Depth Over Distance
Vivien hugged her knees to her chest, the silence drilling into her skull, the TARDIS key cold against her flesh, still hidden out of sight. After sending back the dishes to be cleaned, Tom had then took himself next door, kipping down for the night on Hal's camp bed, leaving Vivien on her own. After what had felt like forever, she'd eventually fallen into an uneasy sleep, waking up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed, only to find herself alone and imprisoned, Tom and Matt long gone.
Her breakfast had consisted of a solitary bowl of oatmeal and carton of apple juice left for her on the desk by Tom, Vivien falling upon the food like a starving wolf, all but licking the bowl clean. She'd taken some more Tylenol, trying to blot out the ever increasing pain, the numbness now mercifully kicking in. As she'd recognized before, her body had reached its breaking point, taking a bullet almost pushing it over the edge.
She'd attempted to tidy herself up a bit, finger-combing her hair before braiding it back, fastening the end with an elastic band she'd found in one of the desk drawers. There were no mirrors to be found anywhere for love or money, but judging by the Mason family's generally unkempt appearance, Vivien figured they had no use for them.
After that, there had been nothing for Vivien to do but pace the floor, boredom swiftly setting in, giving her too much time to dwell on what had happened to her. She was being hunted by one side and held prisoner by another; Vivien not understanding any of it except that it felt like she was trapped in a spider's web. Now here she was, curled up on an uncomfortable camp bed, hugging her knees to herself, time ticking past slowly and painfully.
Wishing in vain for a cigarette to steady her nerves, she glanced up in surprise as the door opened, not expecting Tom to be back so soon from searching for his son, only to see it was Weaver. He was carrying Matt in his arms, balancing the little boy on his hip like he was a baby, Matt clutching his nose with both hands, blood dripping down his chin. Vivien did a double-take, before hastily clambering off the camp bed, her stomach dropping somewhere near her feet.
"What the hell happened?" she demanded as Weaver dumped Matt down on the desk.
"Never mind that," Weaver growled, "can you help him?"
"Why don't you take him to Anne or Lourdes?" Vivien said, confused.
"One of the civilians took a heart attack," Weaver said abruptly, making for the door, "so they've got their hands full."
"Is his nose broken?" Vivien asked, becoming even more bewildered.
"Why don't you check for yourself?" Weaver said, reaching for the door handle.
"But I'm not qualified," Vivien said, starting to panic, "I'm - I'm not a doctor or a nurse or anything" -
- "It's just a bust nose," Weaver snapped, "if you can handle a severed artery, you can handle that, so get to it girl!" And with that, he was gone, slamming the door behind him, leaving Vivien standing there, shocked. Obviously Tom had been talking about what had gone down in the auditorium, making more of her medical skills than he should have, surprising Vivien, remembering how he'd mocked her incompetence.
Her store of knowledge was slim; her skills even slimmer, a hotchpodge that hindered more than helped. What she had learned had been painfully accrued and acquired, but her execution was crude and makeshift, lacking precision and technique. The Doctor said she underestimated herself, but she'd retorted he was overestimating her. But when Matt let out a small whimper, the sound struck Vivien right in the heart, forcing her to focus. Shoving aside her self-doubt, she stuck her head around the door, making the armed guards glance up.
"I need a basin of water," she said abruptly, not wasting time on explanations.
The guards looked at each other, hesitating.
"It's for Tom Mason's son, you fucking idiots," Vivien snapped, "you seen the state he was in, so fucking get to it!"
One of the guards took off, leaving the other to keep watch. Vivien went back inside the waiting room, ransacking the bags full of belongings for a clean cloth or towel, finding what she wanted in a hold-all. As she did, the guard came through the door with a basin, returning sooner than she'd anticipated, the water slopping over the sides as he set the basin down on the desk with a loud bang. As Vivien bustled about, he just stood there, scratching his armpit, getting on her last nerve, but she forced herself to ignore him, concentrating on the task at hand.
"I need you to sit forwards," Vivien said gently, steering Matt's small hand to his nose so his fingers were on the fleshy part just below the bridge, "and I just need you to pinch under here, and hold it."
Matt did as she said, letting out another whimper.
"It's alright," Vivien soothed, running her hand over his blonde-brown curls, "you're going to be okay." Holding her breath, she tentatively checked the cartilage of his nose, exhaling sharply with relief at finding it wasn't broken. He'd just given his nose a good bang, nothing more. Once the bleeding stopped, she would clean him up, keeping the basin of water and towel on stand-by.
"What happened to him?" the guard asked, startling her.
"I don't know," Vivien said, recovering herself, "you tell me."
"I don't know either," the guard said, shrugging his shoulders, "Weaver just turned up with him."
"You shouldn't be talking to me," Vivien said abruptly, thinking of Grey; the gun in his hand.
The guard just shrugged his shoulders again, looking spectacularly unconcerned at what she was saying.
Vivien stared at him before catching herself. "Sorry," she said, shaking her head, "but I think you're supposed to be burning me at the stake."
"Or hangin' you higher than Hamen?" the guard parried, adjusting the strap of his rifle. "Yeah, I've heard that one."
Brow furrowing, Vivien turned back to Matt, relieved to see the bleeding had started to slow a little bit. "Give it about ten minutes or so, and it should have stopped," she told him, "just keep holding that pinch, and remember to breathe through your mouth, alright?"
Matt gave her the thumbs up, wincing slightly.
"If this is some sort of set-up, I'm not falling for it," Vivien warned, glancing up at the guard, "so you can drop the act."
"What act?" the guard protested. "What you see is what you get, doll-face." He spread his arms wide, making Vivien raise an eyebrow. What was on offer wasn't exactly appealing, his clothes filthy, his face even more so, his hair a riot of unruly brown curls. But beneath the dirt was a firm jaw and steady gaze, his stance that of a soldier's, straight-backed and proud.
"What, you're a honey trap?" Vivien scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "If so, you're the worst one I've ever seen."
"Nah, I forgot, you prefer professors, don't you?" the guard said, grinning at her, revealing a gold tooth.
Vivien turned away from him, pretending to check Matt's nose again. Despite everything, there was something about Tom's dark gaze and broad shoulders that unwillingly held her attention, not that she would admit it. For all his highbrow talk, he was the enemy, and she was his.
"Sorry," the guard apologised, making her glance up at him in surprise, "shouldn't really talk like that in front of the tyke. Little pitchers have ears and shit."
"What's really going on?" Vivien challenged, jaw tightening.
"Beats me," the guard shrugged for the umpteenth time. "I've been totin' this rifle outside your door since dawn."
"Sorry about that," Vivien said, not in the slightest.
"Just doin' my job."
"Couldn't this conversation be classed as insubordination?" Vivien said suddenly, trying another tack.
"What, because you're an alien?"
Vivien nodded, biting her lip.
"You're too beautiful to be an alien," the guard grinned, "not with those eyes."
"I think Weaver would have something to say about you flattering the enemy with false compliments."
"What, you callin' me a liar?" the guard said, feigning hurt. "I's just tellin' you the truth, honey. Alien or not, you're the prettiest girl I've seen this side of the River Charles."
Vivien shook her head, something about his unthreatening flirting raising her spirits against her will. "I'm not actually an alien," she said slowly, "I'm half, half - half alien, half human."
"What your mom an' pop intermarry?" the guard said, brow furrowing. "Like somethin' out of Star Trek?"
"No," Vivien said, shaking her head again, "I... I was taken and changed." She half turned away from him, her voice failing her.
"What, like the harnessed kids?"
"Something like that," Vivien said vaguely, picking up a stapler and turning it over in her hands.
"The guys are sayin' you's with the Skitters," the guard said uneasily, "but I think that's bullshit. You don't look like the kind of girl to hang aroun' with those low-lifes."
"I hang around with the Doctor."
The guard flapped his hand dismissively.
Vivien looked at him for a moment, before turning her attention back to Matt again, relieved to see the bleeding was slowing in earnest now. "What's your name, soldier?" she then asked the guard archly, deliberately forgetting she shouldn't be flirting with the enemy.
"Tector Murphy at your service, ma'am," the guard said, sweeping her a bow.
When Tom came back, it was only to find Vivien, Tector and Matt arrayed around the desk, engaged in an epic game of Monopoly. The sight of them so made him slam the door, startling the trio.
"Dad!" Matt yelled, hurling himself at his father.
"Hey there, little man," Tom said with some difficulty, trying not to wince as Matt grabbed his leg, the movement jolting through his body.
"Did you find Ben?"
"No, not today," Tom said, voice cracking, "but we're going back out tomorrow."
Matt swallowed hard, fighting his disappointment. Tom glanced up at Vivien, sensing her stare, making her look away, feeling like she was intruding. After Matt's nosebleed had stopped, she'd cleaned him up, warning him that he couldn't blow or sniff his nose for the next few hours, before sending him off to change his t-shirt for a clean one, chucking his bloodied one into the laundry pile Tom had shown her the night before.
"Murphy, you're meant to be on perimeter duty," Tom pointed out, struggling to keep his temper.
"I was just keepin' an eye on Vivien an' your son here," Tector said tersely.
"Well, you're dismissed now," Tom said just tersely. "Harrison was meant to be out on a run, not covering you so you could come and play board games."
"Sorry, sir," Tector said, wrinkling up his nose.
"Do I stink or something, Murphy?" Tom snapped. But before Tector could frame a respectful negative, Tom turned on him, swift as a snake. "Y'know what - you're sanitation for the next two weeks," he spat, "see how you like the smell of that."
Tector just saluted Tom before stalking out of the room, all but slamming the door behind him.
"That was way harsh, Dad," Matt said sulkily.
"I want to talk to you, Matthew," Tom said, rounding on his small son, "Weaver told me what happened out in the yard with Wilkins, what he did to you."
Matt looked down at the ground, Vivien getting up out of her chair sensing she wasn't welcome. But Tom halted her with his hand, surprising her.
"I want to talk to you as well," he said abruptly. "So park your ass."
Against her will, Vivien sat back down, clutching the arm-rests for support.
"Wilkins said you just upped and attacked him," Tom then said quietly to Matt, unconsciously flexing his bruised knuckles.
"He was saying bad things about you and Vivien," Matt said reluctantly, "so I kicked him in the shin."
Tom looked away at this, the tips of his ears turning red, knowing full well what Wilkins had been implying.
"Can't you speak to this... this Wilkins's parents?" Vivien said, speaking up against her will, whilst wondering who on earth would name their son Wilkins. To her, it sounded like something you'd call your butler.
Tom laughed bitterly, Matt looking at Vivien as though she was mad. "Wilkins is a six foot something thirty-five year old former star quarterback," Tom said scornfully, "he's not some playground bully."
Vivien stared at Tom in disbelief. "What!?" she said, straightening up. "He's not a kid?"
"Hardly."
"But he busted Matt's nose," Vivien said incredulously.
"He said he didn't."
"Well, he's fucking lying," Vivien snapped, "because I had to clean up the mess."
"Well, he said he didn't."
"But Matt's just a little boy," Vivien said, sounding stunned now, "he could have broken his nose."
"I'm not a little boy," Matt snapped.
"You sure look like one to me," Vivien snapped back. "How old are you, all of seven?"
"I'm nine," Matt scowled.
"Oh," Vivien said, slightly taken aback.
Just then, the door opened, revealing a harried looking Hal.
"We're going out again tomorrow," Tom said, not standing on ceremony.
Hal slumped against the door-frame, his face becoming bitter.
"Would you take Matt out for a moment?" Tom then said, ruffling up Matt's hair. "I have to talk to Vivien in private."
"Sure," Hal said, avoiding looking at Vivien as Tom steered Matt over to him.
Vivien watched as Tom then dropped a kiss on Matt's head, before briefly clasping Hal's shoulder, Vivien realising Hal didn't know about what had happened to his little brother. When he found out, she sensed there would be hell to pay, but Tom seemed anxious to avoid that storm, ushering his sons out into the corridor before closing the door behind him. He then came over to her, careful to keep the desk between them.
"I'm sorry you didn't find your son," Vivien said quietly, breaking the silence.
Tom just nodded, fighting back the sudden tears, feeling like he'd failed his son all over again by not finding him.
"You'll get him back," Vivien said starkly.
"Yeah, whatever."
"Hey" -
- "Don't 'hey' me," Tom snapped, "I just don't need your empty platitudes, alright?"
Vivien stared at him, before looking away, almost but not quite shaking her head. Tom looked at her for a long moment, his gaze guiltily drifting over her, studying the small changes she'd made to her appearance, taking in her black braid, how it fell down to the small of her back, the loose tendrils of hair framing her pale face, softening its sharp contours.
Biting her lip, Vivien got up out of her seat, edging round the desk so she was standing right in front of Tom, her gaze locking with his, its intensity almost immobilizing him. She was young and desirable and he wanted her, he more than knew that, but he had no right to want what he couldn't and shouldn't have.
Last night, when he couldn't sleep, he'd gotten up, seeking a flask of Scotch purloined from Pope's private stash, downing it like a man dying of thirst, reminding him he truly was his father's son, no matter how far he ran from the reality of his heritage. In a state of alcohol-induced sentimentality, he'd sat down on the edge of the desk, staying there until the early dawn, watching Vivien toss and turn in her sleep. In the darkness and fuelled by drink, he'd felt like the brooding hero from a Bronte novel, but in the cold light of day, Tom recoiled from the memory, his actions striking him as desperate and not a little disturbing.
"Do you treat all your subordinates like shit or is Tector the exception to the rule?" Vivien said sarcastically, startling him.
"The 2nd Mass is a machine," Tom said from between gritted teeth, recovering himself, "we can't afford to have the cogs doing their own little dance whenever they feel like it."
Vivien stood there, slightly taken back. "Well, maybe you should vent your vexation on that Wilkins wanker instead of your inferiors," she then pointed out, eyes narrowing.
"I did," Tom said, laughing bitterly, flexing his bruised knuckles again. "Maybe a little bit too much."
"Good," Vivien said abruptly.
Silence fell, dividing them, Vivien fiddling with the frayed edge of her bandage.
"I've to escort you to your new holding," Tom then said stiffly, making her glance up at him, "it's the lock-up next to the Doctor's, so no smart-ass shit. I... I can't keep covering for you, Vivien." His voice cracked a little, making Vivien take a step forwards, bridging the distance between them.
"Will you miss me?" she said quietly, almost absentmindedly trailing her fingers across his broad expanse of chest.
"Would you quit that shit!?" Tom snapped, grabbing her wrist.
"I was just messing," Vivien snapped back, yanking her hand away, the movement jolting her aching shoulder.
"Well don't," Tom said, at the end of his tether now, "and don't try to dazzle Tector into insubordination either."
"Too late," Vivien said smartly, tilting her chin, "the damage's already been done."
Tom just shook his head at her. "How's Matt?" he said abruptly, changing the subject, sick of it.
"He's alright," Vivien said, "and you should have asked that question several sentences ago."
"I've got a lot on my plate, okay?" Tom almost exploded. "So forgive me if my brain blanks out from time to time, yeah?"
Vivien leaned her head against the wall, only to wish she hadn't as brick met bump, making her flinch forwards. The Doctor glanced at her through the mesh, half getting up off his camp bed, clutching his side as he did so, but Vivien flapped her hand at him, making him sit back down again. Pope had finally been removed to the boiler room after making one too many improper passes at Lourdes, his desire to escape the Doctor finally granted.
She glanced up as Tom strode through the swing doors, carrying a tray, the plate piled high with the dreaded rice and chicken, the vegetables having run out the day before. Her stomach turned at the sight of it, but she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. As Tom's gaze met hers, Vivien hastily looked away, focusing on the floor instead, ironically wondering at how history repeated itself. Her eyes had first met his through the bars of a cage, and now here they were, doing the same stupid dance all over again.
"You okay?" Tom asked as he opened the lock-up, sidestepping the soldiers nearby.
"Holding up," Vivien said smartly, "though I could do with that chair you keep banging on about."
"I'm trying to get you a camp bed," Tom said tiredly, closing the door behind him. "Just bear with me."
"I need some more Tylenol as well."
"Y'know, Anne's getting a bit worried about how much you're taking of that stuff," Tom said, brow furrowing as he came over to her. "According to her, you should be overdosing."
"I'm in agony, Tom," Vivien retorted, reaching up for the tray with her good arm.
"Okay, okay," Tom said hurriedly, handing her it, "I'll sort something out."
"I'm an alien hybrid," Vivien snapped, "human medicine works different on me than it does the average mortal."
"I said I'd sort something out, okay?"
Vivien just glared up at him. "How long have I been in this shit-hole school anyways?" she said, gesturing around her.
"A few days?" Tom suggested, not exactly sure. "I don't really know."
Vivien exhaled sharply. "It feels longer than that," she said, "like weeks or something."
"It's been a very... intense few days," Tom amended, taking off his rifle and leaning it against the wall before sitting down beside her, "but then again, it's like that every day. Every moment can literally mean life or death. Time becomes irrelevant."
"Tell me about it," Vivien said, setting the tray down on the ground before lifting the plate up, balancing it in her lap instead. "I have to admit, I was surprised at Weaver's sudden change of heart," she then said, cramming some rice into her mouth, her words becoming muffled as she chewed, "one minute he's shoving Matt at me, the next he's shoving me in here."
"Yeah, well you helped Matt," Tom said irritably, "and that's all that counts."
"I wasn't going to," Vivien said, shovelling another forkful of overcooked rice into her mouth, "not because I didn't want to - I wasn't sure if I could. I'm not exactly... qualified."
"But you did help him," Tom reiterated.
"Yeah, but next time I might not be able to," Vivien snapped, setting her fork down, "I'm not a doctor."
"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said grandiosely, making Vivien glance up.
"And don't we know it," Tom said tersely.
The Doctor just inclined his head, reminding Vivien of royalty for a moment.
"Are you not hungry?" Vivien asked him, her brow furrowing.
"I'd rather starve than eat that sorry excuse of a meal," the Doctor said, jerking his head at the plate she was holding.
"Hey, that's all we have," Tom snapped. "This isn't the Ritz."
"And don't I know it," the Doctor said, smiling nastily.
"What's that brown stuff on the chicken anyways?" Vivien asked, poking it with her fork.
"Paprika," Tom said, glaring at the Doctor.
"Paprika on chicken?"
"Uncle Scott's on cooking duty," Tom said, trying to keep his temper. "Not that he's much improvement on our last chef," he added under his breath, remembering long past bland culinary offerings. But what had been lacking in imagination before, Uncle Scott was now more than making up for it, much to the detriment of Tom's tastebuds.
As Vivien ate, the Doctor occasionally offering a weird witticism, making Tom roll his eyes, the rare moment of rest was suddenly shattered by the sound of screams, making the soldiers spring to life, Tom hastily getting to his feet, Vivien getting to her own, scattering rice and chicken like confetti.
"What the hell!?" Vivien yelped, involuntarily grabbing Tom's arm.
"Stay here," Tom said, snatching up his rifle, "I'll come back for you, I promise." His dark eyes burned into hers, and she nodded, accepting his will against her will. Before she could react, his lips were brushing her brow, his hands on her hips as if they belonged there, and then he was gone, as if he had never been.
Depth over distance was all I asked of you
And I may be foolish to fall as I do...