personally, if I were a sword, I wouldn't want all that traitor blood tarnishing my blade, that's for sure."
Still Tom stared at the ground.
"You run with aliens, Cambridge?" Pope asked.
Tom shook his head mutely.
Pope studied Tom for a long moment before suddenly swinging the sword through the air, the blade arcing towards Tom, swift and sure, the others screaming, Vivien's hoarse cry cutting through them all. Then the sword stilled, inches from Tom's pale face. Pope just laughed, long and loud, his partisans joining in.
"Just messing with ya," Pope grinned, lowering the sword before bringing it back up again, lightly tapping Tom on each shoulder like he was knighting him, making Tom tense up. "Arise, Sir Papa Smurf!" As Pope played to the crowd, Tom's gaze met Vivien's again, something silent passing between them. The enemy's enemy is my friend, Tom remembered from far away as Pope knelt down before him, leaning on the sword handle with a careless grace. "You see, I'm figuring since you're the only one willing to speak up," Pope said, his voice low and confidential, "that must mean you're their leader."
Tom swallowed hard, trying to stand his ground.
Pope jerked his head at Vivien. "You her leader too?" he asked, racheting the tension up even further.
"Never seen her before in my life," Tom lied.
"Be glad that you haven't," Pope replied, before suddenly dropping his sword and pulling his gun out at the same time, pointing its barrel at Tom's head. "Say farewell to your friends, Cambridge," Pope said quietly, "it's gonna be a long walk home." His finger curled around the trigger, Tom scrunching his eyes shut, Hal and the others shocked into silence, unable to move or breathe.
"Don't!" Vivien cried, voice cracking. "Please don't!"
"And why's that, bitch?" Pope said, sounding bored.
"Just... just don't, alright!?" Vivien pleaded, flinching at how feeble she sounded.
"Just... don't?" Pope parodied, raising his eyebrows.
Vivien threw a desperate glance at the other members of Tom's group, jumpstarting Hal back to life.
"We can get you more guns," Hal said quickly, making Pope look sharply at him, then Tom, making the connection between them.
"How?" Pope then said, lowering his gun. "I thought it was just you and your little rag-tag gang of ragamuffins, a bunch of complete strangers thrown together by fate." He waggled his hands like he was on Broadway, making his men laugh again, the sound echoing around the auditorium.
"We're the resistance," Hal said, trying to stand his ground. "Part of the 2nd Massachusetts."
"The what?" Pope scoffed, glancing at Tom whose shoulders were now hunched up to his ears, looking like he wanted to strangle Hal for spilling the beans. Pope then stooped down, so he was eye level with Tom once more. "The 2nd Massachusetts?" Pope sneered. "Revolutionary War? And here we have a red-coat pleading for an American militia member's life." Pope shook his head to himself, Tom's shoulders hunching even further. "So what's the deal with the historical re-enactment? Is it all fife and drums and tri-cornered hats, or is that just wishful thinking on my part?" Pope then fired at Hal as he stood up, stowing his gun away.
"No, we have guns," Hal repeated.
Pope stared at him for a long moment before suddenly springing forwards, grabbing Hal by the scruff of his neck, hauling him out of his chair and throwing him onto the floor, the others lunging forwards, only to be restrained by Pope's men, Tom shouting NO! as Pope rammed his foot down on Hal's windpipe, making Hal jerk and choke.
"What you have, boy, is a .50-cal mounted on the back of a GTO," Pope fired at Hal, who stared up at him, eyes bulging in his beetroot face. "You also have a hundred and something soldiers and fighters shacked up in these fancy-ass mansions and two hundred civilians camped out in the big meadow nearby, a regular Tent City," Pope continued, applying further pressure to Hal's neck, making him splutter. "And you know how I know that? Because I've been watching your little resistance movement" –
- "For God's sake, let him go!" Vivien cried, grabbing the bars of her cage. "He's just a bloody kid!"
Pope studied her for a second before suddenly pulling out a knife and kneeling down, flipping Hal onto his front and straddling him like a horse, Tom lunging forwards again as Pope grabbed a hank of Hal's hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat. "Say sayonara to your son and heir, Papa Smurf," Pope drawled, pressing the edge of his blade against Hal's jugular. "Nobody can say I didn't play fair with you."
"You're not playing fair," Vivien said quickly, her voice cracking. "In fact, you're playing stupid."
"And how so?" Pope said, rolling his eyes.
"Because if you want that .50-cal like I presume you do, you're going to need them alive to get it."
"Explain that one to me, sweetheart," Pope said, bestowing a mocking grin on her.
"You said this 2nd Massachusetts had a hundred and something armed soldiers and fighters, plus two hundred civilians," Vivien said, struggling to keep her voice steady, "and how many people do you have? Two dozen or so at the most? Even with guns, I think the odds are stacked against you. So here's a handy hint - bargaining chip."
Pope looked at his partisans for help, but none was forthcoming. Even they couldn't argue with her logic. He hesitated before reluctantly lowering his knife from Hal's throat. He got to his feet, hauling Hal to his own, Tom and the others just sitting there, faces shellshocked, Tom's gaze riveted on his son. Pope gestured at Vivien with his knife, looking as though he was going to stick the blade between her ribs, but he didn't, slitting the rope binding the boy's wrists instead.
"Nobody's going to die tonight," Pope then said with some difficulty, waving his knife at Tom and the others, "nobody except Machiavelli in the cage there, but the rest of you, you're all way too valuable, do you get me?"
Nobody answered him.
"Never mind," Pope said, rolling his eyes again. "Here's what we're gonna do - we're gonna make a deal. You lot for the .50-cal on the back of that car."
Tom just shook his head, jaw clenched.
"It's a deal, Pope," Vivien said quickly, angry at the stranger's stupidity.
Pope eyed Vivien oddly. "Margaret?" he then called, Maggie stepping forwards, flinging her hood over her head. "Please escort young Prince Charming here back into town so that he can bring the terms of our deal to the Supreme Allied Commander of the 2nd Massachusetts."
The Doctor sat down opposite Weaver, a vast expanse of lace tablecloth dividing him from the human. With some difficulty, he'd been removed from the outhouse and herded into a palatial mansion that looked like it had fallen from the pages of The Age of Innocence. The grandeur of the residence insulted the Doctor. It was as though it had put on its best clothes in expectation of impressing him, only to fail miserably. He lived in a police box that was bigger on the inside. How could any house compete with that?
Yet it was the mansion's egregious opulence that angered him most, especially when he noted that it was only Weaver and a few of his most trusted co-horts occupying its many rooms, the rest lying empty. The sick and vulnerable were huddling in tents and makeshift shelters in the meadow nearby whilst Weaver and his men lived the high life here, with warm beds and a roof over their heads.
Weaver stood up, his chair scraping cruelly across the polished floorboards, making the Doctor wince in sympathy for the floor. With hunched shoulders, Weaver strode over to the sideboard, before pouring himself a glass of Scotch. He damned well needed it, what with two hundred hysterical civilians to deal with, not to mention a hundred or so mutinous soldiers and fighters on top of that.
"Nightcap, Dan?" Mike asked from where he was standing by the window, concerned about the sheer amount of alcohol Weaver seemed to be consuming on a now nightly basis - not that Mike could blame Weaver for needing a crutch. They all needed something to prop them up. Some had family, friends, or memories of them at least. Weaver had nothing, so he sought sanctuary in the bottom of a bottle instead.
Weaver glanced at Mike, torn between annoyance and guilt. Mike was one of his best fighters as well as one of his most trusted men, but right at this moment, Weaver was wishing Mike a million miles away. Putting distance between himself and Mike, Weaver walked unsteadily back over to the dining table, coming to a halt just beside the Doctor, making the alien raise a querying eyebrow, Weaver ignoring him.
Suddenly there was a loud knock on the front door, making everybody but the Doctor look up in surprise as the sound of raised voices drifted in from the hall, then Anne was being escorted into the dining room, Mike and the other armed guards hastily assuming sentry position. Slightly nervous, Anne observed the scene before her, somewhat taken aback by this display of military might.
"How can I help you, Dr. Glass?" Weaver said impatiently, nursing his glass of Scotch with a slightly shaking hand.
"I just thought of something that could help improve the conditions of the civilians," Anne said in a rush, Weaver resisting the urge to roll his eyes as she launched into a monologue about Stockton and nuked housing, his thoughts drifting, gone with the wind...
"Captain! Captain Weaver!"
Weaver raised his head, Anne whirling around as Hal burst into the dining room, Mike and the other armed guards reaching automatically for their guns.
"What the hell's going on?" Weaver demanded. "Where's your father?"
"Being held hostage, along with the others," Hal said, catching his breath. "Bastards sent me here to parley over terms for their release."
Weaver slammed his glass down on the dining table, the amber liquid splashing over the sides, some flecks striking the Doctor's torn suit.
"Watch the suit!" the Doctor spat, making Hal do a double-take.
Without warning, Weaver cuffed the Doctor round the head, knocking him sideways.
"Oi!" the Doctor protested, dramatically clutching his ear, Hal still staring at him, making Weaver frown.
"What is it, son?" Weaver asked, shooting the Doctor a suspicious look. "ET here giving you the heebies or is it just his stupid hairstyle?"
"Him," Hal said shakily, pointing at the Doctor. "I mean the girl, the girl that was with him, the one that we thought got blown up in South Boston - she's there, at the auditorium, I mean, I think it's her - she's English and the guy said he saw her with the Skitters - well, if it's her, she's there, with Dad and the others."
There was a long silence, then the Doctor suddenly sprung to life, lunging out of his chair, making for the door, Weaver jumping him from behind, Anne retreating into a corner, hand flying to her mouth as human and alien struggled, the others throwing themselves into the fray. But the Doctor broke free of them, hurling himself past Hal –
A gunshot rang through the air, stilling, silencing.
Weaver and the others fell back, Hal just rooted to the spot, stunned as the Doctor looked down at himself, eyes widening with almost wonder at the sight of the dark blood seeping through the side of his suit jacket. Then his legs gave way beneath him. He tried to catch himself by grabbing the edge of the dining table, but he collided with it instead, collapsing to the ground in a heap of stripes and sideburns, eyes rolling back into his head as Mike lowered his gun.
"So what were you?" Pope suddenly asked Tom, startling him. "You know, before?"
Tom raised his head, considering Pope's question before answering almost reluctantly, "I taught history, BU," his gaze then drifting across the stage before coming to a rest on Vivien. With Click dead and Hal gone, the others being dragged out of the auditorium and into the access tunnels instead, Tom had been left behind, trying and failing to hold it together.
"History? What kind of history?" Pope said, cracking open a beer. "The Sumerians on up?"
"American."
A strained silence fell, Pope glancing between Tom and Vivien, the expression in his eyes oddly veiled. "So how's the resistance going?" he then asked, raising the bottle to his lips.
"Just getting started," Tom said clippedly.
"Really?" Pope scoffed. "You actually believe that fairytale?"
"I do," Tom said with quiet certainty.
"History buff such as yourself ought to know better," Pope pointed out, taking a sip.
"I taught the American Revolution. You know how that turned out."
"Yeah, but is that the right - what do you call it? - analogy?" Pope said, brow furrowing. "Instead of the aliens being the red-coats..." Pope said, glancing at Vivien, "...Well, we still have red-coats, but that's beside the point" –
- "Well, if you don't see any hope" -
- "Why don't I eat a gun?" Pope guessed, brandishing his beer bottle like a pistol. "Well, I'll tell you this, Cambridge, and this may come off as a little insensitive to the ninety percent of mankind that's already gone to the grave, but the arrival of these creatures is the best damn thing that's ever happened to me..."
As Pope prattled on, Tom's attention drifted, his gaze locking with Vivien's once more. She frowned at him, but he just looked at her, dark eyes darkening even further, his stare steady, steering her to stiller waters. Fingers curling round the bars, she stared wordlessly back at him, and for a long moment it didn't matter what she was, or whose side he was on, and then Pope spoke, suddenly breaking the spell.
"Sorry to interrupt love's middle-aged dream," Pope said sarcastically, startling Tom, "but why do you keep watching her?"
"Watching who?"
"The slut shacked up in the cage, that's who, dumbass," Pope retorted. "Ever since you've come in here, you've barely been able to keep your eyes off her. If you're not on the same side, why are you so... involved, huh? Or are you just sweet on her or something? If so, your taste in women leaves much to be desired, my friend."
Tom just stared at Pope, the tips of his ears reddening despite himself, Vivien hastily looking away, not liking where this was heading.
"Y'know, my brother's already sampled some of her dubious charms," Pope said with mock gravity, his words sickening Tom to the stomach. "But if you play fair with the .50 cal, I might - and I mean might - throw her in for free, seeing since she's damaged goods."
"That pile of damaged goods is actually one of our operatives," Tom spat, making Vivien freeze.
"Oh really? Then why did you deny seeing her before?" Pope said, his eyes lighting up dangerously at this new turn of events.
"That's irrelevant," Tom snapped, sidestepping the question.
"If you can't explain that, maybe you can explain why your 'operative' is running around with cooties," Pope continued, setting down his beer. "Or maybe the answer to that is in the word 'operative'."
Another strained silence fell, Tom feeling the sweat bead on his brow, Vivien gripping the bars of her cage with shaking hands.
"She's a double-agent," Tom then said, pretending to sigh heavily. "She feeds false information to the Skitters" -
- "Cooties, you mean."
"She feeds false information to the enemy," Tom amended, "and she relays intel back to us about them. But somewhere along the way, she screwed up, and..." His voice trailed off as his invention gave out, "and, uh, well, here we are."
"You went out looking for her?"
Tom nodded, not sure where this was going.
"Thought you were out on a gun run though?" Pope said lightly, too lightly, picking up his beer again.
"We were killing two birds with one stone, trying to find weapons" -
- "And your woman," Pope finished for him, taking another sip of beer, playing along now. "I get it now, the whole secrecy thing. You were trying to protect the mission, yeah?"
Tom just looked down at the ground, sensing the situation was now starting to spiral out of his control.
"I knew you knew each other," Pope said, "the whole rushing to each other's rescue all the time sort of gave the game away, buddy."
"I know," Tom said, not daring to look at Vivien.
"She's ballsed up, big time, bro, leading you to my palatial mansion like this," Pope said, sitting back in his seat. "Nearly got your boy Sweeney Todded there."
"Well, she has a history" -
- "Of making monumental mistakes? Then why send her on a secret mission amongst what you call the Skitters?"
"Wasn't my call."
"I bet it wasn't," Pope snorted. "She's right in the shit-hole, now, isn't? And I don't mean being here, I mean with you. You're looking like you could tear a strip off her."
Tom bit his tongue, before bowing his head. It was more like he wanted to tear a strip off Pope, but he let it slide - for now.
Pope nursed his beer, his gaze drifting over his now unconscious brother, before coming to a rest on Vivien, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "You want to taste freedom again, Red-Coat?" Pope said suddenly, making Tom raise his head in surprise.
"Fuck. You," Vivien said with uncharacteristic clipped precision, rage returning her to life.
Pope just shrugged his shoulders as though to say, c'est la vie. Then he got out of his seat, before swaggering towards the cage as though he had all the time in the world. Vivien frowned as he approached, before flinching as he suddenly slammed his beer can down on the edge of the stage, Tom watching, wondering if Pope really would...
With a mocking grin, Pope pulled out the key to the cage, holding it aloft like a trophy. He then suddenly ascended the stage with a spring, and before Vivien realised what was happening, he was unlocking the cage door. But as he turned the key, his eyes met hers, an unsettling gleam in his gaze, making her realize that he was only letting her out of this trap so she would fall into another of his setting.
He held the cage door open for her, sweeping her an elaborate bow as he did so. "Your humble servant, my lady," he said, eyes flashing with sadistic enjoyment as he took out his knife, carelessly cutting the rope binding her hands and ankles together.
Vivien hesitated, disbelieving, before stumbling forwards, legs numb, bare feet encrusted with scabs and dried blood, her battered body hunched over as she hopelessly tried to hold her ripped camisole together. As she raised her head, her eyes met Tom's, and the pity in his gaze made her jaw tighten, silently telling him to shove his sorrow up his arse.
Then, much to their mutual surprise, Pope peeled off his grubby blue and green checked shirt, revealing a sweat-stained grey vest and heavily tattooed muscled arms underneath. Wordlessly, he handed the shirt over to her. Snatching it off him, Vivien hastily put it on, buttoning it up with shaking fingers, Tom averting his eyes as she did so, Pope turning his back on her, surprising her all over again.Once she was decently dressed, Vivien then just stood there, wrapping her arms around herself, not sure what to do next, rage slowly rising in her at the state she'd been reduced to, and as Pope turned back around to face her, she dropped her gaze to the ground, not wanting him to see his downfall in her eyes.
"Drop the demure act," Pope said, rolling his eyes, "you're not fooling anyone, kid."
Vivien's jaw tightened, but she held her tongue.
"Take your carcass over there," Pope then ordered, jerking his head over at where Tom was sitting, "and no funny shit, or I'll put a bullet between those big blues of yours. Savvy?"
Vivien didn't move.
"Well, go on then," Pope prompted, a nasty grin spreading itself across his face. "Go ahead and see your old man."
With trembling legs, Vivien crossed the stage, wincing as her flayed feet padded down the steps. As she approached the stranger in the front row, she made a split decision there and then. Her life was on the line, and he was the only card she had to play. If she wanted to get out of this alive, she had to work with what she had, even as it threatened to explode in her face.
"Hey nerd, long time no see," she said quietly.
Tom just stared at her before catching himself. "You have a cheek to talk," he replied, trying to sound convincing.
Vivien just raised her eyebrows at him before forcing herself to move forwards, feeling Pope's suspicious stare boring into her back. Not sure what to do next, except that she had to somehow convince Pope she was with the 2nd Mass, she sat down on the stranger's lap, Tom tensing up, repulsed but manfully trying to hide it, only to fail miserably.
"Jesus, you smell like a brewery," he said, wincing.
"Just shut up and enjoy the show, sunshine," she hissed, running her hand across his beard in a way that made him want to run a mile, frightened she was going to take this further than he was prepared to go.
"I - I was so worried about you," he whispered, trying to halt her in her tracks by playing along with the pantomime. "When you didn't come back... I - I thought you were dead, that they'd found out..."
Vivien nearly laughed out loud at this, but she controlled herself. "Did you miss me, then?" she whispered back, flashing her bloodstained teeth at him. Tom just nodded, or tried to anyways, looking so trapped and revolted, that she lost it, something like hysteria hitting her as she burst into hyena-like laughter.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" Tom snapped, glancing nervously at Pope who was now sitting on the stage steps, watching them with narrowed eyes as he nursed his beer with both hands.
"At you, idiot, for being so goddamn ridiculous," Vivien snapped back .
He just looked at her like she was mad, which she supposed she was now, and no wonder. Maybe he should try a day in her life some time, see how he liked it. Choking down her hysteria, she leaned her forehead against his, before amping up the act and running her hand through his dark hair, hoping he didn't have dandruff or something worse, whilst wondering how much longer she would have to participate in this farce.
"I can't believe this is happening," Tom muttered under his breath.
"Blame your animal magnetism, buddy," Vivien muttered back from between gritted teeth.
"You old dog," Pope called over, making Vivien lift her head. "Never thought you had it in you."
"Neither did I," Tom said dryly.
Pope eyed Vivien critically. "She's no beauty, though, is she?" he said brutally. "But beggars can't be choosers, not nowadays, eh, Prof? Any port in a storm and all that crap."
"You know what they say, love is blind," Tom said, shrugging his shoulders.
"And power is an aprodisac, sweetening the deal," Vivien countered smartly, bestowing a savage smile on Tom.
Pope let out a low whistle. "Got shot down there, big style, buddy," he said, swigging his beer.
"No, I've always known she didn't want me for my good self, but rather what I could give her," Tom lied.
"Well, what do you expect? You're twice her age, man. Still, can't blame her for trying to get by, especially in these scoundrel days," Pope said. "I mean, for me and my boys, it's a whole different story. We're not getting by - we're having the time of our lives, man. Finding your little princess should have been the icing on the cake, another blow to Cootie Central, except it turns out she's batting for the humans - or so you say. Either way, I don't like having my parade rained on, Professor, but I'll let it slide, this time."
Tom just inclined his head, Vivien marveling at his self control.
"So what's it like, then, dealing with the cooties?" Pope then fired at Vivien. "Do they make your flesh crawl? Give you the heebies when you have to high-five them?"
But before Vivien could frame a lie, Billy suddenly screamed, making them all jump. The next thing Vivien knew Pope was aiming his gun at her, his finger curling around the trigger.
"Get your rump into gear, Red-Coat!" Pope yelled, throwing himself down beside the writhing Billy as Vivien shakily got to her feet, exchanging a helpless glance with Tom. "Well, fucking get to it!" Pope bellowed, making the pair jump violently.
"Keep your hair on," Vivien muttered mutinously as she hastily clambered up onto the stage, before crouching down beside Billy, wondering what the hell she was going to do. For all her big talk, she wasn't a doctor. All she knew was scraps; bits and pieces bitterly acquired through hard experience, most of them irrelevant to what was happening here. She'd already done what she could for Billy; she didn't think she could do anything more for him, not that she wanted to, remembering his hands wandering over her like spiders, his teeth sinking into her flesh.
Trying to look like she knew what she was doing, she dipped her fingers into the bowl of water beside Billy, before shaking them dry, futilely wishing for hot running water and soap, maybe even a fluffy white towel. Against her better judgement, she glanced up at the stranger again, and as his eyes met hers, she realised with a jolt that he saw through her front, reading her like an open book. Tearing her gaze away from his, she forced herself to slide her hand behind Billy's head, using it to support his neck, choking down her revulsion at having to touch him, before picking up a blue cup and holding it to his pale lips, tentatively trickling water down his dry throat, bitterly wishing it was bleach instead.
"Is it bad or wicked bad?" Pope demanded, his voice cracking.
"Oh it's wicked bad, bro," Billy croaked, spluttering slightly as the water went down his throat the wrong way.
"Do you want me to load you up again?" Pope asked, reaching for Cueball's rucksack.
"Yeah, man, dose me up, dose me up," Billy pleaded.
Pope started rifling through the rucksack, pulling out various bags and bottles of powders and pills. "Give him some more of that vodka," he ordered, chucking a syringe over his shoulder.
Vivien just stared at him, confused, before realising he meant the blue cup, the one she had thought was filled with water. Cursing herself for her incompetency, she raised Billy's head again, tilting the cup against his lips once more, Billy gulping it down gratefully. "He - he needs a doctor," she said shakily, "this - this isn't the answer."
"What else am I supposed to do, bitch?" Pope snapped, squinting at the label on a half empty pill bottle. "Kick back with a beer and watch him die?"
"You can't dose him up again, not with that shit," Vivien spat, "or he'll end up OD'ing."
"Don't you think I know that?" Pope retorted. "Cueball gave him enough to knock out an elephant, man. I'm surprised he even came round. But then again, you're always surprising me, ain't ya, Bills?" he fired at his brother.
"I'm the King of Surprises, man," Billy slurred, "the fucking Santa Claus of them."
Pope looked at his brother for a long moment, his mouth trembling. "Okay, if this isn't the answer, what do we do instead?" he demanded, turning to Vivien, his eyes glinting dangerously as he studied her, almost like he knew she was lying.
"We need to check for an exit wound," Vivien said, thinking fast, her stomach churning, "to see if the bullet's still inside his body."
"That means turning him over, yeah?" Pope said, looking less than happy at the prospect.
Vivien resisted the urge to say duh, clenching her teeth instead as she then tried to roll Billy over, making him scream in agony before passing out with the pain. The next thing she knew, Pope's fist was hitting her face, knocking her sideways, her head smashing off the stage, Tom flinching forwards. With some difficulty, she sat up, gingerly running her fingers over her throbbing face, wincing as they met the jutting ridge of her cheekbone.
"Get the hell over here, bitch!" Pope hollered, his voice echoing around the auditorium.
Cursing him under her breath, Vivien crawled on her hands and knees back over to Billy, hatred for him and his brother threatening to overcome reason.
"Right, we're rolling him over, Red-Coat," Pope said, flexing his fingers theatrically. Between them both, they managed to turn Billy over, Vivien feigning to examine his still bleeding thigh with an expert eye.
"It's alright, there's an exit wound," Vivien said from between gritted teeth as they turned the still thankfully unconcious Billy onto his back again.
"So what's the problem?"
"Like I said, the bullet's clipped the artery, severing it," Vivien parroted, repeating what she had said earlier. "A tourniquet isn't going to be enough to stop the bleeding."
"We know that," Pope snapped, the strain making the veins in his neck bulge, "what else is up with him?"
"I - I think there's internal bleeding," Vivien stuttered, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth.
"Well, deal with it then," Pope said, looking at her as though she was an imbecile.
Vivien just gawped at him. She'd now completely and utterly exhausted her expertise. But then the doors at the back of the auditorium crashed open, making them all look up, only to see Maggie directing two people down the aisle, her silver hand guns trained on their backs, black cloth bags flung over their heads, their hands held out in front of them, hopelessly trying to feel their way forwards. Pope slowly stood up, face changing from white to red to purple as he pulled out his own gun.
"Ohhh, this does not look like it's gonna make me very happy," Pope said to Maggie. "Tell me you have that GTO in the parking lot, or I am gonna be very disappointed."
Instead, Maggie, cool-as-you-please, whipped the bags off the pair's heads, revealing Hal and a striking, albeit, grubby looking woman in her mid thirties, her long dark hair falling to the small of her back, a satchel slung across her chest. Pope just stared at her, looking like he was going to strike something - or somebody. He wanted weaponry, not some woman for chrissake.
"I'm a doctor," Anne said, speaking directly to Pope. "I might be able to help your brother."
Vivien ran her hands down her face at this, all but slumping onto the stage in relief.
"What kind of doctor?" Pope demanded, striding down the stage steps towards her.
"The only one you've got," Anne said with quiet defiance, her gaze travelling over Vivien, almost but not quite ignoring her, before resting on the groaning Billy lying on the stage. "Is that him?" she asked, impulsively stepping forwards, lifting her satchel over her head as she moved. But Pope grabbed her arm, halting her, his jaw tightening.
Anne stiffened, but she stood her ground. Eyes narrowing, Pope suddenly snatched the satchel from her fingers, before rummaging roughly through its contents, Tom watching with worried eyes. Sensing his stare, Anne glanced over her shoulder at Tom, their gazes locking and holding, the air suddenly becoming electric, hinting at a hidden passion.
"If I fix him, will you let us leave?" Anne then asked Pope as he shoved the satchel back into her hands.
"If you fix him, I'll let you live," Pope spat, grabbing Anne by the scruff of the neck and steering her up the steps and onto the stage, before giving her a violent push in Billy's direction, making her stagger, Tom flinching forwards again. Anne recovered her balance, rage rising in her, rage she quelled with coldness. This wasn't about her, it was about Tom, about bringing him back alive. She made her way towards Billy, only to finally falter at the sight of Vivien.
As Anne hesitated, Vivien glanced up, her eyes very big and very blue amongst the filthy landscape of her face, making Anne involuntarily recoil. Nobody human had eyes that blue, the sight of them shocking her to the core in the same way the discovery of the Doctor's two hearts had. Forcing herself to focus, Anne hastily knelt down beside Billy, all but shouldering Vivien out of the way as she checked him over, feeling his pulse, listening to his chest, all too aware that Lourdes would be doing the same for the Doctor amidst the chaos back at base.
Whilst Anne worked, stitching up the severed artery with cold precision, Karen, Dai and Anthony were led back into the auditorium, Cueball and Whitey forcing them to sit down in the front row again, Maggie shoving Hal into the seat beside Tom. Peeling off her plastic gloves, Anne then started bandaging up Billy's thigh, only for him to suddenly jolt awake, making Anne and Vivien reel back in shock.
"What the hell happened!?" Billy bellowed, face bewildered.
"Easy, easy," Pope cajoled, shoving Vivien aside as he knelt down beside his brother.
"What's going on, man!?"
"Calm down, it's alright," Pope said, holding his brother down as Anne taped the bandage in place, her face back to being a blankly beautiful mask. "Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman here just stitched up your artery. She's stopped the bleeding, bro."
Billy didn't look convinced.
"You're gonna be okay, Bills," Pope said, slapping Billy on the shoulder, before standing up and shrugging on his leather jacket.
"Where are you going?" Billy asked, even more confused.
"To rob the 2nd Massachusetts of all their worldly wealth, baby brother," Pope leered, pretending to twirl an imaginary moustache like a pantomime villain.
"I'm coming with you, then," Billy said, trying and failing to sit up.
"You're sitting this dance out," Pope said, jabbing a beringed finger in Billy's direction. "We'll bring you back a nice blonde though." Maggie scoffed at this, turning away so Pope couldn't see the hatred in her eyes.
"What, you seriously expecting me to miss out on all the fun!?" Billy said incredulously.
"I need you here to hold the fort."
"What about the cootie slut?" Billy demanded, his gaze falling on Vivien, finally registering her presence. "Why ain't she in her cage?"
"Turns out she's with the 2nd Mass," Pope said, sounding bored, no longer really caring what was truth and what was a lie. "Double agent extraordinaire by day, whilst warming their great bearded leader's bed by night. Don't kill her unless you have to, and only if I'm here. I don't wanna miss the show."
Tom shrank down in his seat, avoiding Anne's raised eyebrow.
"I ain't got no intention of killing her," Billy said, licking his lips, eying Vivien like she was a slice of prime beef, "not with a body like that." Vivien just stared coldly at him, holding her ground, bile rising in her throat.
Pope rolled his eyes, before turning and leaving, snapping his fingers for the others to follow him, Maggie and Cueball remaining behind to keep guard. Silence soon fell, Billy glancing up at Vivien again, his gaze roving voraciously over her, making her skin crawl. Suddenly, as swift as a snake, Billy lunged forwards, grabbing her bare thigh, fingers digging into her flesh, making her scream in shock and pain.
"HEY!" Tom hollered from the front row, Cueball cocking his gun at him as he tried to get out of his seat, but all Vivien could focus on was Billy's bruising grip on her leg, panic and terror completely overwhelming her. Just as suddenly, he let her go, laughing as she frantically dragged herself away from him, over to where Anne had retreated, just next to the cage.
"Don't be shy, sweetheart," Billy said, lazily scratching his armpit, "I ain't gonna bite ya."
"You already did," Cueball grinned, making Maggie's fingers flex.
Billy's brow furrowed. "So I did," he recalled, studying Vivien with an unsettling gleam in his eyes, "and you taste as good as you look, girl."
Vivien spat on the stage, her face feral in the flickering gloom.
"Oh, I knew I'd like you," Billy said, licking his lips again. "I am gonna enjoy breaking you in, bitch, and when I'm done, I'm gonna break you, nice and slow."
"Fuck you," Vivien whispered, hiding her shaking hands behind her back.
Billy just grinned wolfishly, his attention then switching from Vivien to Anne, his gaze travelling over the other woman, appraising her like an item at auction. Then he shook his head, dismissing her. "No offence, sweetheart, but I like them… young, y'know?" he said to Anne, sounding almost apologetic.
Anne looked away, repulsed. Billy just guffawed, before glancing over at Tom and the others, his gaze dwelling on Karen instead, his face hardening at the sight of her.
"Get up," Billy ordered.
Karen just looked at him, feigning confusion.
"He's talking to you," Maggie said wearily, her dead eyes boring into the blonde girl's.
But Karen remained seated, jaw tightening.
"I said, get up!" Billy shouted, getting angry now.
Karen looked at Hal, something passing between them. Then with great reluctance, she got to her feet.
"That's it," Billy said, looking her up and down. "Now turn around, I wanna see what we got."
Karen turned slowly on the spot, her face reddening with rage, lips pressed together like she was trying not to say something that would result in a bullet between her eyes. Vivien watched the sickening tableau unfold, feeling like she was going to throw up, unable to say anything, completely crippled by her own fear.
"Look at you," Billy said, letting out a low whistle, "you are a pretty one. Between you and our lil English rose here, the three of us are gonna have ourselves a real good time, y'know that?"
Karen exchanged another look with Hal, his face despairing, hers almost but not quite pleading, pride propping her up, Vivien nearly vomiting there and then. Maggie stood up, turning to face the stage, her face pale, almost ghostly in the growing gloom. "Hey," she said, making Anne look at her in confusion, not sure who the woman was addressing, whether it was her or Vivien.
"I'm talking to you," Maggie said, aiming her gun at Anne, making Tom tense up. "Is Billy gonna live?"
"What?" Anne said, even more confused.
Maggie just looked at her like she was an imbecile.
"I - I mean, yes, if his wound doesn't get infected," Anne stuttered, recovering herself.
"Why are you asking her that?" Billy started to ask before being suddenly silenced by a bullet, the gunshot rippling through the air, Anne and Vivien throwing themselves to the floor as Maggie whirled around, shooting Cueball through the chest, silence falling, drilling into Vivien's skull.
"After they grabbed me three months ago," Maggie said brokenly, her voice echoing in the still silence, "Billy... well... let's just say he deserved to die." Maggie stared at Cueball's corpse, her eyes dead and distant. "Cueball thought he was better because he brought chocolates." There was a brief, terrible silence. "He wasn't." She bit her lower lip, looking like she was going to break down and cry, before regaining control of herself, smiling sarcastically at them all. "One nil," she said, stowing her guns away, "one nil."
All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach
Don't you ever tame your demons
But always keep 'em on a leash...