Miles To Go

"Are we there yet?" Vivien pretended to pout, making Tom roll his eyes.

"No, we're obviously not," he said, pulling out a water bottle from his inside pocket. Jamil was still wrestling with Uncle Scott's car engine, and Tom could only hope that he would wield his usual magic and get them moving again. Being stuck in a traffic jam with an alien-human hybrid was starting to make him feel like he was trapped in a Stephen King story-line.

"Can I have some?" Vivien asked, startling him. "Please?" she hastily amended, holding out her bound hands for the water bottle.

Tom stared at her, before recovering himself. "Yeah, sure," he said, unscrewing the lid for her, before handing it over, watching as she greedily gulped the water down, spilling it down the front of Pope's shirt.

"Thanks," she said, giving it back to him. "My throat was starting to feel like the Sahara Desert there."

"Yeah, whatever," Tom said abruptly, making her stare at him.

"What's your problem?" Vivien snapped. "I'm only trying to be civil."

"You're my problem," Tom snapped back, slamming the bottle down on the dashboard, "and don't waste your time trying to be civil, it's not going to work."

"I'm not trying to friend request my way to freedom, pal," Vivien retorted, "I just don't fancy a bloodbath, alright?"

"There isn't going to be a bloodbath," Tom said tersely, "I told you, and I'll tell you again, nobody's going to hurt you, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever," Vivien muttered, echoing his earlier words.

This time it was Tom's turn to stare at her. "Give me your hand," he said suddenly, startling her this time.

Vivien gaped at him.

"Go on, give me it," he prompted, jerking his head impatiently at her.

"Would you like it gift-wrapped, sir?" Vivien said, adopting a snooty sales assistant voice, trying to cover up her confusion. "Maybe with a little bow to top it off?"

"Just give me your goddamn hand!" Tom snapped, pulling out a flask of whisky from his pocket, making Vivien raise her eyebrows.

"Bigger on the inside, eh?" she taunted.

"Hand, now!"

"You could at least buy me a drink first," Vivien protested as he snatched her palm, before roughly turning it over, exposing her wound, the skin smeared with drying blood, sticky and oozing. "Yeah, it's red, same as everyone else's," she said, noting his raised eyebrows.

"I don't care if your blood is every shade of the rainbow," Tom snapped, "I'm just trying to work out if you need stitches or not."

"I don't," Vivien snapped back. "It's not deep enough for that. It's just a clean cut, no glass in it."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," Tom said, weighing up bottle and flask, trying to decide which one to use first, "you're the first and foremost medical authority around here."

Vivien flushed hotly, remembering how she'd fudged her way through her diagnosis of Billy's wound back in the auditorium.

"Yeah, I remember," Tom said, reading her mind like a book, before finally deciding on the water, tipping it over her hand. Vivien winced as he ruthlessly cleaned and dried the wound with some crumpled but clean tissues, before sluicing her skin with alcohol, disinfecting the wound even further, burning her flesh, making Vivien bite down on her lip. She lifted an eyebrow as he proceeded to tightly bind her hand with a hanky befrilled and monogrammed to within an inch of its life.

"Don't worry, it's clean," Tom snapped, noting her askance glance at it.

"Is it yours?" Vivien asked. "Or does it belong to one of your many admirers?"

"For chrissake," Tom said tiredly. "Don't you ever let up?"

"Is it that Heather's?" Vivien guessed, goading him. "Though she doesn't strike me as the frilly type, not with her filthy paws the size of hams."

Tom glanced out of the window, his jaw working.

"Or is it Anne's?" Vivien taunted further. "She looks like she fancies a piece of Mason pie" -

- "Would you just shut up!?" Tom exploded, whirling on her, shocking her into silence.

"Keep your beard on," Vivien muttered, recovering herself. "I was only winding you up."

"Do I look like a bloody clock to you?"

"Cuckoo, yes," Vivien said smartly.

"Just be quiet," Tom said, holding up his hands, almost pleading now. "Can you do that, for five minutes, please?"

"Only if you're done being Florence Nightingale," Vivien drawled. "Or are you going to kiss it all better for me?"

"Only if you ask me very nicely," Tom retorted.

"Yeah, when hell freezes over," Vivien scoffed.

"We're already in hell," Tom pointed out, slumping back in his seat, "just in case you haven't noticed."

Everybody takes forever to fall asleep
Everybody's got a life they don't want to keep
Everybody needs a prayer, and needs a friend
Everybody knows the world's about to end

After much delay, the 2nd Mass finally reached the school, wasting no time in making it their own. Anne and Lourdes appropriated one of the science classrooms, turning it into a makeshift medical clinic, taking advantage of the spacious layout and interconnecting rooms. In a far corner, lay the Doctor, his suit torn and bloodied, his shoelaces loose. He stirred weakly, his side killing him despite the bandages and painkillers Lourdes had lavished on him. There had been a moment where he'd thought he was heading for the great TARDIS in the sky, but he'd prevailed, managing to keep his pretty face much to his pride. He rolled onto his back, making the camp bed's springs creak in protest, attracting Lourdes's attention.

Taking a beating was a bit different from taking a bullet, the former easier to recover from than the latter. There had been a moment where he'd thought he was heading for the great TARDIS in the sky, but he'd prevailed, managing to keep his pretty face much to his pride. He rolled onto his back, making the camp bed's springs creak in protest, attracting Lourdes's attention.

"Leave him be," Anne said as she tied her hair back. "We've got better things to do than pamper the enemy."

"But" -

- "You've done all you can for him, Lourdes," Anne said, dropping her hands to her sides, "you've stitched and cleaned him up, using our resources to do so might I add" -

- "Alright, alright," Lourdes said, holding her hands up. "I'm sorry."

Anne just nodded before turning her attention back to the boxes waiting to be unpacked, Lourdes studying the Doctor for a long moment before biting her lip and going over to the window, looking out at what was left of the world. The Doctor glanced at her, his gaze then falling upon several soldiers standing nearby, watching him as he watched them.

"Bastard's awake," one of them pointed out, making the obvious even more obvious.

"And good morning to you, too," the Doctor said blearily, wishing in vain for a four-poster bed.

"Shut your mouth, shit-face," another snarled.

"If you like," the Doctor murmured before slipping back into oblivion.

Several classrooms away, Vivien stared unseeingly at the blackboard behind Weaver, her head spinning. It was like a storm was roaring through her but she couldn't give it voice. Weaver had been cross-examining her for the past twenty minutes, forcing her to give him a potted history of who she was, what she was and why she was with the Doctor, as well as information on all the aliens she had ever encountered.

That had then segued into why she'd been in South Boston and all that had happened afterwards, right up to now. She'd tried to stick to the truth as much as possible, repeating what she had already told Tom, only omitting any mention of the TARDIS and time-travelling, the TARDIS key feeling like a ball and chain around her neck, something warning her these soldiers would sacrifice anything to have that kind of power.

But she could tell by the way Weaver was looking at her that her story wasn't adding up, that he didn't believe her. The whole scenario surrounding her capture and release by the Skitters was confusing him as much as her. The only explanation he could come up with was that she was a trap being set for the 2nd Mass, an accusation she'd fervently and feverishly denied until she was blue in the face, an accusation he kept returning to and repeating.

"You say the Skitters were searching for you," Weaver said for the umpteenth time, "yet this particular group of Skitters secretly let you go? From where I'm standing, that makes no sense at all."

Vivien raised her head, her gaze meeting Tom's. He shook his head, whether at her or Weaver, she didn't know, but she took some bitter comfort from his presence. He'd doggedly refused to leave the room, much to Weaver's annoyance.

"If what you're saying is true, you're obviously important to these bastards," Weaver said, circling her, "but why?"

"I don't know," Vivien said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Is it because of what you are?" Weaver pressed. "Are you their next offensive?"

Vivien just stared at the floor, hatred coursing through her veins for him.

"Keeping you here could kill everyone under this roof," Weaver said, struggling to maintain his composure, "so you better answer the goddamn question, girl!"

"They don't know she's here," Tom said quickly, stepping into the fray.

"And how do you know this nugget of wisdom?" Weaver said, rounding on him.

"Margaret," Tom said tiredly.

"Margaret?"

"She said that nothing had come after Vivien" -

- "So?"

"So it means they don't have any intel on her whereabouts" -

- "So we just let her make us a sitting target for the Skitters" -

- "We're already a sitting target," Tom said, sitting down on the edge of a desk, "regardless of Vivien being here or not. What I'm saying is, if she's telling the truth, if they're really hunting her, surely they would have found her by now?"

"Maybe not now, but it'll only be a matter of time before they do," Weaver said grimly, "and we'll be standing right between them and their prize."

Vivien raised her head. "I've been in this shithole for a while now," she said, jerking her head at the surrounding school, "thanks to Pope and his merry men. If anything was coming for me, it would have been here long before now."

"They could be on their way here right now," Weaver pointed out, reiterating his argument.

"If they were, you'd know all about it," Vivien retorted.

"We do know all about it, girl," Weaver spat. "We've lost everything to these bastards so don't you sit there and patronize us, alien on high" -

- "Fuck you," Vivien hissed.

Weaver studied her for a moment, his jaw tightening. "Doesn't it strike you as suspicious that the Skitters would deposit you in Acton of all places?" Weaver said in a low voice, kneeling down in front of her. "Where the 2nd Massachusetts is stationed, huh?"

Vivien met his stare head-on. "I'm not a trap," she repeated from between gritted teeth.

"Then what are you?" Weaver repeated back. "If they want you alive, why did they bomb seven bells out of South Boston where you were?"

"I never said they wanted me alive," Vivien snapped.

"They want to kill you, then?"

"I don't know what they want, except that they want me!" Vivien exploded. "As for bombing South Boston, let's just call that collateral damage."

Weaver raised his eyebrows.

"My appearance in South Boston was... unexpected," Vivien said, dropping her gaze to the ground.

"I don't understand your statement."

Vivien looked away.

Weaver studied her for a moment again, before turning to Tom. "Maybe she's our golden ticket to ending this war," he said slowly, trying out his theory for size, "if we could get Porter's scientists onto her, do some dissection" -

- "I don't think so," Tom interjected, shocked.

"It's not up to you," Weaver said coldly. "It's up to Porter. If he sanctions it" -

- "Over my dead body he will," Tom snapped, standing up.

"If it's your dead body you're volunteering," Vivien said, shrugging a shoulder, "be my guest. I'm not complaining."

Tom just stared at her, before breaking down in mirthless laughter. Weaver glanced between them both, brow furrowing. He straightened his skip-hat, before clearing his throat, trying to re-assert his control of the conversation. "We know you can bend light and howl like a banshee," he fired at Vivien, startling her, "and that you're slightly more durable than the average human" -

- "It doesn't make me immortal," Vivien spat, "I'm not Highlander, pal."

"Not with that accent," Weaver said darkly.

"Don't start the red-coat rigmarole," Vivien retorted, "I've heard enough of that from Pope."

"And I've heard a lot from Pope about you," Weaver said, his grey eyes glittering dangerously.

"Where's the Doctor?" Vivien demanded, changing the subject.

"He's... alive," Weaver said, making Vivien's face pale, "and unfortunately so."

"What are you talking about, Dan?" Tom said, bewildered.

"It was self-defence," Weaver said obliquely, averting his eyes.

"Self-defence?" Tom echoed wildly. "What the hell do you mean by self-defence?"

"Why do you care?" Weaver said, dodging the question

"The Doctor is in protective custody," Tom said in disbelief, "his welfare is my responsibility!"

"What the hell have you done to him?" Vivien whispered, her voice shaking, tears springing to her eyes.

"Bastard tried to escape," Weaver said coldly, "putting the safety of the 2nd Mass at risk, so Mike was forced to turn his gun on him."

"What the hell?" Tom said in shock. "Was that even necessary?"

"Of course it was necessary!"

Tom stared at him. "You're meant to keep him alive," he said slowly, "not kill him. That was a direct order" –

- "I've got better things to do," Weaver said abruptly, "and babysitting some suit-wearing alien isn't one of them."

"What, so you hurt him instead?" Vivien shrieked, lunging forwards, Tom hastily restraining her. "Get your hands off me!" she shouted at him, angrily dashing away her tears with the inside of her bound wrists. Tom backed away from her, dropping his arms almost helplessly to his sides.

"This was no good today," Weaver fired at Tom, ignoring her outburst. "We almost lost you and your squad, and then you bring that thing back to base, putting us all in danger."

"Hey" -

- "Don't 'hey' me, Mason," Weaver snapped. "You're the one that got your team taken hostage."

"I didn't exactly plan for that to happen" -

- "What like you didn't 'exactly' plan on picking up that piece of alien ass?"

"Porter wants information," Tom retorted, "and she's goddamn five feet nine inches of alien intel!" he bellowed, jabbing his finger at Vivien. "That's why I brought her back because I obey orders unlike some I could mention" -

- "We almost lost our best weapon and a lot of our food," Weaver exploded, "and from what I gathered, that was her work, sending Hal back here to haggle as though we were buying a turkey for Thanksgiving!"

"Pope was going to slit the boy's throat!" Vivien spat. "I had to do something!"

"You didn't have to do anything," Weaver said, whirling on her, "because it was nothing to do with you. You're outside all decent human society, isolated, alone. You don't belong here, least of all with us."

Vivien stared at him, her lower lip trembling before dropping her gaze to the ground again.

Weaver just shook his head, before turning back to Tom. "We almost lost everything to a bunch of criminals with AKs and road flares," Weaver said, sliding his thumbs into the loops of his belt. "This time it worked out, but there's a reason we have a chain of command, Tom, and you better damn well follow it in future."

Rage rose in Tom at this, at the unfairness of it all, but he bit back a bitter retort, choosing instead to stay silent, his shoulders hunching under the strain.

"Take that thing," Weaver said, flapping his hand at Vivien, "and get it cleaned up and checked over by Anne."

Jaw tightening, Tom stooped down and helped Vivien to her feet, avoiding her eyes.

"We'll continue this conversation later," Weaver aimed at Vivien, only to stop short at a knock on the door. "Come in," Weaver called out, glaring at Vivien.

The door opened, only to reveal Pope of all people, his hands bound behind him, a gun pressed against the small of his back by a stern faced soldier. Pope shot Vivien a wink, making her turn away in disgust, Tom stepping in front of her, blocking her from Pope's sight.

"See you've still got your Professor performing tricks like a prize poodle, Red-Coat," Pope said, craning his neck, "are you gonna send him to Crufts next year?"

"Shut your mouth," Weaver snapped. "Why the hell is he here?" he then demanded, firing his question at the soldier.

"Says he wanted to speak to you, sir," the soldier replied in a monotone. "Had important intel to impart, sir."

"And what might that be?" Weaver growled, rounding on Pope.

"It's my birthday today," Pope said casually, tossing his hair back, "and I really don't fancy spending it in that broom closet you put me in, so I'd like an upgrade pretty please with sugar on top, and one of those little umbrellas you get in cocktails. Cheers."

For a moment Weaver just stood there, his fists clenching by his side, Pope smirking, enjoying the show. "Your day's just getting better and better, Mason," he then said, rounding on Tom this time, "you can personally escort Pope to his new humble abode."

"Where's that?"

"Connected to one of the science classrooms," Weaver explained abruptly, "is an ante-room of sorts - has a locked off area divided into two parts. The Doctor is being contained in one of them. Only problem is, because of his current condition and the threat he poses to the 2nd Mass, we had to compromise."

"Compromise on what?" Tom asked, starting to lose his temper, wishing Weaver would just get to the point.

"Anne set up shop in the science classroom in question," Weaver said from between gritted teeth, "which means we're in the uncomfortable position of containing prisoners next to patients."

Tom just nodded, making Vivien scoff in derision. He glanced over his shoulder at her, only to wish he hadn't. She looked like she could cheerfully strangle him with her bare hands.

"Hold up," Pope said, brow furrowing, "who's this Doctor dude? Why's he such a threat? I don't wanna be sharing cell space with some psychopath."

"The Doctor is an alien with two hearts who happens to look human and speak with an English accent," Weaver said, straightening his skip-hat, "and his little doxy here is an alien-human hybrid who has what seems to be the whole Skitter Empire hot on her tail. Why they want her, I don't know, but I think it's to humanity's advantage they don't get their filthy claws on her or her side-burned, suit-wearing freak of a boyfriend, which is why you'll be sharing cell space with the latter."

Pope just stared at him, speechless.

"Ah silence," Weaver sighed, "the sweetest sound I've heard all day."

Heads turned as the group made their way down the hall, Tom's stern face silencing any words that might have been said. Vivien glanced up at him, her own face hardening. He was gripping her elbow, his fingers biting into her skin, forming manacles around her flesh, whilst Pope was in the custody of a female soldier, her face deliberately blank.

"Nice death-stare," Tom observed, amused against his will. "Been practising?"

"Every night in front of my bedroom mirror," Vivien retorted.

"I can tell," Tom said, stifling a grim grin. "Practice obviously makes perfect."

Vivien just looked away, nostrils flaring.

"And that's one-nil to the human race," Pope said, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up, Pope," Tom said from between gritted teeth, remembering Maggie had said something similar back at the auditorium.

"My name's John, actually," Pope drawled, slowing to a stop, forcing the others to do the same, "just in case you two were thinking of naming your first freak of a child after me, you know, since I did bring you both together" -

- "Shut your goddamn mouth," Tom snapped, "or by God I'll shut it for you."

"Chill, Cambridge," Pope said, rolling his eyes again, "I was just messin' with ya." His gaze fell upon Vivien instead, mocking and malicious. "Y'know, I can just imagine the two of you walking hand in hand over some heath somewhere," he said, voice becoming deliberately distant, "your kids running around in Rupert the Bear jumpers, lil legs skittering everywhere" -

Vivien suddenly lunged at Pope, Tom roughly yanking her back. "Get the hell off me!" she bellowed, twisting and turning, trying to break free.

Tom forced her to face him, his face pale. "For chrissake, get a grip," he hissed, startling her back into semblance, "don't make this harder on yourself than it is already."

Vivien stared at him before falling still, her face inscrutable under his scrutiny. The group then started their slow progression down the hall again, Pope casting the soldier escorting him a lazy smile. "Nice day for it, isn't it?" he said, the soldier ignoring him, her face as stern as ever. "So what are you gonna do with me?" Pope then asked Tom as they passed a row of lockers. "You're not gonna offer me anything like asylum, are you?"

"No," Tom shortly, steering Vivien out of the way of some people shifting desks and chairs out of a classroom.

"What about Maggie?"

"She wants to earn her citizenship in the 2nd Mass by being a fighter," Tom said, craning his neck.

"Sold me out, the little bitch," Pope muttered.

"You should've taken me up on my offer."

"Join your tattered remnants? I think I'll take a rest for a little while," Pope retorted. "Being the leader of a post-apocalyptic gang of outlaws has been exhausting."

Tom just rolled his eyes before guiding Vivien over to where Anne was studying a display cabinet of school trophies, face lost in thought. "Hey," he said, making her glance up.

"Hey," Anne said, her smile slipping at the sight of Vivien.

"Hi to you too," Vivien snapped, not liking the way Anne was looking at her.

"That's enough," Tom said, tightening his grip on her arm. "I was just going to come looking for you," he said in an undertone to Anne, his gaze locking with hers, something passing between them, reminding Vivien of the moment she'd witnessed back at the auditorium.

Anne looked away, breaking the spell. "What for?" she said coldly, shaking the hair back from her face.

"Vivien here needs checked over," Tom said awkwardly, the coolness of Anne's manner unsettling him, "she's got some injuries that need dealt with."

"And clothes as well," Pope interjected, "Cinderella here is flashin' too much flesh for my taste, if not yours" -

- "Shut the hell" -

- "And I want my shirt back," Pope continued, "washed, mind you."

"Shut your goddamn trap," the soldier said, speaking up for the first time since they left the room. "Or you'll have worse things to worry about than laundry."

Pope studied her for a moment, before falling silent, looking impressed by her authority against his will.

"Can I bring her to the clinic, then?" Tom pressed, seeing Anne wasn't onside.

"I can't... help her," Anne said uneasily.

"Why not?"

"She's with the Skitters," Anne said, shooting Vivien a sidelong glance of repulsion.

"Anne, please" -

- "They killed my son, Tom," Anne said angrily. "His blood is on her hands."

"They killed my wife and took my own son," Tom said, voice cracking, "but we still owe it to ourselves to be better than them, don't we?"

Anne ducked her head, her long dark hair falling across her face, obscuring it from Tom's judgement.

"Fine," she finally said. "I'll do it."

"Thanks," Tom said slowly, "and thanks for coming out with Hal," he added as an almost afterthought.

"You'd do it for me," Anne said, staring into the distance.

"Yeah, I would," Tom said, his voice low and intimate again, making Anne glance at him, her icy act thawing as her cheeks reddened. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, Pope clearing his throat pointedly, making Tom hastily look away, Anne hesitating before just as hastily disappearing into the crowd, muttering about medical supplies as she moved.

As Tom then steered Vivien forwards again, a little boy came running up to them, his small face framed by a halo of dark blonde curls.. "Dad!" Matt exclaimed excitedly, out of breath.

"What's wrong?" Tom demanded, panic rising in him.

"You said you'd play catch with me," Matt said as though it was the most obvious thing ever.

Tom exhaled sharply, panic swiftly replaced by annoyance. He ran his hand across his beard, trying to contain his emotions. It wasn't right to take out his frustration on his son, but it was increasingly starting to feel like he was being boxed in, leaving him no room to manoeuvre.

"Don't mind us, Cambridge," Pope said, startling Tom out of his thoughts. "We've got all day."

"I'll come out later, alright?" Tom said quickly.

But Matt just ignored him, being too busy staring at Vivien for anything else, his small face curious. Vivien shifted uncomfortably on the spot, Tom hastily stepping in front of her, blocking her from Matt's sight.

"Run along, kid," Pope said, "freak-show's over."

Matt just scowled at Pope, before running off, throwing Vivien another curious glance over his shoulder as he went.