What We Are
"You okay?" Hal asked, giving Vivien a dirty look, as though she, and not Pope, had been the one to assault Weaver
"Bloody bastard bust my trap when he knocked me down," Weaver growled, dabbing at his bloodied lip with a grubby hanky, "took me dirty, so he did."
"That seems to be Pope's style, sir," Anthony said darkly, thinking of Click.
"No honour amongst thieves," Dai said quietly, his thoughts running along the same lines.
"He should be goddamn strung up like one," Karen spat, her fists clenching by her sides.
"Never mind about him," Weaver said abruptly, looking round at them all, "we're evacuating everyone to this school, instead of the factory, and I want two of you lot to scout ahead," Weaver continued, his gaze dwelling on Hal and Karen in particular, "just to double-check the coast is still clear, especially after that Beamer attack. Any takers?"
Karen put her hand up in full expectation of Hal doing the same, but he didn't, Dai picking up the slack.
"Good," Weaver said, nodding in satisfaction. "The rest of you, with me, now" -
- "Sir," Hal said, stepping forwards, Weaver stopping, confused
"Yes, son?" Weaver said, shoving his bloodied hanky back into his pocket.
"What about her?" Hal asked, jerking his head at Vivien.
"What about her?" Weaver echoed, brow furrowing.
"Are you seriously bringing her back with us?" Hal said, thinking of the error they had made in capturing and bringing the Doctor back to camp. "She was seen with the Skitters for chrissake."
Weaver's face turned crimson. "You challenging me, boy?" he said from between gritted teeth, trying and failing to stay calm, even though he shared Hal's doubts. "Well, I suppose the apple obviously doesn't fall far from the tree."
"I don't understand what you mean, sir," Hal said, understanding full well, his hackles rising.
"Understand this, son," Weaver spat, rounding on Hal, "what is it with Masons disobeying direct orders, eh? If you're not running off to save your father's academic ass, inveigling Dr. Glass and Mike in your outlandish scheme, going against everything I said; you're questioning my judgement over letting that blue-eyed cat out of the bag and bringing her back to base."
Hal's jaw tightened, everyone else pretending to be very occupied with their fingernails or something in the middle distance so they could avoid looking at him. Hal then just shook his head before stalking off, followed by Anthony and the others, Karen and Dai heading off to get their motorbikes. Left with Weaver, Vivien wrapped her arms around herself, trying and failing not to show her fear, the cold night air biting into her bare skin, making her fervently wish for a fleece, her resistance to the climate now beginning to run low.
Weaver studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing, trying and failing to figure her out, before glancing over at Radnanski who was being loaded onto a stretcher, his fat face dazed, mouth slack. As he was carried away, Vivien watched him go with guilty eyes, before casting her gaze to the ground, avoiding the accusing stares of the soldiers surrounding her.
Brow furrowing, Weaver turned his back on her, ignoring the mouthful of abuse Pope hurled at him as he was dragged past by two fighters. Seeing Tom emerge from the distant treeline, Weaver hesitated before hollering MASON! making everyone within a ten feet radius jump violently, Tom's head jerking up in confusion. Weaver gestured impatiently at him to come over, Tom pausing before tiredly shouldering his rifle, feeling like he was about to fall sleep on his feet, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him.
"Hey, Cambridge," Maggie called, making Tom turn around.
"Hey," Tom said uneasily. "What's up?"
"It's about your honey-trap," Maggie said, glancing over at Vivien, "figured you might want a heads-up on her."
Tom studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Is she really with the Skitters, then?" he then asked as he tightened the strap of his rifle. "Or was Pope talking bullshit?"
"I don't know," Maggie said, shrugging her shoulders as she stowed away her own guns. "Pope went out the other night with the rest of his low-lifes, and came back with her, saying they saw her with a bunch of cooties, all cosy-cosy, like she was one of their gang."
"Nothing came after her?"
"Nope."
Tom studied her again, his brow furrowing even further. "You really want to earn your citizenship with the 2nd Mass?" he said suddenly, running his hand across his beard.
"Yeah, I do," Maggie said abruptly, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You got a problem with that?"
"No, I don't," Tom said coolly, "but it's not just about earning citizenship, but also trust."
"Trust costs," Maggie said just coolly, "and I don't think you can afford the price of mine."
Tom looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes becoming distant, only to start violently as Weaver hollered MASON! again.
"Looks like Loverboy wants you," Maggie said smartly before stalking off, leaving Tom speechless. Pulling himself together, he headed over to Weaver, shoulders hunching, sensing a storm was about to break out over his head.
"Recognize this?" Weaver asked abruptly, holding out Tom's flick-knife.
Tom did a double-take. "What the" - he began, falling silent as his gaze fell upon Vivien.
"Do the math, Mason," Weaver snapped, shoving the flick-knife at Tom, who took it, rage rising in him, Weaver then leaving, his elbow clipping Tom's. Tom stood there for a second, staring dazedly down at the pearl-like pattern decorating the flick-knife's handle, before suddenly stalking over to Vivien, the soldiers parting to let him pass, reluctantly lowering their rifles as they did.
"What the hell you playing at, stealing my knife like that?" Tom demanded as he drew level with her.
"That sounds like a song," Vivien retorted.
"Tom: The Musical, it has quite the ring," Tom said sarcastically, stowing his flick-knife away.
"The latest stage sensation."
"Well, you can't beat Broadway, can you?" Tom countered.
"Does the wisecracking mean the lecture's over, then?" Vivien said, dropping her arms to her sides.
"No, the lecture's not over," Tom said from between gritted teeth. "I'll just continue it later."
"Oh, there's going to be a later then?" Vivien said provocatively. "I hope later includes a candle-lit meal and a bottle of your best wine."
"Shut up," Tom snapped, the tips of his ears turning crimson.
Vivien just smirked, satisfied she'd struck yet another nerve.
"Sir," a voice called, making Tom turn around. A fighter approached him, a young woman in her early twenties, stringy blonde hair falling around her freckled face. As she neared them, she held out a handful of rope to Tom. "Found some in an abandoned car back the way," she explained, firing him a gap-toothed smile as Tom took the rope from her.
"Well done, Heather," Tom praised, making her grin grow even wider. She saluted him before turning smartly on her heel and marching back into the crowd.
"See you got a little groupie there," Vivien said smartly.
Tom just ignored her, focusing on binding her wrists together instead, tying the rope more tightly than he preferred, but knowing he had to. As he did, he noted the deep cut on her hand, making his brow furrow.
"I'm surprised," Vivien said, glancing at him and then the rope suggestively, "you don't look the type."
"How do you know I'm not?" Tom said in an undertone, his eyes meeting hers for a long moment. Vivien stared at him, wrongfooted by his reaction. She was expecting him to turn crimson, not a comeback. Tom just raised his eyebrows mockingly at her, before glancing up as Weaver yelled MASON! again, repressing a deep sigh as he checked the rope knots one last time, before striding over to where Weaver stood by the pick-up, his face livid beneath the brim of his skip-hat.
"Look at what that little bitch did to the truck!" Weaver exclaimed, kicking the broken glass littering the grass.
Tom stood there, surveying the damage, rage rising in him again. He'd become not a little emotionally attached to the old red Chevy and Vivien violating it almost irrationally upset him, seeing it as a personal affront. "Bitch doesn't even cover it," he muttered, running his hand almost tenderly over the scarred paintwork.
"We'll need to get Uncle Scott to patch it up," Weaver said, clicking his tongue. "Don't see how he'll wangle it though."
"What about Jamil?" Tom said, dropping his hand to his side.
"Jamil who?"
"Big good-looking guy with dreadlocks," Tom explained, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Is handy with his hands. Knows his way around a tool-box."
"Civilian?" Weaver hazarded.
"Yeah."
Weaver digested this nugget of information for a moment. "Get Uncle Scott to take a look at the truck first," Weaver said, "and if he can't do anything, we'll try this... Jamil out for size."
Tom just nodded, struggling to subdue his annoyance. It always got to him the way Weaver dismissed anyone not in uniform, only tolerating the civilian-turned-fighters because civilians outnumbered soldiers ten to one, and he needed the muscle. "How's your lip?" Tom asked Weaver abruptly, before glancing over at Vivien, his eye catching hers, making his jaw tighten.
"I'll live," Weaver said just as abruptly.
Tom just nodded again, his gaze boring into Vivien's.
"Are you done eyeballing that piece of alien-loving ass?" Weaver said dead-pan. "Or should we bring out some chairs and make ourselves comfortable?"
"I'm just trying to keep tabs on her," Tom said tersely, turning back to Weaver.
"What, and it has to be you doing the tabbing?"
Tom looked away, knowing where this was going.
"I heard she stole your knife after cosying up to you," Weaver then said dangerously. "And I also heard you were getting up, close and personal with her in that auditorium."
"She saved my life, and she saved Hal's," Tom said from between gritted teeth.
"What, so does that constitute a PDA?"
"Hey, whilst she was putting her neck on the line for us, she was also trying to save the life of Pope's scumbag of a brother, even after he molested her. Explain that one, Dan, because I certainly can't," Tom snapped, rumpling up his dark hair, unaware the gesture struck Vivien right in the solar plexus, reminding her of the Doctor.
"She stopped Pope getting away," Weaver said, startling Tom.
"What?"
"She stopped Pope getting away," Weaver repeated, looking at Tom like he was an imbecile.
"I don't get it, Dan, I really don't," Tom said, pacing the ground now, running his hand across his beard. "What the hell is her game? Why is she helping us?" Against his will, he remembered the Doctor pulling the same stunt over the food run, the memory making his treacherous conscience twinge.
"None of that matters," Weaver said coldly. "You're going to take that blue-eyed bint, and keep her contained whilst we head to this new locale..."
As Weaver droned on, Tom's eyes met Vivien's again, brown upon blue, human against hybrid.
Shotgun, aimed at my heart, you got one
Tear me apart and then some…
Tom's hands gripped the steering wheel, almost for dear life, his knuckles turning white, his eye catching Vivien's again, before hastily looking away. The pick-up sputtered on at a snail's pace, following the convoy of vehicles driving through the morning dawn, the sunlight edging the world with gold.
"Thank you," Tom said suddenly, startling Vivien.
"For what?" Vivien said, brow furrowing.
"For saving my son."
This time it was Vivien's turn to look away. Tom studied her for a second, before staring out the grubby windscreen instead, feeling like one of the insects caught in the wipers, wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut. "You're just a hypocrite, you know that?" Vivien then said quietly, her gaze firmly fixed on the footwell. "You have no right to truss me up like a fucking Christmas turkey."
"Pope said he saw you with the Skitters," Tom flared up. "If that's not reason enough, I don't know what is."
"So you playing the same game as Pope, then?" Vivien speculated. "Got a brother you're going to feed me to?"
"Don't be so goddamn ridiculous," Tom spat back, his stomach turning at her insinuation. "Nobody is going to hurt you, not on my watch anyways."
"Oh yeah, you're my great bearded leader," Vivien said, rolling her eyes, "how could I forget?"
"I mean it," Tom snapped. "Nobody's going to lay a finger on you, not in any sense."
Vivien studied him for a moment before looking away again. "If you really want to thank me, make it quick, will you?" she said tiredly. "I don't fancy dying in a long and lingering fashion."
"You're not going to die," Tom said, rolling his eyes this time.
"If your beloved 2nd Mass doesn't do it, the other lot will," she said, shrugging her shoulder. "Call me choosy, but I'll take a bullet over claws any day."
Tom glanced sharply at her. "Why would they hurt you?" he said, brow furrowing. "Where's the logic in that?"
Vivien looked at him like he was mad. "Why would they not?" she said in disbelief.
"You tell me."
"Where should I start, then?"
"From the beginning, where else?"
Vivien's jaw tightened. "Let's just say I know how Sarah Connor feels," she said cryptically, glancing out of the window.
Tom hesitated, trying to work out the Terminator reference, before it confusingly clicked. "What, they're hunting you?" Tom said in disbelief.
"Oh, round of applause," Vivien said, rolling her eyes again. "You win a stuffed dromedary."
Tom stared down at the steering wheel, trying to wrap his head around what she'd just said. "They're seriously hunting you?" he said, brow furrowing. "But that doesn't make any sense."
"What, and you think it makes sense to me?" Vivien spat. "I don't get it either."
"But Pope said" -
- "Pope got the wrong end of the stick," Vivien said tiredly, "these... Skitters he saw me with, they... they took me - kept me in a basement before letting me go, and don't ask me why, because I don't bloody know, alright?"
"But" -
- "But what?"
"But what about the Doctor?" Tom said from between gritted teeth, the words being wrenched from him. "Did he abduct you against your will as well? Or did he just hypnotize you onto his spaceship?"
Vivien stared at him, all the blood draining from her face.
"Yeah, we have him," Tom said abruptly.
"Is - is" -
- "He's alive," Tom said even more abruptly, "if that's what you're trying to ask."
Vivien looked out of the window again, her chin trembling, shoulders hunching.
Something about her stricken profile made Tom shift guiltily in his seat, before staring at the winding road ahead again, trying to marshal his thoughts together. "Look, it's... it's not that I don't believe you," he said slowly, "it's just I don't know what to believe."
"I'm not here to hurt anyone, Tom," Vivien flared up, the sound of his name on her lips making him tense up. "If you're going to believe anything, believe that."
Tom glanced at her, his gaze unwillingly tracing the heart-shaped curve of her filthy face, the wideness of those eyes that were so inhumanly blue. She looked back at him, her own gaze strangely steady, making him look away again, hands gripping the steering wheel even harder. "What is it with you and the Doctor?" Tom snapped, bitter curiosity getting the better of him. "I mean, what's with him full stop?"
"What, is he messing with your head?" Vivien snorted. "Good on him, you deserve it."
Tom glared at her. "We caught him helping a Skitter," he said, struggling to keep his temper, "but then he started trying to help us - well, he did, but that's not the point. We don't know what the deal is with him. He's alien but looks human, and he speaks with an estuary English accent but comes from another planet. It's... it's insane - I mean, he's insane full stop."
"He's dangerous," Vivien said, making Tom look at her sharply, "but he can help you, if you let him, especially with what's going on. This is kind of his forte, the whole alien invasion thing."
Tom's jaw tightened. "What, he's some sort of interplanetary Good Samaritan, then?" he said scornfully.
"Pretty much, yeah."
"So what are you, then? His handmaiden? Someone to dust down his suit after he saves the world?"
"I'm his assistant."
"Really?" Tom asked, insultingly incredulous.
"I am!" Vivien protested. "What else would I be?"
"His lady friend?"
Vivien did a double-take. "He's not my bloody boyfriend," she snapped, recovering herself. "And why would you care anyways if he was?"
"I don't."
"I think you do."
"Well, you're wrong."
"Why ask, then?"
"I'm just curious, that's all."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
"Cats have nine lives, and I have a few left," Tom parried, swinging the truck round. "So shoot. Spill the beans on your torrid romance."
"There is no torrid romance," Vivien said from between gritted teeth. "I'd rather eat my own eyeballs."
"Good," Tom said grimly. "Glad to hear it."
Another twenty or so minutes passed in silence, the stillness drilling into Tom's skull, Vivien's shoulders now hunched up to her ears, the truck still moving at a snail's pace. Tom didn't know what the delay was, but he suspected Uncle Scott was behind it. Biting back a curse, he suddenly slammed down on the brakes as the van in front abruptly came to a halt, the two vehicles almost crashing into one another. Vivien flew forwards, and then backwards, the seatbelt nearly strangling her, making her gasp in shock.
"Jesus, you okay?" Tom demanded, leaning over and yanking it from her throat.
"I'll live," Vivien retorted. "No thanks to you."
"It was my pleasure," Tom said sarcastically, before rolling down the window and sticking his head out. "What the hell you playing at!?" he fired at Danner who strode towards him, an AK-47 slung over his shoulder, his face like thunder.
"What the hell are you playin' at, Mason!?" Danner flung back. "You've been crawlin' up my ass for the past mile or so!"
"In your dreams" -
- "Hey, that's enough," Weaver said, appearing out of nowhere, "stand down, both of you."
Tom tried to get a grip of himself, gripping the steering wheel for support instead. "What's with the hold-up?" Tom asked abruptly.
"Uncle Scott," Weaver answered just as abruptly, straightening his skip-hat.
"Thought so," Tom said, slumping back in his seat.
"We may be here for a while," Weaver said reluctantly, "but the coast is clear - for now. Should be safe enough until Uncle Scott sorts it out."
"Get Jamil on it, or we'll be here all day," Tom said, struggling to keep his temper under control.
Before Weaver could answer with a negative, Danner spoke up, surprising Tom. "Yeah, get Jamil on it," he agreed, popping a stick of gum into his mouth, "he can fix a car engine blindfolded."
Weaver stared at Danner like the suggestion was sedition. "Fine," Weaver then said, flinging up his hands, "go and get Jamil on it." And with that, he stalked off, Danner giving Tom one last glare before following him.
"Asshole," Tom muttered, before thumping the dashboard with his fist, making Vivien flinch.
"Christ on a cracker!" she exclaimed, doing a Danner and glaring at him.
"Sorry," Tom said, not in the slightest.
"Never mind that," Vivien said irritably, "shut that bloody window. I'm sitting in a draught here."
"Maybe you shouldn't total innocent trucks, then," Tom said from between gritted teeth as he rolled up the window again.
Vivien glanced over her shoulder at the empty window frame behind her, her lips thinning. "What else was I supposed to do?" she mumbled. "Let you whisk me away to God knows where? I don't think so, dingbat."
Tom glanced at her, amused against his will. "You cold?" he said gruffly, noting her even more hunched shoulders.
"Obviously."
Rolling his eyes, Tom shrugged off his jacket before unzipping his fleece and draping it over Vivien's shoulders. "Better?" he said even more gruffly.
Vivien glanced at him, her brow furrowing. "Thanks," she said slowly, her stomach choosing that moment to rumble loudly.
"Sounds like someone's got the munchies," Tom said in a caustic undertone, rummaging through his jacket pockets, before pulling out two breakfast bars and a carton of orange juice.
"Wow, you're quite the walking buffet, aren't we?" Vivien said sarcastically as he handed his haul over to her.
"Just eat up and shut up," Tom said tiredly, slumping back in his seat again.
"So, you're second-in-command of the 2nd Mass?" Vivien said, ignoring his warning.
"Yeah."
"How long?"
"I just got promoted," Tom admitted against his will, watching her work her way through the breakfast bars, her bound hands doing nothing to stop their destruction. "God, you remind me of a termite," he said not a little nervously as she crammed the rest into her mouth.
"I'malilbigforatermite."
Tom just glanced out of the window, his jaw working.
Vivien gulped down the rest of granola and strawberry, before speaking again. "How is the resistance really going?" she asked, necking back some orange juice. "You look a little advanced to me for someone that's so called starting out."
Tom glanced at her, raising his eyebrows. "You seriously expect me to answer that?" he said sceptically.
"I'm not some secret agent," Vivien said, her own brows drawing together. "I can't spy for toffee."
"Well, what are you, then?" Tom snapped. "From where I'm sitting, all I see is a traitor to the human race."
Vivien stared at him, her lower lip wobbling, the gesture oddly childish. Without warning, she slammed the carton of orange juice down on the dashboard, before twisting in her seat and tugging up the bottom of Pope's shirt, exposing a bare expanse of back. "Look," she said from between gritted teeth, "look and see what I am."
Tom hesitated, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Careful to keep his distance, he reluctantly studied her spine, half expecting to see a harness, only for his eye to be caught by what looked like a brand mark, a single sickle moon shape, the pattern burned into her flesh, marring her ivory skin. He glanced up at her, his brow furrowing. "What - what is that?" he asked, drawing back from her.
"I was branded," Vivien said abruptly, pulling down Pope's shirt.
"By - by who? And - and what for?" Tom asked, his head starting to spin.
"I - I was taken," she said with great difficulty, her gaze fixed on the dashboard, "by - by aliens. Not the ones you're fighting, different ones. Their race was very old, and had once been very powerful, but they lost their empire a long time ago, their species almost dying with it - their biological process involved the female dying to give life to the off-spring, so those that were left started searching for an alternative, a - a surrogate. But everyone they experimented on died, except - except me. I survived the process. They said - they said I was strong" -
Tom looked away as she broke down, burying her face in her bound hands. He sat there listening to her sobs, thinking of Ben, how he had failed him. With shaking hands, he pulled out a crumpled hanky from his jean pocket, before giving it to her, Vivien wiping her filthy face on it, smearing even more dirt over her skin. "I'm... I'm sorry," he said quietly, the ghost of guilt stirring in him again.
"Sorry for what?" Vivien snapped, raising her head. "That I'm a hybrid? I can't change who I am, Tom" -
- "But that's precisely what they did, Vivien," Tom retorted. "They changed you."
Vivien looked away again. "What does it matter?" she said brokenly. "I'm damned either way, whether by what I am, or who I'm with."
Tom's jaw tightened. "Where does the Doctor fit into this?" he asked, shrugging on his jacket again.
"He saved me."
This time it was Tom that looked away.
"You can't grasp the concept of a good alien, can you?" Vivien said bitterly, wiping her eyes with the heel of her bound hands.
"I'm second-in-command of an alien resistance movement," Tom burst out, "of course I can't grasp the concept of a good alien! Such a thing doesn't and cannot exist!"
"I'm living proof that it does," Vivien retorted. "If the Doctor hadn't saved me, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd be dead, alright, just some hollowed out carcass drifting in space" -
- "You just said he was dangerous," Tom pointed out, feeling like he was going round in circles.
Vivien looked away, caught in her own trap.
"It doesn't matter about the Doctor anyways," Tom said tiredly, running his hand across his beard, "he's captured and contained, and that's all that counts" -
- "But he can help you!" Vivien burst out, her blue eyes blazing.
"We're winning this war on our own" -
- "It doesn't look like that from where I'm sitting," Vivien said smartly, "all I see is a bunch of tin soldiers making a lot of noise and not much else."
Tom's jaw tightened at her constant contradictions. "Battle of Narva, Swedes against the Russians, year 1700," he said suddenly, startling her. "Obscure little skirmish in the Great Northern War. It's only significant to military historians because it's such an outstanding example of how surprise and initiative can turn the tables and overwhelm far superior numbers."
Vivien resisted the urge to roll her eyes, settling on making a face instead.
"The Russians outnumbered the Swedish troops, but by using the element of surprise, and with the weather on their side, the Swedish army somehow managed to outwit an enemy five times their own size and under two hours at that," Tom continued, undeterred by her derision, gesticulating wildly with his large hands, going into full history professor mode, "it - it was just a question of strategy. The Russians were far more powerful, and the last thing they expected was for the Swedes to bring the fight to them, which is precisely why they were so hopelessly routed."
"What, so the 2nd Mass are the Swedish then? This is your Narva?" Vivien said sceptically
"Precisely."
Vivien just raised her eyebrows at him, Tom raising his own in return, their gazes locking and holding. For a long moment they just stared at one another, faces inches apart, Vivien studying Tom, trying to get a handle on him. He looked knackered, with bags etched under his eyes, eyes that weren't as dark as she'd originally believed them to be, the brown flecked with bottle green. Tom shifted nervously in his seat, running his hand even more nervously across his beard.
"What are you looking at?" he asked gruffly.
"I'm just admiring your beard," Vivien said tartly. "It's got that right amount of hairiness - you know, not too long, not too short..."
Tom raised his eyebrows again, before bursting out laughing, amused against his will. "You're nuts, you know that?" he said, shaking his head.
"No, I don't know," Vivien scowled, her nostrils flaring.
"You should know why."
"Maybe you're making it too hard" -
- "And you're making this harder than it should be," he said before he could stop himself, silencing her.
For a moment, they just stared at each other again, and then Vivien hastily looked out of the window, heart thudding strangely in her chest. Tom sat there, studying her profile, the tilt of her determined chin and full lips, before turning away from her, wishing himself a million miles away from his enemy.