I am so thankful for all those who've read, reviewed, favourited and followed Shackled so far!
Can anyone who's created fanart for Shackled who e-mailed me links before resend me the links please? I had a little spat with my laptop that resulted in some documents being deleted. (^_^')
"So how did the appeal at the museum go?"
Nancy was trying to make light conversation…to the best of her own abilities. Cassidy could tell that her aim was to soften the steely atmosphere that pervaded the air as the two of them walked through the Intensive Care Unit corridor. The nurse could sense how tense and tightly strung the pale-faced young woman at her back was.
"I have no idea. I haven't heard anything from the museum board since I was discharged," Cassidy responded in a tone that was a little gruffer and a little more brisk than she had initially intended.
Part of her felt bad for snapping at Nancy's attempts to be cordial but a much stronger part of her was still consumed by resentment towards her cousin. That part of her hadn't forgotten the Nancy that she had come back from Summer Bank to find sitting in her kitchen.
"At the time I needed you most…at the time I was most confused, upset and utterly terrified…you completely abandoned me," she thought, clenching her teeth as her eyes travelled upward from Nancy's collar to the fake-tan line on her neck. "I looked for help from you and you signed me into a mental health ward because some people in uniforms told you it was the right thing to do. What kind of treatment is that for family?"
Additionally, bringing up the topic of the drama at the museum- reminding Cassidy that she had been suspended from and could still potentially lose the job of her dreams- was probably not the wisest move on Nancy's part.
"Here we are," the nurse said softly with a slight smile, tapping on the handle of a nearby door. "It's a private ward so you don't have to worry about keeping your voices down but…" Nancy's smile faded slightly. "She's very weak at the moment so be careful. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask; you know the drill, you know where the panic button is. I'm not working this floor today but if you want to request me, just tell Adelaide at the desk over there that you need Nancy from Cardio. She'll know what you mean…"
Cassidy was barely listening anymore but she forced herself to nod, feeling blood start to throb in her ears as she placed her hand on the handle.
"I'll leave you so then," Nancy told her, starting to walk away. "Let me know if you need anything…"
But Nancy's voice was nothing more than a distant whisper in Cassidy's ears as she opened the door and slowly walked inside.
The ward had six beds in total, all dressed in crisp sheets of pale blue and draped in the faint amber glow of winter sunlight.
However, only one of the beds had an occupant.
The sight of her mother's wizened, wrinkled but unmistakably rosy face brought tears to Cassidy's eyes and at that moment, something inside of her crumbled.
"Mummy?" she said aloud, feeling her voice start to crack despite it escaping her lips as hardly more than a reverent whisper. "M-Mum?"
The woman's eyes fluttered open and her face creased into a gentle smile. "Hello there, stranger," she wheezed. "And where have you been? I was worried that you weren't coming to see me…"
Tears in her eyes, Cassidy ran to her mother's side, crouching down, leaning over and showering her with kisses. She smelled like cranberry juice and talcum powder, just the way Cassidy remembered and she was warm, she was breathing, she was alive…
"Goodness gracious, poppet," Maria Albright chuckled, lifting one hand to cradle her daughter's cheek. "Where have you been and what on earth's gotten into you?"
Cassidy looked into her mother's faded azure eyes, almost too frightened to look away in case she disappeared in a split second. "It doesn't matter where I've been, Mum. What matters is that I'm here now…"
Maria ran her thumb down Cassidy's cheek, smearing an escaping tear and tracing the faded nail-marks beneath a layer of powdery foundation.
"Cassy? What happened to you?" Worry crept over her features. "You've been hurt…"
"I had to go to Scotland," Cassidy told her breathlessly, still holding her in an embrace. "To find Hewitt…but then, I had no phone signal…took a lift home…then there was a car accident…but I'm fine…I'm fine…how are you?"
Maria didn't look very convinced at first and Cassidy forced herself to look earnest as she straightened up and sat on the edge of the bed. It wasn't that Cassidy didn't think her mother would believe her if she told her all about Michael and the Weeping Angels and the horrors at the Summer Bank Hotel but she didn't want to burden her mother with that knowledge.
She just couldn't let her mother worry about her at that moment.
"I've been alright," Maria told her, shifting to sit back against the pillows. "But forget me for just a second, love. How have you been?" She squinted, leaning forward slightly. "Have you been getting enough sleep?"
Relieved to hear a familiar nagging-mummy note in her mother's voice but instinctively becoming defensive, Cassidy looked downwards. "Yes. I've been fine. Completely fine."
Maria frowned. "Cassy. What have I told you about telling lies?" Her tone softened. "What happened, love?"
Cassidy's shoulders slumped and she exhaled, interlocking her fingers. "There was an incident at the museum. I got a little bit drunk and tampered with a display and I'm currently on suspension while the board review my case…"
Maybe it wasn't the entire story.
But at least it was some of it.
Maria's frown deepened. "Oh, Cassy…now that was silly, wasn't it? When will you know if you're back or not?"
Cassidy shrugged, racking her brains to remember what Stanford had told her before her abduction at the hands of the Archangel.
"In…in the next few days, probably…" A jolt of something warmer and lighter suddenly shot up through her stomach when she recalled a detail from her rather bleak future. "But something tells me that they'll let me back on to the staff. It's my first offence. I'll probably just get a slap on the wrist…"
Maria tilted her head for a moment, looking rather disapproving before taking her daughter's hand with a laboured chuckle. "Rightly so. With absolutely no bias just because I'm your mum, it would be pretty lousy if they let you go after one too many glasses of chardonnay, with you being one of the best archaeologists down there. That Stanford was always singing your praises whenever I took a visit down there. Saying that he'd never seen a newcomer take to restoration like you did…"
Cassidy laughed a little, wiping her eyes and sniffling. "Actually it was champagne…"
Within a few minutes, the two were talking away to each other as normally as they would have in front of the television at home or at the table during dinner.
They talked about Coronation Street and their predictions for the next season, how awful hospital food was, how bad the weather was getting, how great the weather probably was in Egypt at that moment…
Cassidy sat as closely to her mother's bundled and blanketed, frail and fidgeting frame as she could. Every now and then, she reminded her mother that she loved her, usually having to blot a stray tear from her eyes as she did so.
Maria would only laugh and hug her daughter, poking fun at her "soft-and-soppy" behaviour before dissolving into the horrible, hacking coughs that Cassidy was all too familiar with.
Maria had just finished plaiting her daughter's long, cornflower blonde hair and Cassidy was just about to start on her mother's own wispy, greying locks when a nurse curved her head around the door.
"Sorry, just checking in," she told them with a light, Welsh-tinged accent. "I've also got to give Miss Albright her oxygen for the hour."
Cassidy nodded, reluctantly allowing herself to be guided away from the bed.
"It's alright. This should only take five minutes or so," the nurse told her. "The rest of the ward is empty. Just for insurance purposes, I'm afraid you've got to wait behind one of the curtains…"
The archaeologist waited until her mother gave her a smile and a nod before slipping back behind one of the bed-curtains. The sound of the nebuliser suddenly whirring to life gave her quite the fright. It brought back memories of her mother taking oxygen in the kitchen when she was younger.
Of course, he was there. Her father.
He would never let her watch. He made her stay out of the kitchen…though it wasn't like that was for her safety or anything.
"Give your mother some fucking space. You're the one who half-suffocates her most of the time."
Suddenly a thought entered her mind.
A fleeting, phantom memory of a dream…
A dream.
A dream she had recently.
A dream involving him.
Her father.
A dream involving herself when she was younger.
But not really.
It was her.
But it wasn't really her.
And the dream had involved him too.
Michael…
"Have you done what you needed to?"
Cassidy jumped around in surprise, her body jolting in shock when she came face to face with the Weeping Archangel himself.
"What the-!? What are you doing here?" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down.
"Have you done what you needed to?" the Angel repeated, in the same tone. "Have you accomplished what I brought you here to accomplish?"
Cassidy glowered at him, shocked at his bluntness but at the same time realising that her expectations for sensitivity from a Weeping Angel were never quite going to bear fruit.
"No! I haven't! My mother hasn't died yet," she told him in a furious whisper. "And keep your damn voice down. There's a nurse back there who can't know that you're here." She paused for a moment, looking him and down. "How did you get up here?"
The nebuliser slowly started to hum and click at a less rhythmic pace, signalling that it was about to stop. Cassidy held up a hand. "Actually don't tell me. Just stay here. Don't move."
Cassidy returned to her mother shortly after the nurse left and being as gentle with her as she could manage, she started to plait her mother's hair. She tied it with an elastic band from the bed-side table and kissed her temple.
"Show me then," Maria giggled, gesturing to the bedside table. "My hand-mirror's over there."
Cassidy smiled and lifted up the small plastic red mirror.
"Ah, lovely, Cassy," her mother beamed. "You haven't forgotten how to do the fishbone braids I taught you. How old were you when I used to do them in your hair? Seven, maybe?"
"Eight, I think," Cassidy replied, settling down next to her. Something in her skin tingled and she couldn't tell whether it was a good tingle or a bad tingle. All she knew was that it had something to do with the knowledge that the woman beside her was once dead and now she was alive. "They…uh…th-they used to look quite good in my hair, didn't they?"
"Mhmm," the older woman crooned absent-mindedly, fingering a lock of her daughter's hair. "You've always had such lovely fair hair. Just like your grandmother. Natural white-blonde." She sighed. "Why did you ever stop wearing it in plaits?"
Cassidy shrugged. "The other girls in University always told me they looked childish. Then when I went to work at the museum, they just didn't seem to fit with the image that the place was trying to pull off…"
Maria laughed, wheezing slightly. "I suppose they're not the most sophisticated of hairdos…" She prodded Cassidy's folded arms. "Speaking of that darned museum, how's the exhibit coming along? With the statue? I hope all your work paid off. Nancy told me that the press-conference and the presentation night went very well."
Cassidy promptly ignored her memories associated with that night and as naturally as she could manage, responded: "Yeah, it went great actually and the exhibit…the exhibit is quite a success…"
Maria sighed gently. "That's good to hear, love. I'm just kicking myself I couldn't have been at the opening or even got down to the museum to see it…" She smiled, her eyes glistening as she rested her head atop her daughter's. "I was so excited when I heard that you had found an angel statue and you were restoring it. You know how much I love angels. They're my personal symbol of peace and love. God's messengers and protectors of the innocent, that's what your grandma always used to say."
Cassidy gritted her teeth to the point of pain, starting to go tense. "Yeah, you've…uh…you've always said that."
"I bet the statue is every bit as magnificent as you were saying it was," Maria continued, running her hand down her daughter's arm. "Do you have a photo of it to show me? Even one on your phone? Is it on the museum website?"
The archaeologist took a deep breath, her knuckles turning milky as she squeezed her hands together. "If you'd like," she told her mother slowly, questioning her decision at every syllable. "I could pull a few strings and…well, I've got a surprise for you…maybe…"
She delicately removed herself from her mother's embrace and stood up, quivering a little.
Maria looked at her daughter, perplexed. "Cassy, what are you up to?"
"It's a…it's a surprise…," Cassidy replied. "But you have to keep your eyes closed. This could take a moment."
Maria chuckled. "I'll probably drift off to sleep if I keep them closed for too long. Don't go too far, Cassy," she chided with a yawn, settling back against the pillows and lightly shuttering her eyes.
"Never," Cassidy told her quietly, slipping back behind the bed curtain as if she was about to leave the ward.
Sure enough when she pulled back the second set of bed curtains, Michael was still standing there.
Looking down at her accusatively, his wings drawn tightly behind his back.
"Have you now done what needs to have been done?"
"No," Cassidy told him sharply. "But you're going to help me with something right now."
"Do not speak to me with such command, human. You have nothing over me here."
"If you help me with this right now, we'll be out of here faster. Please, Michael…"
The Angel was silent for a second too long, prompting Cassidy to say in a wheedling tone:
"If I call you master, will that encourage you to help me?"
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps? What else do you want me to do? Beg on my knees?"
The Angel's face was fixed into a sneer but Cassidy could definitely hear the ghost of a smirk in his voice as he replied.
"That sounds all too fitting, Cassidy. Wouldn't you say?"
Groaning in exasperation and regretting her decision even further, Cassidy Albright dropped to her knees, looking up at the Angel with the most humble, most pleading eyes that she could muster. "Please, master. Please help me."
"Very well," the Angel responded, his amusement now very, very evident in his voice. When Cassidy finally allowed herself to blink, he was right in front of her, his arms folded across his chest- accentuating his broad, strong shoulders. "What do you want of me?"
"I just need you to stand in the exact same way that you did at the museum and not to move," Cassidy told him, standing up and brushing the dust from her knees. "My mother wants to admire you…so no funny business…" She attempted to sound threatening but her voice rolled out rather pleading again. "No sending her back in time or…"
Michael gave a snort of something between laughter and derision. "Why in all the galaxies would I attempt to consume your mother's life years? She has mere minutes left…"
His words hit her like darts of ice but Cassidy swallowed back her tears, running her fingers back through her plaited hair and turned her back to him. "Come on. Follow me. But stay behind this curtain here."
Behind the drapes, her mother had in fact drifted off to sleep.
For a split second, however, unable to see her delicately heaving chest- Cassidy panicked, running to her side. "Mum?! Mum?!"
Maria awoke with a start and a sharp inhale. "Hmpf, Cass-Cassy? Is that you?" She yawned, blinking and focusing blearily on her daughter's very relieved face. "Mm, goodness gracious, I fell asleep…how long was I asleep for?"
Cassidy stood up, smiling. "I'm sorry to wake you, Mum but I've got your surprise here…"
She walked over to the curtain and pulled it back, biting down hard on her lower lip with anxiety.
But there Michael stood, in the precise position that she had found him in. One arm draped over his eyes, shielding them from view and the other arm outstretched, palm flat as if offering help to someone.
Something fluttered in Cassidy's chest at the sight of the statue that she had once spent hours washing and working on.
Maria Albright gave a stunned gasp, vaguely reminiscent of her daughter's own first reaction to the sight of the Weeping Archangel. "Well, glory-be…isn't he just wonderful? Isn't he tall? Oh my goodness, Cassidy. He's beautiful." She sat up as best she could, her eyes darting all over the statue, an open-mouthed smile on her face. "How did you get him here?"
"She's calling Michael a "he" and not an "it"," Cassidy felt it necessary to note. "The same way I did."
"I pulled a few strings at the museum. I may be discharged but I still have friends there," she told her mother. She stood as close to the Lonely Assassin as possible, trying to send him a silent, bodily message: "if you want to come near my mother, you'll have to go through me first."
"And you still don't know who sculpted him?" Maria queried.
"No idea," her daughter confirmed, glancing between Michael and her mother with rapid succession. "None at all."
"Does the statue have a name? Ah! You told me his name before, didn't you?" Maria knuckled her forehead, coughing slightly. "What was the name? What was the name?"
"Michael," Cassidy told her, her eyes slowly wandering to the floor. "His name is Michael."
And Michael was being a very good boy so far.
"Michael," Maria echoed, smiling and settling back against the pillows once more. "Yes, I remember now. It's the perfect name for him, really. God's strong archangel." She chuckled a little, her breathing becoming increasingly laboured. "And he's a handsome fellow too, isn't he?"
"I…I suppose…"
"Oh, Cassy. Didn't I always tell you that one day you'd have a guardian angel come to look after you?" Her mother's voice was melodious and childish but Cassidy's nerves were wearing thin.
"Mum-…"
"You always used to ask me about getting old and what happens after we die and I'd always tell you not to worry about that because God's angels are looking out for us…and I think you've found your special angel…" She meant well. Cassidy knew that. But her mother's words were tearing through her for more reasons than one.
"M-Mum, please-…"
But her mother's attention was now on the huge, secretly-living statue that stood at the foot of her bed, a wide smile on her face. "Mr Michael, are you going to look after my Cassidy for me? She means very well and she works very hard but she can work herself up so much and make herself so stressed. I think she needs someone at that museum to make sure that she doesn't upset herself. Could you do that for me?" She pretended to hear a reply. "And you're sure you can do that? Ok, that's great…"
Maria Albright looked to her daughter once more, her eyes softening and her voice lowering slightly. Becoming less child-like. Less playful.
"I think I might need to talk to my angels, very soon, Cassidy."
"Don't say that, Mum," Cassidy said sharply, only now aware that she was crying again. "Don't you dare say that!" She ran to her side. "You'll be fine. I promise, you'll be fine…"
"Cassy, please listen to me…"
"No! You listen to me," she told her mother, falling to her knees and burying her face into the crook of Maria's neck. "Stop talking to me as if you're going somewhere. You're not going anywhere. You're staying here with me…"
Maria delicately took her daughter's chin. "Cassidy, look at me." She guided the young woman to meet her own brimming eyes. "We knew that this day was coming for a long time and I'm at pea-…"
"There has to be something that I can do. There has to be something that the doctors haven't tried…"
"They've done all they can, Cassy. I've undergone all the treatments and there's nothing else that can be done. We were told this years ago, love…don't you remember? You were even so good to ask Nancy to keep me here another night- you knew that this was going to happen sooner or later…"
"I…I just can't lose you…not again…"
"Again?" Maria coughed, raising her eyebrows. "Oh poppet, you knew this day was coming. It's been burdening you all this time…and yet you've been so strong and that's how I know you'll be very brave…and you're not losing me…not really…"
"But you're my mummy," Cassidy insisted, feeling like a five-year-old girl again as her mother cradled her face. "You're my mummy. You're not supposed to be saying all of this to me. I just…I just can't…"
"But you can," Maria told her gently. "And you will…" She ran her fingertips down the side of her daughter's face. "That's my Cassidy. Always trying to fix everything. Always worrying about things that she can't control. Always thinking that it's her fault…" Her eyebrows arched slightly. "But none of it was your fault. None of it is your fault. Not this right now…not what happened between your father and I…"
Cassidy gave an audible sob, kneeling up to kiss her mother's cheek. "Mummy…" She shook her head. "It's not your fault either. You always seemed to think that I res-…I resented you for not staying with…with him but that's not true…I loved it when it was just you and me. You're the best mother ever, you're more than I could ever wish for, more than I ever deserved…" She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "But you're wrong. I'm not strong. I wish I was strong like you."
Maria wound Cassidy's braid around her trembling fingers, starting to wheeze loudly again but smiling all the same. "Yes, you are, Cassy. You don't know it yet." She coughed, needing a moment to take her breath before continuing. "What have I always told you? When you're in a bad place and when things get rough, you've just got to imagine a lifeline being tossed out to you. You just have to stand up and take it…no matter how big the mess is…you have to make the most of what you've got…"
"Mummy, I…"
Before Cassidy could say another heartfelt word, Maria began to cough a lot more violently then before, phlegm starting to leak down the corners of her mouth.
She screamed for a nurse, only have half the staff on that part of the floor filter through the door.
Cassidy swivelled around, for a brief moment worrying about what they would think of the massive stone angel statue standing at the foot of the bed but the Lonely Assassin had vanished yet again.
Despite her protests, she was ushered from the room and made to wait in the hallway whilst her mother was medicated and hooked up to a heart monitor.
Nancy was waiting for her there with her aunt Christine, (both of whom were red-eyed) and the local parish priest. All three were doing their best to comfort her, despite knowing that they were fighting a losing battle.
Cassidy had always known that watching her go would be the hardest part.
When she was finally allowed back into the ward, her mother was half-delirious from medication. The priest gave a small service, saying a few prayers before leaving Cassidy alone with her mother and the rhythmic, electronic pulses of the heart monitor.
She gave her mother one final, tearful kiss, gently pressing her lips to her mother's wrinkled temple and sat back, taking her hand and smiling at her. "I love you, Mum."
Her mother had a nebuliser over her mouth and nose but Cassidy could tell that she was smiling too.
Cassidy's grip on her mother's hand tightened as the monitor flat-lined.
She didn't scream this time as she had with Louisa. It was different with Louisa.
She hadn't watched the light leave her best friend's eyes.
She had been sitting in an A&E waiting room when Louisa had been pronounced dead…and she hadn't exactly been expecting her to drop dead right in front of her.
She was permitted to sit with her mother for another ten minutes before the doctors gently asked her to leave, murmuring something about "post-mortem checks." Cassidy nodded slowly and walked out of the ward, letting go of her mother's hand and immediately trying to recall the feeling of her soft, creased skin against her palm.
People were outside, waiting to talk to her but she didn't want to talk to anyone.
She didn't want to talk to Nancy.
She didn't want to talk to Christine.
She didn't want to talk to a priest or a doctor or a nurse.
She didn't want to talk to anyone.
A shivering, crying mute, she was directed to small, private oratory in the lower floors of the hospital. There was a single kneeling bench and pew, a stained-glass window that cast multi-coloured lights across the burnt sienna carpet and a few assorted paintings and statues of religious icons.
One particular statue stood out among the rest.
The Weeping Archangel was standing in the corner of the room, in the same posture that she had found him and the same posture that she had begged for him to stand in for her mother.
Her dead mother.
She pressed her back against the door, slowly sliding downwards until she was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees.
After a blink to banish the tears from her eyes, Michael was looking down at her. There was a heavy silence: as if one was waiting for the other to say something.
"Did you hear everything?," Cassidy suddenly asked. "Did you h-hear my m-mother and I talking?"
"Yes. Most of your dialogue," the Angel told her. "But I felt it was unnecessary for me to remain there so I left around the time that she was telling you that an incident "wasn't your fault" or something to that effect. I imagine she was referring to her illness…"
"M-maybe…but I know…I know that she meant it wasn't my fault about my father either," Cassidy told him, having no idea why she was talking to him. All she knew was that the talking distracted her and prevented her from thinking about the reasons underlying her tears. "My father was a man named Daniel Tiernan...he w-was never abusive towards me or my mum or anything…at least n-not properly abusive…not physically abusive…but he always…" She shook her head. "He always ignored me. I remember him ignoring me since I was very young. He never used to show interest in what I was doing, what I wanted to do…in my school-life, in my friends…he just wanted nothing to do with me. Like he didn't even want to have a daughter. Nothing I ever did was good enough for him, either. There would be times when Mum wasn't in the house when he'd blatantly pretend that I wasn't there. I'd try to talk to him and he'd turn the television up louder…I'd leave the sitting room to go to the toilet and he'd lock the door so I couldn't get back in…I'd see other girls and boys with their dads and I'd get so jealous…"
She could feel her heart beating fast and forced herself to take a deep breath. "Mum never seemed to comment on it so I always thought it was just my imagination…then again whenever she was around, he was always subtle enough that she wouldn't notice…but then Mum got really, really sick…her cystic fibrosis got worse than it ever had before. She needed lots of extra medical attention. One night when she got taken to the hospital, my father got really drunk and started shouting at me. He told me that I had ruined he and my mother had a great relationship before I was born. He said that when my mother found out that she was pregnant…everyone told her that she was too old and too sick to have children…"
Cassidy dropped her head forward. "He told me that she said that she wanted to have an abortion…like…to put an end to the pregnancy before I was born…but something changed her mind just a few days before they went to the clinic…" Her plait was in tatters from being pulled at and having fingers raked through it. "He called me the "accident that ruined their marriage" and said that I was constantly forcing them to spend money on me when it could have been used to pay for Mum's medical bills…"
Cassidy paused for a moment, looking up to find that Michael had not moved an inch. He was as unmoving and as quiet as any ordinary statue.
The silence was unnerving as always and yet there was something painfully wonderful about having someone who was willing to just listen to you speak.
Not talking over you.
Not asking questions.
Just listening to you.
She pressed her head back against the wall. "I was seven years old that night. I shouted at him and told him that he was lying. He just laughed and told me to ask Mum when she got back the next day so I confronted her…and that's when the fights started between Mum and my father…Mum was appalled and shocked when she heard what he had told me and it wasn't until years later that we'd ever actually talk about it again but…my father left my mother…the divorce was finalised and I haven't seen him since then…"
"Mum freed up some money shortly after the split and we moved out to Oakside…and despite everything that I've been told…I can't help thinking…" Her voice faltered and died, her head lifting slightly to survey the Weeping Archangel.
He had moved now and was standing right in front of her, both hands by his sides, his wings spread and his eyes on her.
"Have you finished your confessions?"
Cassidy nodded, not saying anything.
After all, she'd already said everything that she wanted to say.
"You will do no favours to yourself by continuing to grieve. You make take solace in three things, however, human."
She dropped her forehead to her knees, suddenly uncaring as to whether he moved or not. "And what are those three things?"
"Firstly, your mother spoke the truth. None of what you have told me was your doing. Even as a child, you did little more than speak the truth that would have inevitably come to the fore regardless of your confrontation. You are not to blame for your father's cowardice…"
Cassidy could hear his voice getting slightly louder, indicating that he was moving closer to her but she did not look up, instead choosing to hug her knees tighter.
"Secondly," the Angel continued. "Your father was a fool for deserting his mate and offspring…and for not accepting you. Female children are infinitely more valuable than male children. Not only will they grow to be care-givers and hard-working fighters but each will grow to eventually carry her father's blood in her womb."
"Interesting," Cassidy internally remarked, feeling whimsical in the recesses of her hysteria and soon realising this bizarre desire for amusing thought to be the hallmark of her bouts of sadness. "Weeping Angels view daughters as more desirable than sons…their females definitely outnumber their males anyway…I don't suppose they got much of a look-in when the importance of gender was decided…"
"And thirdly…"
Cassidy flinched, realising that his face was level with hers. Her breathing quickened as one of his hands came to cover her eyes, the other lifting her chin to expose her tear-stained face to him. Suddenly rigid with fear, her cheeks aflame and her heart in her throat.
"Thirdly, you needn't worry about any of that any longer for it would appear that your mother has entrusted your welfare to me…" An ice-cold breath skimmed the tip of her nose and the rise of her lips. "…and little Cassidy needn't worry about being at fault any longer either, for I shall be making her decisions for her…"
She opened her eyes, tears seeping forth from her raw-red lids as she met the cold, grey stare of the Angel.
Her eyes instinctively dipped downward, falling upon his thin-lipped, fanged smile and that was when she realised that her voice had deserted her again.
Cassidy didn't mind very much though.
She was too tired to argue with him.
Her mother's funeral took place in the next few days
Her Aunt Christine drove her to the church and insisted on helping her to her seat at the foot of the altar.
Looking down at her hands, neatly folded in her blue-skirted lap. Christine had also chosen the skirt for her. Apparently it looked the most respectable of all of her clothes.
Cassidy might have disagreed upon reflection but her mind was otherwise occupied.
Her shoulders instinctively shrugged as she settled down into the pews, quietly pondering what the logic was behind the family of the deceased being given the best possible and completely unavoidable view of the coffin.
The whispering had been bad enough at the wake.
Now, it seemed even louder.
She ignored it, trying to focus on the priest's droning voice.
Her mind soon drifted far into the sky, past the clouds and above the stars until it was far beyond the earth…however it was forcefully brought back to the inside of the church when she felt her hand being roughly taken and shaken.
A line of people passed by, all eager to shake her hand, look at her awkwardly and to show their sympathies. She recognised some of them as neighbours, some of them as friends of her mother's, some of them as museum staff and there were some that she didn't recognise at all.
She didn't cry as much as she thought she would.
The entire funeral experience felt like tearing through a wound that had already been healed. Of course, it hurt…but it was pain that she had already felt.
She had already mourned her other's passing. She had already cried at her graveside.
The whispering grew louder at the burial.
"Poor sweetheart. She's barely spoken to anyone all day. Probably still in shock…"
"The little lamb…I remember when she was little and Maria used to take her around for tea. Such a quiet girl…very nice though…"
"I've got half a mind to invite her to stay at mine for a while. She's all alone up in that house, after all. I hate to think of her without anyone to talk to."
"Has she been offered counselling, do you know? My nephew is a psychiatrist. I'm sure he'd give her a free session if she asked."
"She doesn't need doctors, right now! That poor girl needs comfort and companionship…"
Cassidy clenched her hands into fists, hidden by the too-long sleeves of her jacket.
All of her mother's friends and a good, hefty fraction of the museum staff had suddenly turned into good Samaritans and she had no interest in being helped by any one of them.
Where were all these charitable do-gooders when she genuinely needed help? When she was confused and traumatised from having missed her own mother's funeral? When they were set to lock her up in a mental health ward?
"People are only interested in helping others when it makes them look good," Cassidy thought, mouthing the words of a well-known prayer as an intense, unwelcome feeling of hatred washed over her. "Everyone wants to help the little lamb…no one wants to help the little lunatic…"
It didn't take her long to find Michael after the ceremony had ended.
He blended in rather well with the other grave-markers and didn't look too out of place, but her eyes still locked on to his towering form in a matter of seconds.
His eyes were characteristically covered but she could tell he had been watching her from the moment that she had left the church. His posture was strategically adapted: his eyes hidden in the crook of his elbow but not in the same manner as his pose from the museum.
Thus, the museum staff didn't recognise him as their "vanishing statue."
He had barely let her out of his sight for the last few days. Nancy had insisted that she stay with her and as such, he had been forced to keep his distance.
"Something troubles you."
His deep, slightly-growling voice met her ears as soon as she was within a good metre's radius of him.
"I was just thinking about human beings," Cassidy informed him quietly, keeping her eyes on the folds of his stone toga; there were too many people in the graveyard that day and as the crowd dispersed, Cassidy couldn't help but feel that he'd already "consumed" one or two of them.
"What feature of your kind provokes your thoughts?"
"I couldn't help but think that maybe you Angels are all right. Maybe human beings are all ignorant and worthless…your kind will literally kill for each other at the drop of a hat…we can't even show basic compassion for each other…and supposedly you lot are the monsters, incapable of feeling…" She smiled weakly to herself. "I'm not saying that that's not true. I'm just that maybe humans aren't on so much of a moral high-ground, ourselves…"
"Uh…Cassidy?"
Nancy placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump slightly. "Sorry…I was in my own world there for a second. What is it?"
"We're, uh, we're just about to leave. We were wondering if you'd like a lift down to the pub?"
"…thanks but I think I'll wait around here a little longer. I still have some people to talk to. I'll follow you down in a taxi…"
"Ah, no problem. I understand. I'll see you there so."
It wasn't a complete lie.
She made a note of talking to Stanford about the fact that she'd be "absent" for the next two weeks, spinning a story about heading to see some relatives abroad. The curator was only too happy to accept this information, telling her that she'd have a letter from the Board waiting for her when she got home.
"I have a strong feeling, it'll be good news too," he added with a wink.
She fed the same alibi to Nancy, (with vaguely altered details) and made sure to take the house key from her as she left the pub that evening.
The Weeping Archangel was standing in front of her at the moment she set foot on the pavement outside. His strong stone skin and marbled plumage gleamed under the flickering yellow street-lights, slick and wet from the lightly falling rain.
His hand was offered to her.
"Have you done what needed to be done?"
"Yes."
"And now, no questions will be asked?"
"Yes."
"Your kind will no longer seek you out and torment us?"
"No. They won't."
"Good. Take my hand."
Closing her eyes, Cassidy placed her hand in Michael's palm. As always, she had expected to feel cold, wet stone so the sudden feeling of cold, wet skin as real as her own, suddenly enclosing around her fingers, took her by surprise.
When Cassidy opened her eyes once more, she was standing in the hallway of her house in Oakside with Michael standing before her.
Hastily, she lifted her hand from the stone Angel's grip, massaging her aching knuckles as she opened her mouth to ask:
"Is it-?"
"The present day?" the Angel responded, his voice resounding in the empty corridor. "Yes. Yes, it is."
She turned around to look at the front door at her back, finding it to be intact.
"This is the exact day that you took me back in time."
"Yes."
"…but the door…the police…the police, when they got here, I heard them kick the door in…where are the police anyway? If it's the right day, shouldn't they be here?"
"Again," Michael uttered, a note of exasperation in his tones. "You show a very weak understanding of the conventions of time-travel. Because you changed the event in the past that heralded the coming of your "police"…they never came here…"
Cassidy rubbed her forehead, trying to force her thoughts to run in a linear pattern. "I was there when my mother died and I was at her funeral so Nancy never got angry with me…I told her that I was going away for a few weeks so in her mind, I never "went missing"…and the museum never thought to check up on me because I gave Stanford the same story…" She massaged her face with the heel of her hand. "But then I never ended up in Mason Vale either, did I? Because I never went missing for three weeks…they never thought that I was…"
Her voice trailed off briefly before she spoke again, still staring at the front door as if she expected it to rocket from its hinges. "But why can I still remember it all? Ah-!"
She couldn't help but cry out when the Angel's cold, clawed fingers closed down on her shoulder.
"You have partaken in an act of time-travel," Michael imparted. "Once you have left your own time-stream, your mind retains all traces of it, regardless of what alterations are made in said time-stream…"
"But I don't understand something," Cassidy went on, shakily trying to free herself from Michael's grip but finding it quite impossible. "You took me back in time so that when I got back to London, I wouldn't be locked away because I'd have an explanation for my disappearance. While I was in the…in the past with my mother, there was still a version of me in …that…that hotel in Los Angeles, right? And a version of you too?"
"Correct."
"So where are those versions of you and I now? " Her eyes widened at the prospect of having two of her wandering around and her breath shortened sharply at the idea of having two Michaels wandering around after her.
"Those versions of us ceased to exist from the moment that they returned here. The point in time where…the doctor…" Michael spoke his name with evident distaste and malice. "…returned you here, was tainted by the new timeline that we created. The Cassidy that stepped from the doctor's famous "Police Box" ceased to exist from the moment she set foot in this time zone. Likewise the past version of myself ceased to exist from the moment that he followed her here."
"Ceased to…so what, they just vanished? Into thin air?"
"Presumably."
Cassidy massaged her temples, groaning. "This is too much to take in right now…"
"No doubt your tiny human mind can't comprehend the complexity of-…"
"I'm a lot smarter than you give me credit for!" the human suddenly snapped, turning around in his grip. Much like the biting incident, it was not her physical strength but her sudden change in attitude that caused the Weeping Archangel to release her.
She turned to face him, finding his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "Foolish little human."
Cassidy stared up at him, without flinching and without blinking as a quietness settled between them. She glowered at him for as long as she could but a stray clot of mascara splintered into her right eye, automatically causing her to blink.
"G-uh!"
Michael wasted no time in grabbing her by the shoulders and pinning her against the peeling Fleur-de-Lis wallpaper at her back.
When she opened his eyes- his now-stone hands keeping her firmly locked against the skirting boards- she saw that the Angel's face had taken on its more feral appearance.
He was still smirking though.
"And now, seeing as we can have no interruptions, what to do with you?"
She didn't like his tone. Not one tiny bit.
"I have something to say to you," Cassidy heard herself say quickly, her eyes coming to settle on his jaw-line.
"And what is that? Please spare me another false confession of your undying love for me…"
"Thank you. I just want to say thank you."
"Thank you? Thank you for what?"
She blinked and his grip tightened.
She winced but did not let the pain distract her.
"Thank you for giving me the chance to say goodbye to my mother…"
"I did not do it for your sake. I did it for my convenience."
"I know," she admitted, gritting her teeth slightly. "I'm aware you're completely unable to do something compassionate without expecting personal gain…" She sighed. "But still, I feel as though I should be thanking you…so that's what I'm doing…"
Her eyes traced his strong, stone form, slowly travelling downward until she reached the floorboards. She was briefly astonished to feel his hands leave her shoulders.
"Are you going to cry again, Cassidy?" the Angel asked her. His voice was mostly taunting and partly exasperated but a very small sliver of something else had crept into it.
"No," she told him honestly, not looking up. "I don't think I'm going to cry for another while. I think I've cried enough in the past few days…"
"I think so too. I think I've become tired at the sight of you crying your eyes out."
"That's rather funny," Cassidy observed, massaging her bruised shoulders. "Especially considering that you lot always look like you're crying your eyes out."
Another silence passed between them.
Cassidy's eyes were still on the ground but Michael remained as stationary as he was.
For a split second, she couldn't help but feel slightly awkward; it felt like meeting a person at a bar, introducing yourself to them and then being unsure of what to talk about, unsure of when to walk away.
It was the Weeping Archangel who broke the silence again.
"Are you afraid of me, Cassidy Albright?"
"…I don't know…." She swallowed but rather than dwelling on her own answer, she put the same question to him. "Are you afraid of me, Michael?"
She heard his chuckle- deep and gravelly in his stolen human voice- accompanied by the screech that presumably emitted from his true vocal chords, (or whatever he had that resembled vocal chords).
"Why ever would I have any reason to fear you?"
"I don't know…"
"Is there anything that you are certain of, at this point in time?"
"I feel…oddly grateful towards you…I suppose I'm certain of that." She looked up at him, looking into his eyes. "Are you certain of anything in particular right now?"
"I am certain that you are a strange human. A very, very strange human."
Cassidy could feel herself starting to get dizzy and her head starting to ache.
His eyes, stop looking at his eyes.
She covered her face, doubling over and shaking her head.
When she looked up, Michael wasn't looking at her.
He was looking away- his head turned to look in the direction of the open kitchen doorway.
His expression frightened her slightly. His brows were lifted, his mouth slackened and his eyes slightly widened.
"What are you looking at?" Cassidy wondered aloud, following his gaze but when she looked back to him, he was staring right back at her.
"Nothing. I thought I heard….thought I saw…something…"
"What?"
"That is no matter."
Cassidy didn't trust him. Not at all.
Even as she slipped into the kitchen and made herself some tea under his watchful eyes, the image of the Angel's perplexed, almost anxious face haunted her.
For the next three days, Cassidy Albright shared her house with the Weeping Archangel.
He still acted as her prison-keeper.
Technically speaking.
Cassidy didn't really care anymore. She found herself becoming passive. Her moods ranged from apathetic to irritated and were usually peppered with short bouts of sadness.
On the first day, she spent ten straight minutes staring at the bath-tub in her mother's bathroom.
She then promptly turned on heel, left the room and went to download something to watch on her laptop.
He allowed her to live as she normally would. She read. She ate. She washed. She watched television. She cleaned. She used her laptop. She slept. She occasionally used the phone, (mainly to discourage her neighbours from coming over to check in on her).
But she wasn't allowed to leave the house.
And he watched her in virtually everything she did.
Everything.
And all with the morbid, blatant fascination of nine year old child, watching his very first pet rabbit as it hopped around in its hutch.
They also talked sometimes.
Just before she retired to bed in the evening- and on one or more occasion, directly after her shower- Michael would approach her from behind, grab her, blindfold her and force her into the compliant petting behaviour that he had in their early days in Summer Bank.
That was when she would talk to him.
The topics of their conversation would vary from night to night.
But all the while, Cassidy couldn't help but feel that he was keeping something from her. He kept her in the house and he would not let her leave but he had made no attempt to leave the house either.
Not to hunt.
Not to "procure" anything.
Not at all.
She never asked him about it, of course, but all the same…it was as though he was waiting for something.
On the third day, she caught him holding a framed photograph of herself and her mother. His stone fingers were cracking frame with the effects of the quantum lock.
Something inside of Cassidy snapped.
"No! No! No!" she shouted, squeezing her eyes shut to emphasise the point. "Put that down! Put that down, now!"
The sound of glass shattering prompted Cassidy to open her eyes.
Michael had put the photo down alright.
Groaning, Cassidy threw the book she had been reading aside and ran over to salvage the photograph from the fragments of glass, now littered across the wooden floor.
"Why were you even poking at this anyway?"
"That image. Your face in that image."
"What about it?"
"You are smiling."
"Yes, and?"
"I have not seen you smile in a long time."
His voice was carefully without expression as he added. "If I wanted you to smile before, I'd bring you one of your favourite flowers…and that would fill you with happiness…"
Cassidy paused for a moment before delicately folding the photograph into her pocket and standing to retrieve a dustpan and brush. "Michael, you'd have to plant me a whole damn forest of flowers before I'd ever smile like that again."
"Coming through! Coming through! Official museum, historical-ish business!"
A time lord was running at high speed through the hallways of the London National History Museum, his companion being dragged along by the wrist, trying to avoid knocking into clusters of innocent museum-goers.
"D-Doctor," Clara panted, doubling over when he finally pulled them both to a grinding halt. "Doctor, what are we doing here? I thought you said Cassidy isn't here…"
"She's not," he confirmed, spinning around on the spot as though trying to evoke the powers of a mental compass. "I'm not trying to find Cassidy. I'm just trying to find...a…gooooood…maaan….aha! Here!"
Not allowing Clara another second of relief, the Doctor seized her by the wrist once more and hauled her down a corridor, promptly ignoring the "Staff Only" placard on the wall.
It wasn't a long time before their one-sided sprint was stopped by a burly security card.
"I'm sorry, sir and madam, but this area is off-limits to museum visitors. I can't let you go any further."
"We're not ordinary visitors," the Doctor insisted between pants, rifling around his jacket for his psychic paper as he squinted at the security guard's name-tag. "Yes, Mr…Omar, is it? Yes, we're very definitely meant to be here."
He thrust the psychic papers under Omar Ramokadi's nose, the security guard's eyes widening to the size of dinner-plates. "Uhm…right…sorry to bother you then…your holiness…" He looked from the Doctor to Clara. "And your highness…uhm…" He shakily handed the papers back to the now-smirking Time Lord. "Can I help you with anything?"
"We're looking for a man named Edmund Potter," the Doctor informed him, all the while, trying to look over his shoulders. "It's very urgent that we speak to him immediately."
"He's probably in his office," Omar told them, beckoning for them to follow him. "Here, I'll show you the way. Sorry, these corridors aren't very well-mapped. We've put out complaints about it but apparently there's no need to sign-post them because visitors aren't meant to come back here anyway…"
Thankfully, Edmund was in his office, sitting behind his desk and pouring over what appeared to be a magazine concealed by a large notebook.
All of which was promptly dropped to the floor when the time-travelling duo all but fell through his door.
"Clara! Doctor! What are you two doing here?!"
The Doctor slammed his hands on the desk, leaning forward so that his travelled, twinkling eyes were bearing directly into the archaeologist's.
"Edmund. Listen to me very carefully and answer this simple question. Where is Cassidy?"
"I thought you knew where she was?" Clara piped up.
The Doctor held up a swift hand to silence his companion. "I do know where she is. But we're not here because I know where she is. We're here because Edmund knows where she is and we need to hear Edmund tell me where she is." He leaned closer, almost nose to nose with the rapidly recoiling young man. "Eddie…Eddie my man…where is Cassidy Albright?"
Edmund blinked, looking terribly confused for a moment. "C-Cass? She's…she's…of course she's…" His eyes widened and he stood up from his chair, distraught in a split second. "Cassidy is in hospital. Cassidy was missing, wasn't she? The police came and took her…something to do with the statue…" He sank back down into his seat, running his fingers through his hair. "I heard she wasn't even at her mother's funeral and I thought, well that's obviously because she'd been taken by that…that angel-thing…"
The Doctor's voice lowered. "Yes, Edmund. Yes, that's right. But I need you to think…where is she now? Think very hard. Think very carefully."
Edmund bowed his head, groaning for a moment. "Doctor, I really don't have time for thi-…" Suddenly the archaeologist's head shot up, his eyes wide and staring in an apparent realisation. "Wait, wait, wait…Cassidy's not in hospital…she's at home. She's fine. She didn't miss her mother's funeral. I saw her at the funeral. I was there…but I wasn't…and then she wasn't…"
He slowly looked to the Doctor, his jaw slack and his lip twitching with apparent horror. "D-Doctor, why do I have two memories of the same event?"
"Because Edmund!" the Doctor declared, starting to pace from one wall of the small office to the other. "You are a time-traveller now. You're sensitive to changes in your time-stream and someone has made a monumental change to this time-stream…" He stomped to a halt, wringing his hands. "Someone…someone…oh, someone! Someone has created an alternate time-line." Clara and Edmund exchanged worried glances and the two of them simultaneously leaned back in their seats as the Doctor's voice grew louder. "They've rewritten a seemingly minor event which created a massive knock-on effect, which in turn has torn a colossal hole in the time vortex…ok, that's a lie, the hole isn't colossal…BUT! But, it is a hole nonetheless and a hole means this has gone beyond a simple kidnapping…that's not kidnapping, that's not hunting…it's breaking the rules…" The Doctor gripped the sides of his head. "That's only a small step away from playing God…well, maybe not playing God…maybe three steps away…"
"Wait, wait, wait," Clara spread her hands, attempting to placate him in the hopes of getting some coherent information. "You think that Angel- Michael- went back in time and rewrote some event?"
"I know he did," the Doctor concluded, slumping into the seat beside her and tenting his fingers.
"What did he change?" Edmund asked curiously, straightening his glasses and coming to stand in front of his desk.
"That's not the point," the Doctor said sharply. "The point is not what he changed. The point is that he changed something. It's not the consequence, it's the act itself. If he's literally torn holes in time for his own personal gain once, he'll do it again. One hole isn't all that bad. Two holes is fairly dire. A lot of holes could cause a lot of problems…" The Doctor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, I've got to accept what I first noticed in Summer Bank…a sociopath, he may be, like all the others…but this Michael is no ordinary Weeping Angel…"
"Because he kidnapped a human, rather than just taking her life-years?" Clara offered, trying to recall all that she had learned about the Lonely Assassins in the last few days.
"Yes, that," the Doctor told his two companions hoarsely. "Well, there's that…and the fact that he now thinks it's ok to jump all over the time-stream. Weeping Angels are psychopaths…murderous…cruel…but they're not stupid. They're versed, born time-travellers. They know the rules of time-travel as well as the Time Lords of Gallifrey did…" His voice briefly trailed off before returning, reinvigorated. "This Angel is a deviant."
"And I'm guessing that makes him more dangerous than ordinary Angels?" Edmund noted quietly, an audible quaver in his voice.
The Doctor nodded, instantly prompting Clara to sit forward. "So what are we going to do? If he's got Cassidy again…"
"Our first order of business is to get Cassidy away from him and get her as far away from his as possible," the Doctor told them, sitting up and crossing his legs, his eyes distant.
"Didn't we already try that though?"
"Clearly just taking her away wasn't good enough. Clearly we've got to do something about the Angel."
"Ok," Edmund said slowly, reaching for his phone. "Maybe, I could text Cassidy or something, tell her-…"
"No, no, no, no, no texting!"
The Doctor grabbed Edmund's phone from his hand. "That's no good. He won't be as clumsy as he was last time. He won't make the same mistakes. He'll have her under constant surveillance. If he even thinks something is threatening his position in this situation…there is quite literally no telling what he might do…" With nimble fingers that didn't quite match his expression, the Doctor tucked the phone back into Edmund's top pocket, patting it for good measure.
"Maybe we could use that against him somehow. That attachment," Clara suggested, standing up and coming to lean on the desk. "Maybe we could set a trap for him…use Cassidy as a lure of sorts…"
"Set a trap for him...," the Doctor repeated, staring into space, deep in thought.
Edmund snorted slightly. "What, like, Scooby-Doo him? An ancient alien with super-powers? Really?"
Clara frowned. "Well, why not? If he's willing to tear holes in the time stream just to keep Cassidy under his control, why wouldn't he follow her somewhere that was only a short drive away from her house?" She gestured to the walls around them. "Even here?"
The Doctor sighed. "But that brings us back to our original problem which is getting Cassidy to leave him in the first place…"
Edmund clicked his fingers, in the pinnacle of a "eureka" moment. "Wait a minute! Cassidy's hearing. I'm the head of Cassidy's office now. I can have her hearing moved up a few days…maybe to tomorrow…" The blonde shoved through the two brunettes to get to the filing cabinet behind their seats. "Cass cares about this job more than anything. She'd make every effort she could to come to the hearing that might save her job."
Edmund suddenly froze mid-action, looking doubtful. "But would he let her leave him? Even if he was sure he could follow? Would he take that chance?"
"I thought he was tearing holes in the time-stream for her…I thought that was the point…" Clara insisted.
"But was that really for her? How can we know for certain? I don't want to endanger her life."
"He took her to her mother's funeral, didn't he? It sounds to me like he's trying to placate her or something…maybe it's so he can establish better control of her or something…"
"But we can't be certain of that."
The Doctor suddenly stood up swiftly. "Yes…" he murmured, casually and almost unconsciously drifting over to Edmund.
The archaeologist looked up. "You agree, Doctor?"
Then the Doctor, without the slightest hint of warning or even an expression change, grabbed Edmund by the head and kissed him on the forehead.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
He grabbed Clara in a similar fashion and planted another fervent kiss on her brow. "Yes! YES!"
"…uhm…yes to the plan?"
"Yes to all of it!" the Doctor heralded. "Yes to your plans you two beautiful, brilliant children of Earth!" He took a deep breath. "This could go very, very well…or very, very badly…we just need to act fast."
He rounded on the two young people.
"We are going to catch this Angel…but first we need...to get a little outside help... Edmund, I need your phone…"
"Why?"
The question had barely left the archaeologist's lips before the Doctor had snatched the phone from his pocket again.
"I just need to make a collect call. A collect call to a certain prison…" The Doctor pointed his sonic screw-driver at the phone, apparently deaf to Edmund's latest string of half-uttered protests.
"Who are you calling?" Clara asked, coming to stand beside the now-blubbering Edmund, patting his shoulder in assurance.
"An expert on the Weeping Angels. Sort of," the Doctor replied before turning his attention back to the phone. "I thought we might be able to do this without her but n-…oh hello there! Is this Storm-Cage? Yes, I'd like to speak with…ah, you've got voice recognition? Oh, so you know who I want to talk to….right…so there's no way I can…right….could you maybe just give her a message for me? Don't worry, she'll know what I mean…"
The Doctor took a deep breath.
"…tell her that it's 2012 in London and Sweetie needs a favour…"
Hope you enjoyed!