You Are Not Alone
Vivien sat down on the camp bed, her hands shaking as she watched Tom rifle through one of the bags for a clean shirt, his old one covered in blood, and torn at the shoulder. Grey was dead, Danner putting a bullet between his eyes, after Grey tried and failed to put one between Tom's. As Tom had observed earlier, Grey couldn't shoot straight, and it was this that had saved Tom and Vivien's lives. The bullet had just grazed Tom's temple, Vivien being shot clean through the shoulder instead of the heart like Grey had originally intended.
There had been an almighty row, Weaver hitting the roof, but the damage had already been done. Like a spark to the fuse, the 2nd Mass were in uproar, Weaver calling an impromptu war council which Tom had turned into a talking shop, addressing his audience as if he understood, sweet-talking them into standing down, securing a short-term reprieve. But for once he didn't care, only thinking about seeking sanctuary in his room and holding his sons close in the silence, shutting out what remained of the world.
But Vivien had ruined any hopes he had of refuge, forcing him to send his sons outside, where they were now playing catch in the fading light, trying to pretend nothing had happened. With nowhere to put Vivien, Tom trusting nobody but himself with her welfare, he'd taken her to his own quarters, stationing Dai and Anthony outside his door. It was here where Vivien had been checked over, Anne reluctantly stitching and bandaging up her wound, before even more reluctantly prescribing some painkillers out of their limited stock.
After that, Tom had taken Vivien to see the Doctor, if only to shut the alien up, the Doctor having kicked off in spectacular style after learning she'd been shot, and now here they were, at an impasse, Vivien watching him with wide eyes, her chin trembling. Sighing heavily, Tom took his ruined checked shirt off, Vivien doing a double-take at the scars on his broad back, not even thinking she should look away as he got changed or that he should undress elsewhere.
"What happened to your back?" she asked hoarsely, her fingers curling round the metal edge of the camp bed.
"It was my father," Tom said quietly, quickly pulling on a blue plaid button-down shirt, "he liked going out on the lash and he liked lashing me, so there you have it." Ignoring Vivien's aghast face, he pulled out one of Hal's long sleeved tops from the pile of clothes, silently handing it to her before going into his sons' room, buttoning up his shirt as he moved, leaving her to get changed.
When Tom had judged enough time had passed for her to be decently dressed, he returned back to his own room, Vivien glancing up as he came through the doorway. She was clutching the ruined red smock top in her hand, the TARDIS key tucked out of sight underneath the high neckline of Hal's grey top. It fitted her well enough, both Hal and her being of roughly the same height, but it drained the colour from her already pale face, lending a strange corpse-like aspect to her features.
"Put it in the laundry pile over there," Tom instructed, dumping his own dirty shirt.
"It's ripped," Vivien said, brow furrowing.
"You can sew, can't you?"
Vivien nodded.
"Well, we make do and mend around here," Tom explained, taking the smock top from her, "waste not and want not." He chucked the top onto the pile, hesitating before sitting down beside Vivien on the camp bed, the springs creaking beneath him. To his relief, she didn't cringe or edge away from him, just remaining where she was, their hands almost but not quite touching.
"A man's dead... because... because of me," she said with a weird sort of wonder, sounding strangely childish.
"Don't... don't think about it," Tom said, exhaling sharply. "Just don't."
At this she got up, crossing the room, putting distance between them, distance Tom destroyed by following her, his footsteps making Vivien whirl around. "Leave me alone!" she spat, tears burning her eyes.
Tom stared at her, before retreating to the window instead, turning his back on her. Vivien sat down on the edge of the desk, curling her shaking hands into fists, feeling like she was about to fall. A man was dead because of her. The fact he'd tried to kill her at point blank range hadn't registered yet, Vivien still in deep shock, her head reeling with reality.
"You'll - you'll be staying here," Tom said with some difficulty, turning back round to face her, "for the time being anyways" -
- "I don't want to be here" -
- "Jesus Christ, I'm not going to try anything," Tom exploded, "you're safe here, okay? You're safe with me."
Vivien stared at him, her hand flying to her shoulder, reminding Tom of how he'd failed her.
"I'm sorry," he said, half turning away from her, "I'm... I'm just sorry, alright?"
"You said this would happen," she said dully, making him glance up at her, "that you couldn't stop bullets with your bare hands."
"I know," Tom said, just wanting to be away from her, "but it won't happen again" - Vivien turned her back on him this time, cutting him off. "Well, I'm - I'm going to take a nap now," he said awkwardly, feeling like a fool, his fists clenching and clenching by his sides. "I haven't had any sleep for at least the past twenty-four hours, so you're going to have to shift for yourself. S'long as you don't try to kill me in my sleep, we're good."
Vivien glanced at the darkening sky, trying not to think of where the TARDIS could be, what might be happening to her, the TARDIS key cold against her flesh, a constant reminder reinforcing her pain. Sitting down on the edge of the desk, ignoring her aching shoulder, she twisted the gold band around her finger, once again trying and failing to work out why she was being hunted, and why the group of Skitters had spared her, only to draw a complete blank.
She stared at Tom for what seemed like the umpteenth time, studying his bearded face now slack in sleep, taking in his irregular features and how he was too tall for the camp bed, a good portion of his lower body hanging off the edge. He slept with his arms folded across his chest like a mummy, something that amused her against her will despite everything.
Biting her lip, she stood up, before walking around the room, prowling its length. The principal's office consisted of two rooms, the reception area, where Tom had set up base, a door linking it to the principal's office, where the boys slept. She bypassed the pile of bags bursting with clothes and personal items, focusing instead on the photos Hal had set out on a shelf just above Tom's camp bed, unaware it was a ritual of sorts Hal carried out whenever they made camp, arranging the photos in the same order every time.
Vivien glanced down at Tom again, making sure he was still asleep, before reaching over and lifting up what was the centrepiece of the display, an awkwardly staged family photograph, the type taken in a studio. In the picture, the Mason family were the epitome of middle-class domesticity, Tom almost unrecognizable, dressed in a shirt and tie, face clean-shaven, dark eyes filled with that earnest boyish expression that reluctantly caught Vivien so. His wife sat beside him, glamorous and groomed, with long blonde Veronica Lake hair, their sons sitting on the floor in front of them, Vivien realising the slightly dorky looking boy in the middle was Tom's missing son, Ben.
"Enjoying the picture-show?" Tom asked, startling Vivien.
"For fuc" - she began before falling silent at the sight of Tom's face. "I'm sorry," she then said, setting the photo back on the shelf.
"What for?" Tom said, propping himself up on his elbow.
"For pawing through your pictures," Vivien said guiltily.
"Can't blame you for trying to get into the head of your enemy," Tom said sarcastically, "if I were you, I'd want to know what made me tick too."
Vivien looked away, her chin trembling, making Tom relent against his will.
"Look, just... just meet me somewhere in the middle, Vivien," Tom said tiredly, sitting up. "That's all I'm asking."
"How can I?" Vivien said, voice cracking. "We exist on opposite ends of the spectrum to one another."
Tom hesitated, wrongfooted. "I know you can protect yourself," he said quietly, trying a different tactic, "but this is a whole different ball game, one you don't know how to play" -
- "How can you play it better than I can?" Vivien challenged, blue eyes blazing. "What just happened was an epic fail on your part. You're no better than me at playing the so called game, so don't make out you are."
Tom looked away, conceding defeat. Vivien was right, and he was wrong. She'd been shot on his watch, breaking all the rules he lived by. He hadn't learned his lesson after what happened with the Doctor, and she'd suffered for it. Without thinking, he took her bandaged hand in his, startling Vivien. But she didn't draw back from him, some other instinct overruling her. "I'm sorry," he said simply, "I'm sorry for failing you."
Vivien studied him, her jaw tightening. "It doesn't matter," she said, "it happened. Que sera, and all that shit."
Tom just studied her in return, before letting go of her hand, half turning away from her. Vivien stood there, hesitating before reaching out and smoothing back his hair, her touch turning Tom to stone. Without a word, she leaned down, her lips brushing his brow, where the bullet had scraped his skin, and then she was gone, retreating to the window, looking out at what was left of her world, Tom sinking back onto the camp bed, his heart at war with himself.
Well, I know when it's finally done
This whole life's a hallucination
You're not alone in anything
You're not alone in trying
To be…
Night had finally fallen, Tom getting up from the camp bed to go and fetch in his sons, Vivien taking another Tylenol, the pain making its crippling presence felt again. Just as Tom headed for the door, Matt burst through it, cheering as he did so, a world away from the hysterical little boy from earlier. "I won! I won!" he crowed, grabbing his father's knee with one hand whilst punching the air triumphantly with the other.
"We weren't even racing," Hal said irritably as he came through the door balancing two trays with admirable aplomb.
"We so were," Matt protested.
"How you holding up, old man?" Hal asked Tom as he set the trays on the desk, Vivien eying them with some disgust.
"I'll live," Tom said lightly, ruffling up Matt's hair.
"That's my top you're wearing," Hal said suddenly to Vivien, startling her.
"So?" Vivien said before she could stop herself.
"So, it's mine," Hal retorted.
"Leave it be, Hal," Tom said, sitting down in the desk chair as Matt clambered up into his lap. "Here," he said, pushing the other tray over to Vivien, "you must be starving." As she stood there, Tom picked up his plastic fork, ready to tuck in, only to stop short at Vivien's face. "What is it, sweetheart?" he asked, brow furrowing.
"I... I hate chicken," Vivien said awkwardly, gesturing to the tray.
"Sorry," Tom said, handing her his plate and picking up the other, "I didn't know."
Vivien sat down and began to morosely pick at the vegetables, Tom valiantly tackling the chicken, trying not to let his disgust show, the chicken tasting like burnt rubber.
Hal grinned at Tom's pained expression. "Yeah, the chicken is pretty vile, man," he said, making a face at Matt who pulled one back, "Mattie here nearly threw his up."
"Don't call me Mattie," Matt protested.
"Hey, no fighting," Tom admonished, turning his attention to the rice instead. "I'm going out to look for Ben tomorrow," he then said to Hal, making his son straighten up, every inch of him on sudden alert, "properly this time, no more hit and runs."
"But Weaver's got me on night sentry duty for the rest of this week," Hal snapped, "as well as keeping me and Karen on standby for any scouting he needs done."
"You can still keep an eye out," Tom said, "and that way we can cover more ground."
Hal nodded reluctantly, looking like he wanted to punch a wall.
"Can the Doctor get a tray?" Vivien asked Tom quietly, taking advantage of the lull in the conversation.
"Lourdes is dealing with that," Hal interjected.
"Thanks," Vivien said uneasily, glancing down at her plate again.
"I better get going," Hal said abruptly, getting to his feet, unable to stand being in Vivien's company for much longer.
"Take care," Tom said, holding his hand out to Hal, who took it.
"Always do," Hal said, knotting his fingers through Tom's.
Tom just nodded, Hal nodding back, before suddenly stooping down and hugging his father, Tom wrapping his arm around Hal's shoulder, holding his son close, Matt throwing both arms around his father and brother.
"Group hug!" Matt bellowed.
"Whoa, watch it little man," Tom said, wincing, "walking wounded here."
"Okay, I really have to go now," Hal said, straightening up, "or I might miss the fun."
"What, you constitute freezing your ass off as fun?" Tom said, pretending to frown. "I thought I raised you better than that, son."
"Your idea of fun is arrange your books in alphabetical order, Dad," Hal said, rolling his eyes, "so I can hardly expect you to understand my idea of it."
"Spoken like a true Mason," Tom said, "I might just make a history professor of you yet."
"If you do, I'll be very surprised," Hal said, making for the door. "Bye, Mattie," he taunted his little brother, waggling his fingers at him.
"Jackass," Matt muttered, making Vivien snort into her vegetables.
"Hey, watch your language," Tom reprimanded.
"You have rice in your beard," Matt said contemptuously.
"Thank you for that impertinent observation," Tom said sarcastically, wiping his beard clean with his wrist, "I'm very grateful."
"Whatever," Matt said, sliding off his knee, "I'm going to bed." As he made for his room, he stopped at the door, seeming to hesitate. "Good-night, Vivien," he said in a rush, nearly making Vivien spit out her mouthful of rice.
"Good-night," she replied, recovering herself.
"You owe me a bedtime story," Matt then fired at his father, before disappearing through the doorway, closing the door behind him.
"Whoa, your kid is a force of nature," Vivien said, turning to Tom.
"So are you," Tom pointed out, picking up his plate again.
"What was with the 'goodnight Vivien'?" she asked, brow furrowing.
Tom just shrugged his shoulders, as in the dark as she was. Out of all his sons, Matt was the most unpredictable, possessing a mercurial streak that drove Tom round the bend. He knew his son was curious about Vivien, the forbidden always luring Matt into mischief, often getting him into trouble. Sighing heavily, Tom got up out of his chair, making Vivien's brow furrow.
"Where you going?" she asked, confused.
"As you heard, I owe his Highness a bedtime story," Tom said, repressing a yawn, "so I may be a while."
"I'll just put the finishing touches to my escape plan while you're gone," Vivien said deadpan.
"You do that," Tom countered tiredly, lifting up his plate. "Maybe I'll come with you. I'm needing a good holiday."