"I must say, Doctor," Lizzie murmurs, "you seem very relaxed about this."
For her own part, she is not relaxed in the slightest. She hangs close by his side, and her eyes rove everywhere she can possibly see around his gangling gait, trying to keep her eyes on the street and anyone who might be on it. How on Earth or any other planet he can just saunter along the way he does, knowing what they're walking into, willingly walking into… He insisted she come along. Lizzie, who had been rather preoccupied now that she's the sole carer of the sleeping Adam, was understandably reluctant. Ultimately when she gave in it was only because he clearly didn't intend to leave without her, or to leave at all unless she consented to accompany him. She rolled her eyes and left her medical curiosity in the inexpert charge of orderlies.
Highly trained, of course. You mustn't misunderstand her. Lizzie would never question the intelligence and professionalism of any skilled worker who properly applies themselves. One simply cannot do everything by oneself and workers are therefore a necessity. But her hollow boy, as she has come to fondly think of him, is hardly something they've dealt with before.
It's there she has to stop and remind herself, she's never dealt with it before either. She knows, she tells herself, no more than they do. She tells herself.
"Why should I worry?" the Doctor breezes. She had been so distracted she almost forgets that she prompted him. The question, heard as a non-sequitur, is really quite frustrating.
"This, I believe, is the point where I might be expected to list to you the worrisome aspects of our situation, Doctor – including but not limited to the virtually omnipotent enemy and their possession of our own Miss Oswald-" There, if nowhere else, he flinches, but fights it down, won't let it hurt. "-but I shan't do that. I find it very childish, if I'm honest. And so I will simply skip to the end and ask of you, why shouldn't you be worried?"
The Doctor flashes a simpering smile and puts his arm around her shoulders. His wrist glances her neck, and at the touch Lizzie knows the smile is forced. She made him think of Clara, and now that she's aware of his true pain she regrets it. "Lizzie, all of those things you didn't list and which we're both very aware of are troubling indeed. But why should I worry, and here you have to stop and let me finish my sentence, if you don't mind-" He eyes her and Lizzie shows her open hands, giving him the floor. The Doctor lifts his voice as if he wants the very pavement beneath their feet to hear him, "Why should I worry when I have such a wonderful, devoted, and stealthy sort of a bodyguard, hm?"
He gives a little grin now. This one is genuine, and when it disappears it is because he crushes it away, hiding it like a giggling child. Lizzie tips her head, trying to figure out what on earth he could be talking about. Surely he can't be reducing her to such a menial position, and if he is he'd better watch himself, Lizzie won't stand for i-
She pauses. Just a half step. Enough to fall behind. The Doctor doesn't notice, keeps walking forward, walking west in accordance with Lees's instructions. His arm travels with him, trailing down from her shoulders again. As it passes her, Lizzie takes his hand. "Jessica isn't with us," she tells him, shaking her head.
Another irrepressible little grin. "Ah, now you say that, Elizabeth, but only because you haven't seen her. The truth of the thing is, I know my girl, and she's around somewhere, taking care of me where I can't see her, playing the part of secret weapon and, and, and you haven't stopped shaking your head. What's the matter, Liz, don't you believe me?"
"It's not a matter of believe. She's not with us. I would know, had we been followed, by friend or otherwise."
"How would you know?"
"The same way I know the make of that car to your left, that the man who just passed us on the right is a plumber, and that behind the unmarked wall at the edge of this pavement there's an empty yard with four different restaurants backing on to it. As I know truths, Doctor, I know that we are not being followed."
He grimaces, still unwilling to believe. But as they continue on their way – there was never much choice in whether or not to do that – he seems at least a little more cautious. A rueful mutter, "You've grown more confident in your capacities."
"I've been using them."
They walk on, and the Doctor reasons that if Jessica is not with them then she is still with the Tardis. In fact, he never fully admits that Jessica isn't around. He chooses his words carefully, not to offend or crush Lizzie while never really letting go of the idea that he has his dear warrior along. His excuses come easily, that if Jessica is still with the Tardis then she is in no danger. Away from them, she can't be drawn into anything that might befall them. Able to call on one dear girl (the Tardis, so far as Lizzie can make out) to alert the other (presumably Miss Apple) they've left themselves an accessible and capable rescue party and if, he say, Jessica really isn't lingering in the shadows across the street, around the corner, on a rooftop keeping careful watch, then really she's in the best position of all.
He is still explaining all of this when Lizzie has to interrupt him. "Doctor?"
"What?"
"We're not alone anymore."
"Ha! See? Told you. She'd never let me down. And she knows what a silly old beggar I am and wouldn't let me walk into something unprotected and-"
Through gritted teeth, "Not the damned girl."
"Listen to her." The new, third voice comes from in between them. Both Lizzie and the Doctor turn inward, and find Toffee Lees fallen into step behind him. Green eyes, glittering with heartless joy, heartless excitement, heartless cold, fix on the former but address the latter. "She has spectacular knowledge, Doctor, you ought to pay attention. She'd know if Miss Apple were around. So would I. Let one of us vouch for the other. You'd never believe me, but Elizabeth has knowledge, oh, that you just wouldn't believe. Words that couldn't possibly come from her own mind, have you noticed?" Fine fingers reach other and want to come to rest on Elizabeth's face, but they hover inches from it. "I know what you are, honey. I can answer the one question that hangs empty at the back of your mind, like a black hole, like a migraine. I can explain you, if you w-"
Lizzie bats the hand away. She reaches into all her fathomless understanding and picks out the foulest insult she knows in any language, "Witch."
"Yeah, I guess that's what you'd call it. Come on, this way. Mr Sieverts is waiting, and he ain't crazy about that."
The wall Lizzie mentioned, the one that's meant to open onto an empty yard, has developed ivy by the time they can turn their eyes to it, and a few strands of climbing datura, their flowers curled up against the daylight like tinged umbrellas. It has also grown itself a gate, of intricate wrought iron, and beyond it is no collection of bins and concrete but an elegant, paved courtyard.
Lizzie rolls her eyes. Lees mutters agreeably, "Oh, I know. But he insisted we would do this with some civility, and nice surroundings are as close as he gets to an idea like that.
The Doctor guides Lizzie along with a protecting arm. Their connection locks Toffee out, relegating her to their rear. As they cross the blue grey stones, he turns his head, "Mrs Lees, what was it I said to you, about your coming to this meeting?"
"…That you didn't care if I stood in the corner and… Ah. Well, one jaunty, whistled tune coming right up, Doctor. Your wish and my command and all the usual." She peels away from them, and by the time she has directed herself toward the corner a beautiful, cushioned white glider has appeared swinging near the ivy. Toffee settles herself, feet tucked up, and fishes a magazine out from under the padding.
She whistles 'We'll Meet Again'. It seems an awfully British choice. It sets the Doctor on edge. It does more than that to Lizzie. Something, and more than just the obvious, is wrong with that creature. Lizzie is sure of it. She's sure that, if the so-exalted Jessica were here, she wouldn't be taking her eyes from Mrs Toffee Lees.
Lizzie and the Doctor have no such luxury. Waiting for them, at a white painted table, sipping tea from painted china with his thick pinkie extended, is Louis Sieverts. He is as the Doctor remembers, as Lizzie imagined. But Lizzie has been unable to truly prepare herself for coming eye to eye with something possessing no more than the bare minimum of humanity required to survive, and even this minimal compassion crushed and beaten and submissive. The spark in Louis Sieverts is suitable for no more than to keep his original heart beating. It does barely any scrap more work than a spark of electricity might. It chills her. She shivers.
"Please, Miss Goode-" There seems little point in asking how he knows her name. "Don't be afraid."
Lizzie drags out one of the seats opposite him, chair legs squealing on the stones. "Oh, don't mistake me. I'm not afraid. Disgusted, a little, but not afraid." She sits abruptly down and folds her arms, except to cover the top of a teacup when Sieverts tries to pour for her. "Thank you, not my drink."
She tries to ignore the Doctor's mild, impressed gaze. Sieverts says, "Well, what is? Mrs Lees can bring whatever you might require."
"No," she answers simply.
Noticing a tightening in Sieverts's jaw, a stretch of his fingertips toward Lizzie's defenceless hand, the Doctor interrupts, "What Elizabeth might be meaning to say is that we'd rather get to the business of this. Clara Oswald. Where is she, how might we retrieve her?"
Sieverts looks at his tea as if he's tragically disappointed. He takes his time over answering, making time to drink. He'll enjoy it, even if no one else will. "She's at our hotel, of course. Perfectly safe. Barely a finger laid on her, yet. As to retrieving her…" He stops to sigh. His breath has no scent, none at all, but Lizzie gags nonetheless, unable to shake the sensation that Sieverts is more than he appears, that he exists not only on this plane but on all the others, in this moment, ever the same, repeating outward, growing stronger, forever and ever, than the presence and the evil of him permeates the universe. His hate spreads seamlessly through barriers that no human should ever be aware of, never mind cross. "…Well, you're welcome to try. In fact, here, let me write the address down. Toffee, a pen, if you would."
The whistling never lets up. When a fine, gleaming fountain pen is created in Louis' hand, Lizzie's eyes are drawn to the creator. Lees seems not to notice. She is wetting a fingertip to flip a magazine page. Whatever is in the next advertisement, she studies it carefully. Then, stretching one foot out in front of her to watch the change, she gives herself new shoes, and spends some time stretching and correcting the curve of the heel, the way it hugs her foot, adding a curl of spangles to the toe. Then she sets the magazine down in her lap and reaches up, both hands, to shift the shoe around to comfort.
Maybe Louis Sieverts is still talking. Maybe they're still having that terribly grave and important meeting, that was supposed to have all that pomp and ceremony. One more time, Lizzie jabs a puncture in all the old rituals. She gets up from her seat and charges across the courtyard. Standing over the glider, she draws up to her full height, eyes Toffee Lees with impeccable and righteous hatred. She maintains this pose until Toffee tires of ignoring it and lifts up her eyes. "…Yes?"
Lizzie stretches out and pokes Toffee's shoulder. Nothing happens. Then, in case perhaps she got mixed up, Lizzie pokes the other shoulder. Nothing happens. Toffee's eyes follow hers, the corners creasing with confusion. Then, finally, and far too late, "Oh," she mutters. Grabs the offending spot and tries to wail, "Ow! Oh God, that hurts," but non one's falling for it anymore.
In the same moment, Lizzie calls, "Doctor!", and Toffee cries, "Louis!"
"She's not really here."
"She's onto me."
The Doctor turns slowly, decorously back to the table. He picks up the teapot and pours himself a cup. Takes the time, as Louis did, to drink. Liquid, maybe, might smother some of the raging fire that lights him up and leaves him feeling decidedly unlike himself. One long gulp doesn't do it. After the second he gives up and just bites the inside of his lip before he speaks. "If Mrs Lees isn't really here, Mr Sieverts-"
"Come now, Doctor. It doesn't require an awful lot of thought."
Doesn't it? It seems fairly nonsensical to him. As a matter of fact, if Louis had simply said that it was done to spite him, done simply to prove that the Doctor cannot make demands of them, he'd believe. But the taunt pushes him to search for more, a better explanation. It's not very difficult to find. After all, Toffee was the one who made demands of him. She was the one who said Lizzie had to come with him. She was already in possession of Clara at the time. And Jessica… Well, now he's finally afraid for Jessica and what might have become of her.
Lizzie squeals. The Doctor panics. When he looks across the courtyard, it's only because she's had her shoes changed, found herself wearing the spangly, oyster-coloured silk heels Toffee just perfected, but the sound of her fear is enough.
"You wanted the hospital empty. Adam won't be there if we go back, will he?"
"Adam?" For a moment, Sieverts really doesn't understand. "Oh, but then, you wouldn't have known his name. Adam's as good as any, I suppose. And yes, you're quite right. He'd be gone, if you went back there."
Sieverts lays down the pen. The moment it leaves his hand, it vanishes. But the marks it has made remain. The Doctor tries very hard not to think of the implications of that. He thinks only of the address, the spidery handwriting on the tablecloth, that's all.
Sieverts stands, and starts toward the iron gate. The ghost, the idea, of Toffee Lees, lifts her eyes. They follow until he passes her, when she peels up from the glider to walk beside him.
She walks through Lizzie to do this. Shuddering, Lizzie can't bear it. She turns on her heel and grabs for her.
Toffee turns to vapour. Lizzie's hand locks instead around Louis Sieverts' wrist.
For a moment she is frozen, holding tighter because every muscle in her body has seized, hard as death, and may never let him go. He has stopped walking too, not trying to pull away from her. He looks into her widened, tormented eyes, feeling all the brutality of his skin, enjoying her. With a fingertip he strokes her face, and Lizzie feels as if that line opens. Not just like a cut, not just to let blood out, but opening wide across universes, and channelling all of their pain, their rage, their terror and tears and loss and forgotten horror. She drops to her knees, then sideways to the ground, finally releasing him.
The Doctor rushes to her as she lies twitching. Her eyes are fixed on the sky. There ought to be comfort in that. The constancy of it, the reality. The sky is permanent and real. It's in this world and it ought not hurt her the way it does. The Doctor assesses what sort of injury she's just suffered. He appears to conclude there's no lasting damage. Lizzie would argue with that, but she has no argument at all when he picks her up, holding her tightly against him. Her arms try to hug back. At first they're limp, uncooperative. As they begin to gain strength, he asks, "What happened to you? What did you see?"
Lizzie reaches again into the depths, into everything she knows. What she saw, what she experienced. The touch that could easily have turned Jessica back into a killer and which has left Lizzie shaking and useless. Once again, she finds the answer very close to the surface, and the life she's lived for herself all these years. Another word that was thrown at her so many times she stopped thinking about it, now she breathes it out with every gram of its gravity bearing down hard on her heart.
"Hell."