The cab driver can't see her either. He still takes her where she's going, of course. If you asked him he wouldn't know why, and when they get there he will wake, like a sleepwalker, and remember that he was never a cabbie at all to begin with. But he's taking her where she's going. That's all Toffee needs to know. She curls in the back seat and makes her invisible, silent, non-existent. A headache is one of the most difficult things in the world to wish away; the pain itself makes it hard to concentrate on removing it. It takes her most of the trip to the hotel. She steps out on the sidewalk, thanks her driver and throws some money through the window.
That'll be the most perplexing thing for him, when he comes round. She takes some brief little pleasure in knowing that. Can't quite laugh though. She wishes she could.
The hotel is seedy and small. Where she would usually have to force a clerk into changing his questions, accepting her lies, this one hardly even asked any. He gave her the top floor, imagined he took the money she imagined for him, and since then has let her get on with things.
She's weary, though. The thought of all those stairs exhausts her. Normally she doesn't like to cheat, but Toffee thinks herself to the top.
There on the landing, she knows; Louis' arrived. He's here somewhere, waiting for her. Toffee can sense him. The places where his feet have touched the ground and his hands have touched the walls and light switches and door handles have a greasy glow to her. She knows what that touch looks like. She knows how it feels and what it does and how hard it is to remove.
She shakes her head clear and steps into the room she's been using the most. Single bed, single dresser, decrepit little bathroom off the corner. One wall is covered in research into the Doctor of this time. Recent associates and losses, who he's got with him, how he's getting on these days. The room has been serving her well.
Now it's got Louis in it. He's sitting by the window, and at the side of his chair is a long, gift-wrapped box. But he looks up at her first. Waves his hand around to indicate their surroundings and simply dismisses them, "This won't do."
She rolls her eyes. "How'd I guess you'd say that?" Toffee thinks away the walls that divide the rooms. She enlarges the windows and puts a deep carpet on the floor, hangs a small chandelier over the top of the stairwell. She hides her research behind a silk tapestry. The hard plastic chair he's sitting on becomes deep velvet. As Louis settles into it he points around, gives instructions. The mirror should be full length. The closet should be walk-in. He wants a painting on a certain bare wall.
"And why-oh-why, my dear," he smiles and she shudders, "are there still separate beds in this fine new home of ours?"
For the thousandth time if it's once, "You are not my husband."
The smile goes out of him. Cold and unequivocal, "Change it."
Toffee breathes deep. She tries, she really does, but succeeds in doing no more than putting the two carved mahogany frames post to post. Shuts her eyes, holds her head and tries again. "I can't. I have to be able to want a thing to change."
"So want it."
She narrows her eyes at him and falls onto the fine couch that matches his armchair. "I'll try again in a while. That Doctor, he… I'm just not at my best right now."
But Louis doesn't even seem to hear her. Whether it's an excuse or not, whether she's lying or not, he just misses it entirely. He's still got corrections for her and says, very much as though she's beginning to test his patience, "Toffee." She glances up. This time he points at her. Starts at the top of her head, points right down to her feet and all the way back up again. "Change." No. This is her. This is her favourite dress, her favourite shoes. Her favourite hair and eyes and shape. No, no she won't. But when he picks up the giftwrapped box and hands it to her, he says, "The old fashioned way, if you please," and she has no choice.
Toffee takes the box into the now luxurious bathroom and turns to close the door. He's already standing in frame, however. And so she goes about undoing the bow and taking off the lid. The dress inside is undoubtedly very beautiful. Not exactly appropriate for lying around the hotel, or even for going out except to some gala. But if that's what he wants. She hangs it up on the shower rail while she brushes out her hair, delaying the act of actually undressing as long as possible.
"I met with the Doctor," she says. Officious and businesslike, the sound of her voice makes her feel like she's still, in some small way, in control. "He's aware of our presence, and my powers, and I believe I was able to put him very much on the back foot. "
Louis pushes away her hair, stroking the back of her neck, "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."
Well, she thinks darkly, you've got a way of knowing that. With the same cool remove she continues, "If you care at all to look at the reading I've done for this, you'll see we can't target him with selfishness. He won't give you anything for his own ends. But he's an easy martyr. He's used to it. He does it all the time. Best way to get to him is through his friends."
"You told me that before." Louis is at the hanging dress. The scratch of his undoing the zipper is to let her know, she can't avoid it forever. "And I can only imagine how delightful it'll feel to take the young Miss Oswald's innocent, glorious soul for my own."
Toffee is testing new eyelashes to match her new look. Between bold and dramatic and long and soft, she puts both hands on the edge of the sink and leans over. "I don't think Oswald's the answer. She's so… brave. We might just end up making things more difficult for ourselves."
He's now holding the ice-blue gown open, waiting for her. Her eyes meet his in the mirror and she sighs, starts to untie her beaded belt. Louis's lip curls at the rattle of it. "However did you end up wearing that old thing again?"
She's so glad he asked. If she can close her eyes and tell him facts, it's so much easier to forget how much of her skin is on display when she steps out of her old favourite kaftan. "The Doctor. There's a device, I don't know if you're aware of it. Sonic screwdriver, he calls it. Ain't like no screwdriver I ever saw, though-"
"Please, Toffee, make some attempt to speak properly."
"He projected a noise into my head. Broke me open. This old thing," and she is just kicking it from the end of her foot, "is my square one."
He comes close with his new thing. She turns to snatch it off him, before he can try and help her into it, before he can lay a finger on her. She grabs it, gathers it against herself. But he reaches out and strokes her face with a crooked finger. "You're alright, I trust?" Or that might be what he says. She's not sure. He touches her and she hears screaming, sobbing. A sensation like blood trickling where his skin meets hers. And eternal loss. As though she had known utter bliss, and had it taken away.
Toffee pulls away, "I'm fine. Don't worry, it won't happen again. I know what it looks like, I know where he keeps it. I'll disappear it next time I have to meet him."
"That's my girl."
Defiantly, "Who is?" She steps into the dress. Arches her back away from him so he won't touch her when he lifts the zipper. Turns around, "There. Will I do now? Can we have an actual conversation about the task at hand now?" She gives herself a new layer of skin along the jaw. It's the only thing that can take away the itch of contact with him. But it's an eye blink, a little moment of isolation, if she wants to alter herself. When her eyes open again he's glaring at her. Too much. She argued with him, pushed him. And it seems he's just not in the mood to let her away with that today.
Louis puts out his hand. She'd cry, except she can't give him that satisfaction. It's an old trick. The same way you make a treat appear from behind a child's ear, he reaches behind hers and produces a small glass vial. Inside, an incredibly light, fine gold sand. "No," she keens, as he twists out the cork. Then louder, more meaningful, "No," and she grabs at his wrist, not caring what it feels like to take hold of him.
But Toffee isn't strong enough. He pushes out over the sink and begins to turn his hand. The sand slips, threatening, easing towards the mouth of the vial. "No!" she screams. "You can't!"
Louis grins, sudden white teeth, like a skull, "Oh, can't I?"
"You keep pouring him down sinks, you won't have nothing left to hold over my head!" He taps the vial with just one finger. The merest scatter of the precious dust drops over the glass lip and clings around the plug. "Anything!" Toffee yells, correcting herself, "Anything, you won't have anything to hold over me." She changes her grip on him. Both hands wrap around his fist and try to meet each other, balled up like a prayer. "Put him away. Please, please, put the cork back in it, put him away. We don't need to have a conversation. You don't have to do a thing. I'll get you the Doctor. I'll get him. I'll get you every last drop."
He tips the vial just a millimetre more, "Is that a promise?"
"It's a vow."
He holds her gaze until he is quite convinced that she's suffered. Then corks the vial, and makes it disappear again. As close as she watches, Toffee can't see where he puts it. If only she could. This would all be over if only she could.
Just to get away from him, she darts down, picking her dress up from the floor. But it was never real. Now that she's not wearing it, now that there's nothing to concentrate on, it vanishes away from her fingers like mist. Louis hardly even seems to notice.
"Good girl," he says. "Now see if you can't do something about those beds."
He walks out, leaves her there. If he expects her to fall down crying, it's the last thing he'll ever get. Toffee stands tall, straightens her shoulders. She flicks her hand; the two beds come together with an almighty crash and comes down fused. She can take the sight of it, kingsize now. She can take it when he laughs.
Not long to go. Just this one last soul. Just the Doctor, and it's over. Just the Doctor, and she's bought that jar back. Just the Doctor, and Toffee gets back everything she's lost. Just the Doctor. Simple as that. Just the Doctor. No damn problem.