Like I Was The Devil
Gritting her teeth, Vivien scrubbed some stranger's shirt, her mind still awhirl several days on with what the women had said on that first night, how they viewed survival amongst the 2nd Mass. She was realising too late how much Tom had sheltered her from the fray. Now she was earning her citizenship, her eyes were being painfully opened to the different dynamics that existed within the alien resistance movement.
Travelling with the Doctor had broadened her horizons, the pair never staying in the one place for long, always moving on, finding their next adventure. But everything in her old life that she'd thought she'd left behind was now her daily bread, the small-mindedness of strangers, their petty rivalries, their inherent selfishness and most of all, their fear of the unknown.
Maggie's band of bitches, as Maggie herself deemed them, had come to awkwardly accept Vivien as one of their number without really accepting her, their compliments always undercut by insults. But they treated Maggie the same, undermining her authority at every turn whilst obeying her otherwise, Vivien and Maggie part of the pack without being part of it.
Everybody else Vivien encountered viewed her with barely hidden hostility, fear coming first, all thoughts of friendship forsaken. Childcare detail had become a gauntlet to run, parents and carers acting as if she was going to eat their children as soon as their backs were turned. Working in the medical clinic had seen the Doctor become closed off to her, focusing on his work with exaggerated fervency, shutting her out. Laundry was the only place she found peace, scrubbing stopping her from thinking about the limbo she now lived, hunted and isolated on either side.
Throwing the shirt into the basket of wet clothes, not looking forwards to lugging it outside and hanging its contents up to dry out back, Vivien picked up a pair of jeans, only for her head to snap up at the sound of Tom's voice, making her freeze like a fool. Like the last time she'd seen him, he had Matt balanced on his hip, his back turned to her as he spoke to the woman who oversaw laundry detail, Jacquetta, a bad tempered fading French beauty in her forties.
"It's his favourite figurine," Tom was explaining, half dead on his feet, "Batman" -
- "It's Spiderman," Matt whined, pulling his thumb out of his mouth. "I can't sleep without it, Dad."
"Then maybe you should be more careful with your toys," Tom said, struggling to keep his temper under control, his mind momentarily wandering to the flask of whiskey tucked behind the bookcase in his quarters, finding release in the thought of it.
With his searches for Ben spiralling into dead ends, the strain of being second-in-command of the 2nd Mass becoming almost too hard to bear and his increasing obsession with Vivien, forcing himself to avoid her at all costs, Tom had turned to drink to hold him together, his body burning for it right now.
But he reasoned it was better to burn for alcohol than for Vivien, yet in the depths of the night when he couldn't sleep, he would get up and pace the floor, thinking of Vivien's face and her unearthly eyes, sometimes praying for God to give him peace, so he could give the girl up.
"Holmes, get over here," Jacquetta yelled, face impatient, making Vivien reluctantly rise to her feet, the prospect of facing Tom again suddenly terrifying.
Tom turned around, all the blood draining from his face, Vivien's gaze meeting his, blue battling brown.
"Mr. Mason's son has lost his favourite toy," Jacquetta said abruptly, annoyance inflaming her French accent, "a Spiderman figurine. Have you discovered any such object during your duties?"
"I haven't done Mr. Mason's laundry yet," Vivien said sullenly, sarcastically spinning Tom's title out, making him half turn away, every insolent syllable striking him like a slap.
"Why not?" Jacquetta snapped, looming over her. "You know Mr. Mason and Captain Weaver's personal items come before the rest of the proletarian populace" -
- "Whoa, that's enough," Tom interjected hurriedly, not in the mood for Jacquetta's theatricals, "me and Dan aren't quite kings yet – I can assure you we can wait in line for our clean smalls like the rest of the 2nd Mass."
"Well, you're just going to have to wait," Vivien snapped, "I have miles to go before I get to your basket."
"That's okay," Tom said tersely, struggling not to stare at her indecently low neckline, "if you just show me where the basket is, I can check his pockets, see if it's there."
Vivien shrugged her shoulders before turning and leading the way, the sway of her hips making Tom's jaw tighten, his dark gaze determinedly fixed on the fall of black hair tumbling down her back, the harsh light throwing its hidden red highlights into relief. If it wasn't want tearing him apart, it was guilt, his wife barely buried before he was casting covetous glances in another woman's direction, one that was half his age to boot.
"Here's your precious basket," Vivien said, gesturing to it, Tom setting Matt down, before kneeling down on the ground, rifling through the small stinking mountain that was his and his sons' laundry. Picking up one of Matt's crumpled checked shirts, he went through the pockets, only to hit paydirt, Matt snatching the Spiderman figure out of his hand, crowing in triumph before taking off, throwing himself through the doors without a backwards glance.
"And thank you, Dad, for finding it," Tom muttered to himself, standing up, shaking his head at his son's lack of manners.
Vivien scoffed before she could stop herself, Tom's air of martyrdom amusing her, making Tom glance down at her, caught unawares by her crooked smile, the two of them staring at one another, before Tom hastily turned away, running his hand along the back of his neck, scrunching up his eyes.
"I – I should go," he said abruptly, making to leave, only for Vivien to grab his arm, her touch turning him to stone.
"Why are you avoiding me?" she said suddenly, her voice cracking, making his heart fracture in turn.
"First of all, don't lay hands on your superiors," Tom snapped, tearing himself out her hold, "and don't come whining to me about trivialities. All I require is that you do your work and keep your head down."
Vivien took a startled step back, all the blood draining from her face, the hatred in his voice hitting her like a bullet, not realising it was hatred aimed at himself and not her. And then he was gone, striding through the doors, Vivien watching them swing shut behind him, before returning to her work, keeping her head down.
"Lady Fawcett has the most loveliest hat..."
Vivien pretended to take a sip from her plastic teacup, nodding her head at appropriate intervals, only half listening. She was just starting her shift on childcare detail, having spent the rest of the morning hanging up clothes to dry, forcing herself to forget the look on Tom's face, the memory making her grip tighten around her teacup.
He meant something to her, and there was no use pretending otherwise, Vivien finally facing facts, the knowledge frightening her, not knowing what to do next. This wasn't a straightforward seduction, her usual hit and run she could flee from. She didn't know how to handle Tom, how to win her way, whether she even could. If she could get him out of her system before he really got a hold on her, maybe she could walk away from this, her heart untouched, but as she watched him stride across the schoolyard, she realised the damage was already done, Vivien in the middle before she'd even begun.
"Miss. Holmes, would you like more tea?"
Vivien tore her gaze away from Tom, holding out her teacup instead, the little girl pompously pouring more. She preferred looking after the younger children, the elder ones being apprehensive or aggressive towards her, their minds poisoned by their parents. The tea party continued its progress, their hostess pretending to cut slices of cake for them all, Vivien pronouncing it to be delicious, kissing her fingers like an Italian in mock appreciation, sending the little girls into fits of giggles, all dignity forgotten.
Tom stood in the doorway, watching Vivien comically hold court, his face uncharacteristically dark, his hands curled up into balls, rammed into his jacket pockets. He didn't know what was happening to him, why he was becoming so caught by her, his unhealthy obsession evolving into something else, an emotion he didn't want to decipher. He barely knew her, yet it didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was keeping his distance, keeping his heart under control, but he was out of control, unable to stop his downwards spiral into destruction.
He had made a promise to himself to stay away from her, to leave before he was lost, but he'd been lost since the second he'd set eyes on her face. He had fought his growing attraction to Anne, winning the war, and he'd equally crushed down his treacherous thoughts about taking up with Heather just for the sake of his sons, knowing she would make a good stepmother to them. The memory of Rebecca had made him hesitate on both counts, and he'd remained determinedly alone until Vivien's arrival had torn his carefully constructed world apart.
Tom wasn't naïve; he knew he was no beauty, the epitome of awkward, as well as being twice Vivien's age. He felt like a lecherous old man, his dark gaze watching her every move, his almost every thought about her, driving him to drinking to blot out the memory of her face. She had unknowingly resurrected all of his old insecurities, making him doubt himself. He'd spent the majority of his early adult life alone, too awkward to even think about approaching women, spending his high school years hiding behind books, hiding his bruises at the same time. He'd been a nerd of the first order, abused at home and in high school, college only serving to increase his awkwardness, Tom spending long hours hiding in the library until the day he'd met Rebecca, changing his life forever.
Forcing his thoughts aside, Tom turned to leave, only to barrel into Danner, who grabbed his arm, annoyed. "Where's the fuckin' fire, Mason?" Danner spat, only to freeze at the look on Tom's face, startled at the expression in his eyes. "Whoa, what's yanked your chain?" he asked, glancing over Tom's shoulder, only to see Vivien prancing about the picnic table, the little girls dancing around her like a Maypole.
A smirk played across Danner's lips, amused at Tom's angst. He'd always disliked Tom, the way he played the working man's hero, so earnest and righteous, holding Anne and Heather at arm's length, preferring to sleep alone in his chaste camp bed. Now it turned out that Mason was a man and not a monk after all.
"You wanna be her baby daddy, then?" Danner said quietly, nudging Tom in the side, as though he was speaking to Tom man to man. He figured he knew the domestic direction Tom's more carnal thoughts ran in, the sudden savage curl of Tom's lips telling Danner he'd successfully struck a nerve. "Why don't you man up and do somethin' about it?" he hissed, glancing over at Vivien again. "But are you too busy fallin' apart to fuckin' tell her how you feel? We all know you're barely holdin' it together, Mason, goin' to pieces about your boy bein' out there; that you're drownin' your sorrows behind the scenes' – and don't deny it, I can smell it on your breath."
Tom dropped his gaze to the ground, his fists clenching by his sides.
"I know you can't handle this second-in-command shtick," Danner said, eyes narrowing, "that you're beginnin' to buckle. So when you do, I'll be first in line to take your place. Think about that, prick."
As evening fell, the first shift of dinner was served, Tom carrying his tray through the crowd, looking for a spare seat, finding none. As he turned around, it was only to catch sight of Vivien in a far corner, surrounded by empty seats, everybody else deliberately sitting at the far end of the table to avoid her. She held her head high, eating her food with an almost arrogant air, but Tom wasn't deceived by her defiance, something about the sight of her so striking him right in the heart.
"Hey," he said as he approached her end of the table, making everybody stare at him, "can I sit here?"
Vivien glanced over at the others who instantly looked away, a mixture of civilians and fighters who knew too well they were defying their second-in-command's strictures about including Vivien as one of their own. "Be my guest," she said coldly, "I was leaving anyways."
"Don't," Tom snapped, before closing his eyes, trying to take back control. "I'm sorry," he said, trying and failing for calm, "but you've obviously not finished your food."
Vivien's jaw tightened, but she didn't say anything else, only resuming eating again.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Tom sat down beside her, nearly knocking over the table as he did, making Vivien jump violently.
"Jesus, are you a one man wrecking crew!?" she snapped, steadying her cup, flat lemonade slopping over the sides.
"I try," Tom said sarcastically, spooning the inevitable rice into his mouth, the bland taste livened up by some soya sauce scavenged on a previous supply run.
Vivien looked at him for a long moment, a terrible calm suddenly descending upon her, finally accepting how much she wanted him, even as it went against all rhyme and reason. It had always been leading to this, from the moment she'd first lain eyes on him, denying her desires. With the different fathers of her children, there had always been a beginning, middle and end, both parties following the prescribed course of courtship, but this was different, Vivien losing the battle with her heart before it had even begun.
"How are you feeling?" Tom said quietly, feeling his stomach turn at the memory of her being hurt, reminding him all over again how he'd broken his promise to protect her.
Vivien glanced away, her grip tightening on her plastic fork, trying and failing to marshal her thoughts in order. She was Tom's prisoner, yet here she sat, imagining a million ways to get him alone and his hands on her.
"Are you okay?" Tom pressed.
Vivien turned eyes of blazing blue on him. "I'm fit enough to fold your clothes," she spat. "Happy?"
Tom rolled his eyes this time. "What great heights you've got to," he said sarcastically, shovelling more rice into his mouth, some grain getting caught in his beard.
"How long have we been here, then?" Vivien retorted, resisting the urge to lean over and wipe his face for him, the gesture too intimate.
"For well over a month - I think," Tom said frowning, "truth be told though, I've lost count of the time. But I know it's the longest we've ever pitched up in one spot for."
"And I've been out for the count for most of said time," Vivien said acerbically, "makes you wonder, doesn't it?"
"Wonder what?"
"How much you know me really," Vivien said smartly, holding his gaze again, making Tom tense up, something behind her blue eyes echoing his inner desires.
"I think I know enough to know that you're not the enemy," Tom said coldly, "if it's that tired old angle you're aiming for" –
- "I'm an alien hybrid" -
- "Yeah, and I'm a history professor spearheading the assault against our alien oppressors," Tom retorted, "with a harnessed son out there somewhere, and a goddamn alien with two hearts changing bandages for the humans in the back room. So what makes you special, Vivien? As far as I see it, we're all standing in the same shit. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, yeah?"
Or the enemy of my enemy is my lover, Vivien thought darkly, or I want him to be... She abruptly stood up, letting her emotions overcome common sense, leaning over and roughly brushing the rice from his beard with her jacket sleeve, her touch turning Tom to stone. And then she was gone, her black hair whipping out behind her, Tom watching her go with burning eyes.
Should've know from the first time
Played with me like I was the devil
And I played with you like you were just a man
Wanna lay with you...