Chapter Fifty-Seven
Children of Earth. Day Four. That's all I'm saying. *sobs*
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood. Believe me, I wish I could so that it could all be different, but...
With the brute force of all the trapped villagers, they managed to force the barn door open and spill out into the fields. The night was cold; their breath clouded in front of their faces and the drizzle dampened their hair and clothes. The Doctor grabbed the shoulder of Rosalinne and turned her around to face him.
"What's happening?" Rosalinne asked, her voice panicky. "What are they?"
"Just get out," the Doctor got out between pants. "Get out, and get away."
Rosalinne threw him one last terrified look, then grabbed Pierre and headed out into the night.
The Doctor watched them go for a moment, two figures that quickly vanished into the rainy gloom, then turned back to the barn, ready to face whatever emerged.
Out they came; writhing, wriggling shadows that gleamed like oil and were as soundless as the night itself. They tumbled onto the grass, flexing and reaching, almost as if they were searching for something.
The Doctor took his sonic screwdriver out from his pocket and pointed it at them, giving them a quick scan. The sonic screwdriver whined and sputtered, complaining as noisily as it could.
"That can't be right..." the Doctor said slowly, peering closely at the screwdriver.
One of the shadows, shaped like a rather large slug, touched the Doctor's converse and fell backwards. Before the Doctor's very eyes, the shadow began to stretch and morph into an exact replica of the shoe, taking on shape and colour and form until the Doctor could reach down and pick it up.
"Oh, you're clever," the Doctor said in admiration. "And I bet you're only a baby."
The shoe remained a shoe. The Doctor looked down at the other two dozen shadows on the grass; or at least, he looked to where they had been. For now they were nowhere to be seen; instead, there was a large stick on the ground beneath a tree, a handful of daisies, and a scattering of leaves.
The Doctor frowned. "And a lot of trouble, I'd bet." He bent down, putting the replica shoe on the ground by one of the leaves. "If you're still babies, then where are your parents...?"
"Halt!" A rough voice barked from behind him.
The Doctor spun around, his hands going up above his head. He frowned when he saw one of the pirates pointing a futuristic-looking pistol at him, all silver and chrome. "Hey – where did you get tha—"
The Doctor came to slowly and uncomfortably. He was lying splayed out on the floor of the barn once more, the replica shoe sitting happily on his chest.
He lifted his head and stared at it. "Okay..." he said slowly. "That's unusu—"
"Hay-lo," the shoe said.
The Doctor frowned. "—al," he concluded. "Very unusual. A talking shoe."
The shoe sprouted a tiny little arm, with small blobby fingers reminiscent of a frog's, and waved at him.
"And a waving shoe. A shoe with an arm that waves." The Doctor sat up, the shoe falling into his lap. It made an annoyed mew, and flipped itself up the right way again. The Doctor leaned closer to it, until his nose was almost touching it.
And then recoiled as the little hand smacked his nose. "Ow," he complained. "What was that for?"
"Bad," the shoe squeaked, quivering with indignity.
"Sorry," the Doctor said automatically, then almost laughed as he realised that he was apologising to a shoe. A shoe.
Footsteps sounded behind him; the Doctor looked over his shoulder to see himself approaching. Or at least an exact replica of himself.
"Doctor," his clone said. "Sorry about the inconvenience. The young ones are still learning." It waved its hand at the shoe, making a 'scram!' motion. "Shoo," it said, "no pun intended."
"Okay..." the Doctor said, watching the shoe jump and flop its way off his torso. "Who exactly are you?"
"I'm Alfred," his clone said. "Hi." It held out a hand for the Doctor to shake.
The Doctor didn't make any move to shake it. "Why are you wearing my body?"
Alfred laughed, putting his hand back in his pocket. It was quite odd to see yourself laughing, the Doctor thought. "Sorry, Doctor. We simply thought that this would be the easiest way to communicate. It is rather hard to speak when wearing a tree."
"What about the pirate?" the Doctor demanded. "Why didn't you stay in that form?"
Alfred shrugged. "We were tiring of our old forms. We only want to experience life as fully as possible – keeping to one form is so restricting."
"I can understand that," the Doctor said, "but I don't understand the need to lock people up."
Alfred looked apologetic. "Again, we're sorry. There are some rogue youngsters that have left the Home – teenagers, I think you'd call them. They'll return to the Home with time, but meanwhile we just try to clean up their messes behind them, and make sure as few humans as possible are harmed."
"So this is just a case of teenage rebellion?" the Doctor asked incredulously. "All this?"
Alfred nodded solemnly. "This time, it has gone too far. They are being brought in for reprimanding." He picked up the shoe and stroked its back, smiling as it made purring noises of appreciation. "It won't happen again. We have a new Home scouted out – it should be finished within the year, and then you'll never hear of anything like this again."
"A new Home?" the Doctor asked. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"
"Our old home was stumbled upon by some Human children. We cannot stay there any longer." Alfred deposited the shoe on a hay bale, perching beside it and clasping his hands in his lap. "We've found a new location in the caves of the island."
"And I have your guarantee that this will never happen again, once your new Home has been built?" the Doctor asked, narrowing his eyes.
Alfred nodded, his face serious. "It should be completed within the year," he repeated.
"And the troublemakers will be reprimanded?" the Doctor checked.
Alfred nodded again. "They will be punished as the Hive sees appropriate."
"Wait a minute – you're a hive race?" the Doctor said, surprised. "A shape-shifting hive race?"
"We wouldn't use so crude terminology, but, yes, that is what we are." Alfred tapped the side of his head with a forefinger. "We are all here at once – this body is merely spokesperson."
"Well, then," the Doctor said. "I think that this is a good enough cause."
"Good enough cause for what?" Alfred asked cautiously.
The Doctor grinned at him, whipping out his sonic screwdriver. "I'm gonna help you build this new Home of yours."
-T-
Ianto paused inside the door to the cells, looking at the Doctor splayed out on the floor of the nearest cell. The smell from the cells was already pungent; Ianto guessed that it didn't occur to the rest of the team to clean out the Weevils at all in the past month.
Beside him, Gwen shifted uncomfortably. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm.
"He's unconscious, Gwen. How much harm can he do?" Ianto pointed out, tightening his grip on the plastic bag containing the weevils' pork chops.
"I just don't want you to get hurt again, that's all," Gwen said softly. "But if you're sure..."
"I'll be fine, Gwen," Ianto said, trying to sound as forceful as he could. He gave her a bland smile and started towards the weevil cells at the very end of the chamber, Gwen hovering awkwardly by the door. "Gwen, really – I don't need a nanny. Just let me do my job."
"Oh. Okay, then." Gwen took a step back, uncertainty in her every movement. "I'll just..."
Ianto heard her footsteps fading away as she walked down the corridor; the door slid shut behind her with a careful hiss and whirr of mechanics, and, at the end of the row of cells, Janet the weevil stirred.
"Hey there," he murmured, fishing out a pair of plastic gloves from his jacket pocket and snapping them on. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Janet moaned low in her throat, the sound reverberating through Ianto's skull and making his teeth ache.
Ianto took a slab of raw meat out, wrinkling his nose at the slimy, slippery lump that glistened in the dim light. "Disgusting," he said in disdain, holding it out as far away from himself as possible. "Now this I certainly didn't miss."
"Talking to yourself is quite often considered a sign of madness, y'know," a voice behind him said seriously.
Ianto spun around, nearly dropping the meat in shock. The Doctor was sitting up, cross-legged on the floor of his cell. He was still wearing the Velcro wrist-band measuring his blood pressure, but he had pulled off the blue patches stuck to his temples.
Ianto swallowed. "You're meant to be unconscious," he said roughly. "Why are you awake?"
"Because I'm not asleep," the Doctor responded cheerily. "Never had much time for sleep."
Like Jack, Ianto noted distractedly. He should call Owen. Or Martha. Or Gwen. Or somebody. "I—"
"Tell me about yourself, Ianto," the Doctor said suddenly. He leant forward, flattening his palms against the plexi-glass cell front, his long fingers hooking through some of the holes. "Talk to me. Tell me about Ianto Jones."
"I ought to call Owen," Ianto said. His voice sounded shaky, even to his own ears.
"You ought to," the Doctor agreed, "but you won't, will you? You want to know about me as much as I want to know about you."
"I've got a job to do," Ianto said, turning away from the timelord. "The weevils won't feed themselves."
"They could do, if you let them free," the Doctor said. "They're self-sufficient."
"If we let them out, then people would die." Ianto pulled out a metal drawer in the side of one of the cells and dropped the slab of meat into it, before slamming it shut and locking it as the weevil leapt at the plexi-glass, ravenous and snarling. "It's better to keep them here."
The Doctor was silent as Ianto repeated the procedure with the next cell. For a moment, Ianto thought that he might have blacked-out again, but, when he glanced around to check, the Doctor was still standing there, staring at him in open curiosity.
Ianto shifted uncomfortably, feeling a bit as if he was under intense scrutiny. "Do you need me to get something for you, sir?" he asked mildly.
"Why hasn't Jack come down to see me yet?" the Doctor asked quietly. "Does he even know I'm here?"
"He knows." Ianto finished off the last cell and pulled off the gloves, dropping them into the bag with his fingertips. "We don't keep secrets around here." He nearly bit his tongue at the outright lie, but kept his face carefully neutral.
"Hmm." The Doctor rocked backwards, letting go of the cell-front and sitting down again, with his knees drawn up beneath his chin. "That's odd. Jack told me that you all keep so many secrets that it's no longer a surprise when something's revealed."
"He tells you a lot, then?" Ianto stopped in front of the Doctor's cell, putting the bag down by his feet so that he could fold his arms across his chest.
"Everything," the Doctor said, his eyes wide and dark. "Like Lisa."
Ianto clenched his jaw. Jack didn't have the right to tell the Doctor about that. That was between the team and me, nothing to do with the Doctor.
"I lost someone at Canary Wharf too, you know," the Doctor said quietly.
Ianto looked up, no longer bothering to hide his emotions. His arms dropped to his sides, and he unconsciously balled his fists. "More than eight-hundred people died there. At least you only lost one person."
"She meant the world to me," the Doctor said. "Rose Tyler. She got trapped in a parallel universe."
"She's alive, then?" Ianto asked. His stomach felt like it was full of clawing and fighting rats. Why did this have to get brought up again?
"Yeah. But I'll never see her again." The Doctor's eyes were vacant, staring off into the middle-distance.
"'Never say never'," Ianto heard himself saying.
"I guess." The Doctor looked back up at him. "Lisa was half-converted by the cybermen, wasn't she?"
"It's none of your business," Ianto said tightly. "That's in the past, and had nothing to do with you then or now."
"You go back up and serve them all coffee, then," the Doctor said. He smiled brightly up at him, although Ianto had spent long enough around battle-survivors to recognise when it was faked. He had done so often enough himself. "Better get back to Jack before he starts to worry that I've killed you."
"We have got CCTV, y'know," Ianto said. "It's not like you could actually do anything in that cell, either."
"I could do." The Doctor fixed him with a piercing stare, one that seemed to see right into his very soul. "If I wanted to, I could get out of here without any trouble at all."
"The Hub's harder to penetrate than you seem to think," Ianto said calmly.
The Doctor tipped his head back slightly and narrowed his eyes at Ianto. "Of course, you would know that, wouldn't you?"
Ianto swallowed hard, careful to keep his mask firmly in place, and left, feeling as though he had just undergone an intense questioning.
Phew, this was one long chapter. Hope you liked it!
Not much more, now. :-) I've written the ending and the epilogue, so there are only chapters 58 and 59 left.
REVIEWS = HAPPY WRITER = PRODUCTIVE WRITER = QUICKER UPDATES (shoe agrees. Wave, shoe! *shoe waves* Shoe-snuggles to those who review!)