Here's the next chapter! Just finished it!
Chapter 9: 1913
Freya felt as if her body was being ripped apart and then flung back together. Colors whirled past her as she landed, falling. Her body collapsed and started to roll – a hill? She had to have landed on a hill.
When she stopped rolling, Freya stayed where she landed. She was in the grass – that was all she could figure out. The Doctor had said she'd end up in the early 1900s? She couldn't remember. Her mind was scrambled.
"Miss? Miss, are you alright?" a man's voice asked her. A few seconds later, a face appeared in her line of vision. It was followed quickly by a woman's face.
"I don't know," Freya said honestly.
"Don't move. I'm a nurse," the woman said, kneeling.
"We saw you tumble down the hill. It looked like you were running from someone. Are you okay?" the man asked her. Freya's mind whirled. It was too much to think of with her headache.
"I don't know. I don't remember," Freya lied. It wasn't a true lie, but it was stretching the truth.
"She must have hit her head. I'm going to try to help you sit up. If you feel any pain, let me know," the woman, the nurse, said as she helped Freya sit up. Freya's hands automatically came up to her stomach, to her large baby bump.
"Can you tell us what you remember? Your name, perhaps? Your husband's name?" the nurse asked her.
"I'm…I'm Freya. Um…." Freya drifted off.
"It's okay. It'll come back to you. Headmaster, I think we should bring her back to the school. At least until we can figure out where she belongs," the nurse said.
"Matron, we don't have any spare rooms available. Every bed is occupied," the headmaster said with a frown.
"We can't leave a helpless pregnant girl out here without even the slightest of memories. Do any of the teachers have a spare room? Or spare space?" the nurse, Matron, asked.
"The teachers are all married, save that Mr. Smith. However, it is highly inappropriate for a young woman to stay in a man's room," the Headmaster said.
"I am so sorry for causing so much trouble," Freya said quietly.
"Oh no, my dear. Here. We'll help you up," the Headmaster said, wrapping an arm around her as Matron helped lift her. The world spun for a moment as she rose but righted itself after a minute of Freya swaying.
"Thank you so much," Freya said, tugging her sleeve down instinctively over the Vortex Manipulator. She then slid it farther up her arm as well.
"Just try to think on the way back to the school," Matron urged her.
And Freya did think. She tried coming up with the best story. A lot of it depended on how soon she met the Doctor. If he knew who she was, she could say she was his wife. If he didn't…she would have to pretend she had been raped. She couldn't think of any other reason she would be pregnant in that time and still make herself available to the Doctor.
Also, her name. She needed to give them a last name. That ought to satisfy them for awhile.
When they got her to the school, they paused in the main area, at a loss as to where to be.
"We can ask Mr. Smith if we can use his couch to examine her on," Matron suggested.
"Why is the school so full?" Freya wondered aloud.
"We have a few guests in right now. They are supposed to be here for two weeks," the headmaster said. The two of them helped her up the stairs and to a room where they knocked on the door.
The door was jerked open…to reveal the Doctor. Freya bit her lip to keep from gasping out.
"Ah. Matron, Headmaster, what brings you here? And who is this?" the Doctor asked.
Freya's heart sank.
But at least she had a few things figured out.
First of all, the Doctor was this Mr. Smith. Second, he had no clue as to who she was. Third, she had a lot of lying to come up with. She was grateful for her memory loss ploy. That would help her to gradually give out the details.
"We were hoping we could use your couch to examine her. The place is so full for the conference that we don't even have a spare bed at the moment," Matron said apologetically. The Doctor – no, Mr. Smith – stepped aside, allowing them in. Freya was practically carried to the couch, where they laid her down as the Matron began poking and prodding her.
"Have you remembered anything else?" the Headmaster asked.
"My last name. It's MacLeish. Freya MacLeish," Freya lied.
"That sounds like a Scottish name. How did you get over here? Or do you live here now?" the Headmaster asked.
"I…I don't know. I…I'm not married," Freya stuttered.
"But you have a wedding ring?" Matron pointed out.
"My mother's. My father…he died. My mother gave me her ring," Freya said, as if remembering it suddenly. She glanced up at the others, noting their suspicious looks.
"I was attacked," Freya said, hands drifting to her stomach. Just like that, the looks of disdain faded to ones of sympathy.
"Oh, my dear. Who will be looking for you?" Matron asked.
"No one. I don't think anyone. I…my mother. I can't remember. I think she's dead?" Freya guessed. Freya pretended to reach behind her, like for a knapsack. Because if she was travelling alone, she ought to have one.
"I think I was robbed," Freya lied, making her eyes wide.
"Miss MacLeish, we will do our best to find you a bed here," the Headmaster promised.
"She could sleep in here," Mr. Smith said, speaking up for the first time. The Headmaster and Matron both looked up in shock at his words. His eyes widened as he realized what he had said.
"No. I don't mean to be forward. You have mentioned that the maids are having to take shifts on who sleeps to conserve beds, yes? I have a maid. Miss MacLeish could sleep in here, as could the maid. I will sleep in my bed, and Miss MacLeish on the couch, and the maid on the ground next to her. That way, it is not inappropriate. And that frees up a bed," Mr. Smith said, his words rushing out.
"It is still highly inappropriate, but given the circumstances, it may be the best. Is this okay with you, Miss MacLeish? You were the one who was attacked. We will make sure you are chaperoned at all times to preserve your safety," the Headmaster said.
"I am very grateful, sir," Freya said.
"I'm no sir. Just Headmaster, if you please," the Headmaster said.
"If you don't mind me asking, Miss MacLeish, are you feeling okay? Any pain, discomfort? How far along are you?" Matron asked her. Freya pressed her hand against her stomach. She had just almost miscarried before. What would this do to her? She had no idea how much longer it would be before she gave birth. She hadn't been getting any bigger recently, but with the miscarriage threats and premature labor threats, she had to be getting close.
"I'd say she has three months left," Mr. Smith guessed. Both Matron and the Headmaster stared up at Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"My mother had many children as I got older. I was able to tell," Mr. Smith said. Even Freya had to admit it sounded weak.
"You look quite a ways along," Matron said with a frown.
"I don't know. I don't know much of anything about it," Freya lied, pretending to be dumber than she was. She wasn't sure how much people knew in this time, but if she had been raped and her mother was not in the picture, it was unlikely that she would know what all was going on.
"You wouldn't either," Matron said.
"I must be off. Matron, if you can find her suitable clothing and a proper meal, I'm sure she will feel better. Farringham School welcomes you," the headmaster said.
"Please, Headmaster, I'll do anything I can to help out, to repay you for your kindness," Freya said immediately.
"I doubt there is very much you can do in your condition. However, if something comes up that we feel you can do, we will let you know," the Headmaster told her stiffly before leaving the room. Matron glanced at Freya and then Mr. Smith.
"I have to go find some new clothing for Miss MacLeish," Matron said. Mr. Smith's eyes widened.
"Oh! Yes. Sorry. I don't have to teach class for another two hours, if you would like me to watch over her. We will leave the door open and I can send for Martha to come clean the room," Mr. Smith suggested.
Martha. So Martha was a maid. Of course. The time period. Freya felt a pang for Martha at that.
"Right. Miss MacLeish, are you fine with this? If it makes you uncomfortable, I will not leave until the maid arrives," Matron told her. Freya glanced at Mr. Smith, then at the door. It would be wide open. Even in this time period, she doubted it would be considered too scandalous.
"It's okay. I'm sure the maid will be here soon," Freya said softly. Matron blinked and nodded, making her way out of the room. '
Mr. Smith sat down slowly, settling himself in the arm chair across from Freya. Freya struggled into a sitting position. The two of them just stared at each other for a moment.
"Have we met before?" Mr. Smith asked her.
"I…I don't know, sir. I can't remember a lot of things," Freya lied.
"No need to call me sir. Mr. Smith will do just fine," Mr. Smith said. Freya nodded, keeping her eyes low.
She needed information. Why were they here? What was going on? She was hoping Martha could tell her.
She was hoping Martha would be good at improvising.
Bad Wolf chose that moment to kick her particularly hard, eliciting a gasp from her. Her hand pressed against the bump automatically.
Bad Wolf was getting impatient. Freya doubted he'd wait three months to make his appearance, especially at the rate he was going.
"Are you okay?" Mr. Smith asked, immediately settling onto the couch next to her. His eyes were fearfully wide as he waited for her to answer.
"Yes. He…the baby, the baby kicked. Pretty hard," Freya said, stumbling over the words. Stupid! She couldn't know it was a boy, not in this time period. She didn't want to say anything odd.
"Does it hurt?" Mr. Smith asked, his alarm still not fading.
"Yeah," Freya breathed out as Bad Wolf kicked again. She nearly doubled over, wishing the pain would stop. She begged Bad Wolf to stop kicking, trying to feel what he was thinking.
He just…seemed bored. Bored and ready to leave.
That was not going to happen. Freya was not about to give birth in 1913.
A hand rested on her stomach and Bad Wolf paused kicking for a moment before delivering another kick.
"That was the baby?" Mr. Smith asked in horror. Freya cracked open her eyes to see Mr. Smith's alarmed face as he pressed his hand against her stomach.
It felt so natural.
But not for that time. Freya doubted it was normal for a man to touch a girl in any way in this time.
Freya pushed that thought away, resting her second hand on her stomach as well, slipping slightly into her subconscious to find the baby.
"It's okay, darling. Everything's okay. You can stop kicking me," Freya begged, hoping her voice was soothing. She focused on leveling out her breathing, thinking of as many calm thoughts as she could.
"You're hurting your mother. You don't want to hurt your mother, do you?" Mr. Smith asked, adding his own voice in. Bad Wolf paused once more, as if sensing his father nearby.
But technically, he wasn't exactly his father.
And Bad Wolf could tell, it seemed.
"Sir, Matron told me you needed me….is something wrong?" Martha's voice filled the room as she rushed forward.
"It's not your place, Martha," Mr. Smith said sharply. Freya locked eyes with Martha.
"Do you know anything about pregnancies? I'm scared," Freya said, making her voice as innocent as she could. Martha's eyes widened as she grasped the straws Freya offered.
"I do. I know a lot about pregnancies," Martha said, moving closer.
"How do you know a lot about pregnancies?" the Doctor scoffed. Martha stared at him for a moment.
"My mother was a midwife. When I got older I helped her deliver babies," Martha lied. Mr. Smith still regarded her dubiously as she moved closer, kneeling beside Freya. She place her own hands on Freya's stomach, feeling around while Freya and Mr. Smith's hands stayed in place.
"The baby seems unsettled. Try talking, singing. A mother's voice ought to sooth him," Martha suggested.
"But what if it doesn't?" Freya asked, eyes wide. Martha seemed to understand her fear.
Mr. Smith seemed to share it. He obviously didn't want a woman to give birth on his couch.
"Just stay calm. Remain calm. Just breathe. I'll go get Matron," Mr. Smith said as he jumped up off the couch and took off running out of the room.
"What are you doing here?" Martha asked as she sat down. She pulled a stethoscope from her pocket quickly, listening to Freya's hearts and lungs before listening to the baby. Bad Wolf still hadn't stopped kicking.
"The Doctor's future self sent me with a Vortex Manipulator. What's going on? All I know is that you guys are in hiding and he's somehow human," Freya said, her voice small. Martha quickly tucked the stethoscope back into her pocket, giving Freya a light push so she was laying back.
"Just breath. Breathe deeply. We need to talk, and we won't have much time. You don't have anything. I might be able to get away with being allowed to accompany you to get some materials, and we can talk then," Martha said just as Mr. Smith and the Matron flew into the room. Martha repeated her breathing exercise, Freya mimicking her as Bad Wolf's kicking finally died down. Freya let out a sigh of relief as the pain slowed and then just became a dull ache.
"What's wrong?" Matron asked, moving closer.
"I'm sorry. I got scared. The baby started kicking and…it scared me," Freya said, making her voice sound as small as she could.
"Martha said she knew quite a bit about babies. Said her mother was a midwife," Mr. Smith said, almost dubiously.
"That could be handy, if it's the truth. It must be scary, but you cannot call on me every time the baby kicks. If Martha is available, she should be able to let you know when you actually need medical help," Matron said.
"I'm sorry Matron," Freya apologized, keeping her eyes on the ground as she spoke.
"It's okay. You didn't know. It's okay, right?" Mr. Smith asked immediately.
"Of course," Matron said immediately. She quickly left the room, looking rather chastised as she did.
"Now, Miss MacLeish, I have a few hours before I'm required to return to my teachings. I'd like to get to know you, unless you'd find that too forward of me," Mr. Smith said cautiously. Freya kept her eyes near the ground. It wasn't as hard, she realized, to act shy. It was just how she'd acted before. She hadn't been that shy in awhile, but it was a nice change and would secure her image as a terrified young woman.
"I don't remember much. I'm sure it will come back to me. I just…I don't remember much of anything. I don't even have my belongings to remind me," Freya said, glancing at Martha.
"No, you don't. You need some sort of belongings. Martha, I know you have chores, but this is more important. Can you accompany Miss MacLeish to the store? I'll come as well, but I'm afraid I will be no help if something happens, or in actually picking out an outfit," Mr. Smith said.
"I am at your disposal," Martha said, earning a slight frown from the Doctor.
As they made their way down the stairs, Freya noticed that all the maids and other women's dresses looked nothing like hers. She had picked hers from the TARDIS and it was of much finer quality than theirs were.
"As soon as I feel better, I will do whatever I need to earn my keep. I appreciate all the help," Freya said, testing her theory.
"Oh no. We wouldn't want you to have to do anything, especially not with the baby. I'm sure the Headmaster would rather you just focus on feeling better and remembering," Mr. Smith said.
They thought she was rich.
In the store, the Doctor described to the man in charge what he was looking for and the man handed Martha a dress to help put on Freya. Once they were in the back room, Freya turned to Martha.
"They think I'm rich because of the dress. It was a dress the TARDIS gave me," Freya whispered.
"I gathered," Martha said, her voice tinged with bitterness.
"What's going on?" Freya asked.
"You want to do this now?" Martha asked as she moved behind Freya to undo the dress.
"I need to know. I can't play memory loss forever," Freya pointed out.
"We're being hunted by some aliens called the Family of Blood. He had to turn himself human to keep them from finding him. If they find him they'll feed off of him and live forever," Martha said.
"Why couldn't you guys just jump time?" Freya wanted to know.
"They locked onto his scent and had access to a Vortex Manipulator, whatever that is. So they could follow us everywhere. You'd bettered hope they didn't lock onto you," Martha said as she finished undoing the back of the dress. She slid it off of Freya's shoulders before helping Freya step into the new dress.
"Why do you hate me so much?" Freya asked.
"I don't hate you," Martha said, but her voice was entirely unconvincing.
"But you do. You have since you met the Doctor," Freya pointed out sadly. Martha let out a sigh as she started buttoning up the back of the dress.
"It's not fair. I'm smarter than you. I've got more schooling than you. I'm braver than you. And yet you've got the most fantastic man. Instead of me. And you have another man who's head over heels in love with you," Martha pointed out.
"James?" Freya asked uncomfortably. Martha nodded.
"You don't understand. James…he was with another me. An alternate reality me. So he was already in love with her. And he gave up the chance to see his daughter so he could save me," Freya said.
"Exactly," Martha said.
"Martha…I'm sorry," Freya began, but Martha shook her head.
"No. And then you show up here. I barely got on as a maid here, because I'm colored. You come and they treat you like royalty, despite the fact that they ought to be treating you like a whore," Martha said.
"I got lucky," Freya said, her voice small.
"You always get lucky. And to be frank, it pisses me off. I just want to get lucky, once," Martha said.
"But you will. You're going to meet a fantastic man, and you are going to love him and him love you," Freya said, thinking of Mickey. She wasn't sure how it would happen, with him being stuck in an alternate world, but she knew he would.
"You can't possibly know that," Martha scoffed.
"But I do. I've met you in the future, before I met you now. That's how I know. You're going to be happy," Freya promised. Martha was silent as she finished with the dress. She then examined it.
"They're going to have to take it up about six inches," Martha said, noting the material bunched at her feet. Martha then helped her out of it. A knock sounded on the door as Freya was stripped once more. Martha moved to the door and opened it slightly, keeping Freya covered.
"It fits but needs taken up six inches from the ground," Martha said. That was taken as another few things were handed to her. Martha made her way back to Freya, holding up a gown.
"What is that?" Freya asked, keeping her voice quiet.
"It's a night gown," Martha said, her own nose wrinkled up.
"Looks like a white trash bag," Freya admitted. Martha snorted at her words before masking her face with indifference.
"I don't envy this," Martha said as she tugged it over Freya's head.
The night gown ended about three inches above her ankles, something Martha shrugged off.
"No one will see it," Martha said.
"Actually, I'm supposed to sleep on Mr. Smith's couch. And you on the floor next to me," Freya said apologetically.
"Are you kidding me?" Martha asked in disbelief.
"I'm sorry," Freya said.
"It's bad enough I only get four hours of rest before I'm booted out of my bed. Now I don't even get a bed," Martha groused.
"But you get more sleep. I'm sorry," Freya apologized. Martha let out a sigh and helped Freya try on the other clothing articles.
When they had finished, Freya felt exhaustion seeping in. They made it out of the dressing room only for Freya to sway slightly. Martha steadied her immediately before Mr. Smith even noticed her unsteadiness.
"Miss MacLeish, are you alright?" Mr. Smith asked worriedly.
"Yes. I'm so sorry. I must be tired," Freya said quietly.
"When we get back you'll have the room to yourself. I must be getting on to class as soon as we return and Martha has a list of things to occupy her, I'm certain. Let's go then," Mr. Smith said, speaking a few more words with the shopkeeper before the clothes Freya brought out were wrapped and handed to Martha to carry.
"I cannot thank you enough for your kindness," Freya said to Mr. Smith as he led them out of the shop.
"It is of no consequence. Come now. We must hurry back," Mr. Smith said.
The three of them walked briskly back toward the school. As soon as they entered the room, Mr. Smith tugged a long gown over his suit and placed a hat on his head that reminded Freya of the caps from graduations.
"Martha, you are dismissed," Mr. Smith said. Martha curtseyed before hurrying out of the room. Mr. Smith turned to Freya as she sat down on the couch. He frowned for a moment before gathering his stack of books.
"Miss MacLeish, I hope you do not think of me as being too informal, but I think you would be more comfortable if you slept in my bed. You surely will not sleep the entire day away; I will have no personal use for it until nightfall. After the day you have had, I imagine you could use a good sleep in a proper bed," Mr. Smith said. Freya thought about it for a moment before cautiously nodding.
"Only if you are certain," Freya said carefully. Mr. Smith nodded and made his way to the door. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at her.
"Have a good nap," he said before making his way out of the room.
Freya didn't even bother trying to change into the nightgown she had been given. She toed off her shoes before climbing into the bed. She was careful to try to keep from messing the bed up that much as she crawled under the covers.
Within seconds, she was asleep.
She woke up to hearing voices.
"I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't realize…" a kid's voice was saying.
"Oh! Oh no. Don't worry Latimer. She's taking a nap. They found her today out by Briar's Hill with no memories. With the conference, there wasn't enough room for her. Her and my maid are staying here as well," Mr. Smith's voice said.
"But sir…she's in your bed," the boy's voice said.
"She was tired and I was not going to be using it," Mr. Smith responded.
"Now wait here. I have to fetch the book I was talking about from the library. I must have already returned it. Just stay quiet," Mr. Smith warned him. Freya opened her eyes just as Mr. Smith shut the door behind him.
The boy, who he had called Latimer, was staring at her with wide eyes.
"I am so sorry, Miss! Did I wake you?" Latimer asked in alarm.
"Oh no. You're fine. I was already waking up," Freya said as she sat up slowly. Latimer stared at her for a moment before his eyes widened.
As if he were seeing someone else.
"Latimer?" Freya asked.
"That's my last name. My first name's Timothy….how did you know my last name?" he asked in alarm.
"Mr. Smith said it before he left. Are you alright? You look a bit faint," Freya said.
"You're a mother," Timothy blurted out.
"I will be, yes," Freya said, gesturing slightly to her stomach. Timothy shook his head.
"No. You are a mother. Already," Timothy said.
"Why do you say that?" Freya asked, keeping her voice as comforting as she could. Something was spooking Timothy, and Freya hated to think that it could be her.
Timothy shook his head, clamming up.
"It's okay. You can tell me," Freya coaxed.
"You have a son. A son older than me. Sometimes older than you. And a daughter," Timothy said.
"I do. But they haven't been born yet. It's confusing, isn't it?" Freya asked him, keeping her voice soft.
"You know? How do you know? That's not…that's not possible," Timothy said.
"Anything's possible. Like you. You shouldn't be able to know that, but you do. That's a pretty powerful gift," Freya said.
"Gift?" Timothy asked, staring at her as if it were a foreign term. Freya climbed out of bed, only to stumble into Timothy. He steadied her.
"Thanks. Help me to the couch?" Freya asked. Timothy did just that. Freya sat down and patted the couch next to her.
"Why don't we talk? Sit," Freya asked him. Timothy sat, still regarding her carefully.
"You do have a gift, though, don't you, Timothy?" Freya asked him encouragingly. Timothy's gaze dropped to the floor.
"I guess. I guess and I happen to be right. A lot," Timothy mumbled.
"It's more than guessing though, isn't it? Do you see visions too?" Freya asked. Timothy's head shot up at her words.
"Do you see visions too?" he asked, almost eagerly.
"No. But I know it has to be hard. I understand. But I want you to know something, okay? Just because you see visions does not mean you are weird. Or odd. It means you're special, more special than so many others. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise," Freya said before giving the boy a hug. He hugged her back tightly.
About that time, Mr. Smith walked in the door with a book. He had his mouth open, as if he were about to say something, but he closed it as he entered the room.
Timothy pulled back, eyes wide when he saw Mr. Smith. Freya wasn't going to have that.
"Timothy, if you ever need to talk, about anything, please, come to me. I can listen, and sometimes that's all you need. Someone to listen. Don't forget what I told you," Freya told him, staring intently at the boy. Timothy nodded before leaping to his feet, taking the book from Mr. Smith.
"Thank you sir. Thank you, miss," Timothy added before rushing out of the room. Mr. Smith gave her a funny look before moving to sit on the couch where Timothy had been sitting.
"Did you have a pleasant nap?" Mr. Smith asked.
"I did. I feel very refreshed," Freya said. She glanced at the door Timothy had just escaped from.
"He's a nice kid. I wish the others didn't bully him so," Freya murmured.
"Bully him?" Mr. Smith asked, eyebrows rising.
"He didn't say, but it was obvious. They must pick on him all the time," Freya said sadly.
"They're boys. They always pick on each other," Mr. Smith said.
"No. It's more than that," Freya said.
"Whatever it was, he looked happier than he has in the month I've been working here. You have a gift with children, Miss MacLeish," Mr. Smith said seriously.
"I hope so. That's what I would like to believe," Freya said, hand creeping to her stomach.
"Would you like a tour of the school?" Mr. Smith asked her.
"Are you done with your classes already?" Freya asked in shock.
"No, but I have a break," Mr. Smith said.
"No, it's okay. I can have a wander on my own. I should be safe to wander in the school, right?" Freya asked as a second thought. Mr. Smith nodded immediately.
"Of course. There are maids everywhere. You're never truly alone here, especially at the moment. If you get hungry, the kitchen in on the first floor at the end of the long hall. They ought to give you some food," Mr. Smith told her as he stood. Freya stood as well, albeit much slower.
"Thank you again," Freya said earnestly.
"It is nothing, Miss MacLeish. No young lady should be on her own in such a time," Mr. Smith said, eyes drifting to her stomach as well. Freya felt a pang of sadness at his words.
"Yeah. No one should."
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Freya liked the school. She took a wander once Mr. Smith left for classes. The school felt very comfortable, very home-like. Not quite TARDIS, but still good.
She managed to wander into the kitchen, where three of the cooks fawned over her and kept calling her a poor thing before giving her the food they deemed to be healthiest for the baby. Freya was just grateful they accepted her.
She was on her way to try finding Mr. Smith's room once more when she ran into a group of older boys.
"Is this her?" the one that looked to be the leader asked. One of the younger boys nodded quickly.
"I didn't know they offered shelter to whores here," the boy said with a sniff. Freya's shoulders stiffened at his words but she didn't allow herself to react otherwise.
"If you will excuse me, I must be getting back," Freya said.
"To Mr. Smith's room? Last teacher I'd expect to hire a whore," the boy said, making the others laugh. The boy who had identified Freya looked chagrined but offered no argument.
The boys shoved past her, the leader knocking Freya into the wall as he did. Freya leaned against the wall until they passed, knowing if she stood too quickly they would only try to do more damage.
The younger boy remained, staring wide-eyed at her in worry.
"Are you alright miss? I can go get Matron," the boy said, eyes wide. Freya shook her head, straightening slowly.
"No. I'm fine," Freya told him. He stared at her for a moment, as if he didn't believe her, before turning and scurrying off.
Freya continued her exploration, ending up in the rarely used library. Unlike the rest of the school, this area was incredibly dusty with piles of books on all the tables, as if students had taken books out and not bothered to return them.
Freya hated seeing a library in such a state. She slowly moved books back one or two at a time, placing them on the shelves they ought to have been on. The shelves themselves were out of order as well, but it was a start. Freya was in the middle of returning a Sherlock Holmes (one of the few actual books she had heard of) to a shelf when she saw a boy sitting in the back, holding a boy and squinting at it in frustration. She moved closer.
He looked younger than the others she had seen – she doubted he was much older than ten, which was younger than the school seemed to accept. Still, she moved closer.
"Are you having trouble there?" Freya asked. The boy continued to glare at the pages.
"No. The words just don't make sense," the boy said before dropping the book on his lap. Freya kept her eyes on the ground as she moved closer, navigating around the piles of books on the floor. When she had made her way to him, she slowly lowered herself to the ground next to him.
He was watching her, she noticed. He seemed a bit nervous.
"Now, what doesn't make sense?" Freya asked him. He shook his head, quickly dropping the book to the side.
"The words don't," he finally said.
"That won't do. Here," Freya said, holding up the Sherlock Holmes book she had been intending on returning to the shelf.
"If that book's words don't make sense, let's see if this book's words do. I'll help you," Freya urged him. He took the book cautiously before scooting a bit closer to Freya so she could see the book too. She kept her finger under the words, allowing him to sound them out and read it slowly. After a while, he dropped the book in his lap.
"It's so hard!" the boy complained.
"But you're getting better. Here. I have an idea. I'll read it aloud to you. You follow what I'm saying with your finger. That way you hear the words as well as read them. It might make more sense that way," Freya suggested. She was about to start when a pile of books on the table near them crashed to the floor. Freya glanced up to see Timothy and the boy from earlier looking sheepish.
"We are sorry miss! We…" the boy drifted off.
"We haven't heard anyone read a story aloud in a long time. Since we got here," Timothy finished sheepishly. Freya glanced at the boy at her side before gesturing for Timothy and the other boy to come over. The two of them sat down along the wall next to Freya on her other side, Timothy sitting next to her.
"Now, I didn't catch your name. Either of your names, for that matter," Freya said as she picked the book up, finding their place.
"Luke," the boy from earlier said. Freya turned to the boy she was helping read, only to see him staring at the ground.
"What's your name?" Freya asked him softly. The boy's head finally tilted up to her.
"Ezekiel," he said.
"Right. Ezekiel, can you still follow along with your finger?" Freya asked him. Ezekiel nodded, the movement tiny.
Freya started reading aloud. As she read, she noticed the boys all sort of shifting closer to her, curling more into her sides. Ezekiel all but tucked himself under her arm as he followed along with the book.
They had been reading for quite some time when they were interrupted.
"It's supper time. You should be heading in there," Mr. Smith's voice called out from where Freya assumed was the door of the library. Freya glanced up, eyes wide to see another four or five boys, all younger, had been listening from near the tables, as if they had been scared to move closer.
Footsteps came closer and Mr. Smith came into view.
"What are you lads doing, standing about in the library?" Mr. Smith asked them before his eyes landed on Freya and the three boys at her side.
"You could have joined us," Freya said, directing her words to the standing boys.
The boys shifted from foot to foot.
"We didn't know if we could," one of them mumbled.
"Of course you could. Next time, just come over and sit down with us," Freya told them.
"Will there be a next time?" Ezekiel asked eagerly. Freya glanced at him and then at the other two boys, both of whom had wide eyes as they waited for her response.
"If you want there to be. As long as you don't start slacking off in your schoolwork," Freya told them. The boys stood and Timothy offered his hand to Freya. Ezekiel, who had noticed what Timothy had done, held out his hands as well. Freya took one of each of their hands and allowed the two boys to slowly pull her to her feet.
Timothy and Luke rushed off with the other boys to dinner, while Ezekiel bent over to pick up the book he had been trying to read Freya arrived.
"Was it making any more sense?" Freya asked him.
"Yeah," the boy agreed. Freya's eyes landed on the book he had been trying to read.
A physics textbook.
"Oh honey, of course it wasn't making sense before. I don't think I could have understood that. Try reading something that is closer to your age level before you try that. That book is trying to teach you physics. It'll use bigger words," Freya told him. Ezekiel still clutched the book tight to his chest.
"But I want to learn it. I want to be as smart as my dad is," Ezekiel said.
"And you will be. But for now, you have to start small," Freya told him, gently pulling the physics book from his arms. His grip was tight but he reluctantly released it to her. Freya replaced it with the Sherlock book they had been reading.
"There. Try that. That'll help you read. Then you can try the physics, if you really want to," Freya told him. The boy held the book tightly in a moment of hesitation before he threw his arms around Freya.
His grip seemed to startle Bad Wolf, and Bad Wolf kicked Freya at the sudden grip. The boy jerked back, eyes wide.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked in alarm.
"No. That was just the baby kicking. Now, why don't you run along to supper?" Freya asked him. Ezekiel stared at Freya for a moment before nodding and dashing out of the room.
"The children seem to love you," Mr. Smith said. Freya had forgotten he was still there. She glanced up at him and sat the book down on the table nearby.
"They're just lonely. I think they miss their own mothers," Freya said.
"Come on," Mr. Smith said, offering Freya his arm.
Freya wasn't sure how proper that was, but she took his arm anyway.
"It's funny. That lot was thirteen and fourteen years old. Most thirteen and fourteen year olds are not missing their mothers in their first year away," Mr. Smith stated.
"I think they do. They just don't have the chance to show it," Freya said.
"You had a good sized crowd. As long as they don't start skipping their classes for it, you should be fine," Mr. Smith told her.
He led her to the cafeteria, where they got food and ate it before heading back to the room. Martha was already there for the evening by the time they made it there.
Mr. Smith got ready for bed and was settled in by the time Martha and Freya made it back in their nightgowns. Mr. Smith had placed two of his blankets on the couch, and Freya immediately handed the one to Martha before settling on the couch.
Despite having slept earlier in the day, Freya fell right asleep.
Darkness.
Everywhere, there was darkness. It surrounded her, engulfed her, merged with her very being. It was all she could feel. The dark, empty feeling of nothing. Of coldness.
The voices all around her. They all sounded the same. Would she sound the same? How long would it be before she too was part of the voices, the words that said nothing and sounded the same?
A brief pain erupted in her. If she had a body, she would have curled into it, but she didn't. She was just an entity, floating there, in the darkness.
Alone.
Completely alone.
Entirely alone.
Alone, and cold, and empty.
But there was warmth. What was the warmth? It started brief. She felt a flash of warmth. She wanted to be near that warmth. Then it was gone. And the emptiness attacked her once more.
And then the warmth was back, there, surrounding her, keeping her safe. She strived to be closer to that warmth. She needed it.
Mr. Smith:
He was startled awake by what sounded like a whimper. It confused him. He sure hadn't whimpered. He sat up slowly, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room before he noticed movement.
The couch. Where Miss MacLeish had been sleeping. He quickly climbed out of bed, shrugging his dressing gown on as he made his way around the couch.
Martha was already gone for the day, he noticed. And Miss MacLeish was tossing and whimpering, fighting against the blanket. Her face was streaked with tears, even though she appeared to be dead asleep. He tentatively touched her arm, hoping to shake her awake.
At his touch, she stopped. She seemed to melt towards his hand, silent and relaxed. Mr. Smith removed his hand, alarm growing as she began fighting the blanket once more, as if he had never touched her. He considered trying to find Matron, but she would be asleep. Everyone but the maids would be asleep, and he doubted they could help him.
His hand slowly touched her shoulder once more. Just as she had the first time, she relaxed against his grip.
What was he supposed to do about that?
Realizing he would probably regret it, he propped her upper body up and slid onto the couch as well, leaning his head against the back of the couch as he slouched and placing her head in his lap. Her entire body seemed to shift to be closer to him. But she had stopped crying, stopped whimpering, stopped thrashing.
He could sit with her until she was completely asleep.
At least, that's what he told himself as he drifted off to sleep.
Freya:
As Freya felt herself waking up, she was confused, disoriented. She'd had a nightmare, the nightmare, for the first time in months.
And then it had gone away, just like that.
The nightmare never went away. The last time she had had a nightmare even close to that was when they'd been stranded before her and the Doctor shared a bed. But even then, they only stopped when the Doctor started sharing a bed with her.
Freya's eyes slowly cracked open. She was still on the couch. But she felt…different.
Fingers. There were fingers in her hair, and she was laying partially on something.
Someone.
Freya sat up at the realization. Her sudden movement pulled the hands from her hair and she was saddened to lose the contact.
Her eyes met Mr. Smith's eyes.
He looked both concerned and guilty.
"I am so sorry, Miss MacLeish. You were having a nightmare and the only way to calm you down was to…to touch you. I meant no disrespect," Mr. Smith apologized. Freya shook her head.
"I am sorry. I…I haven't had nightmares in awhile," Freya admitted.
"How do you usually stop them?" Mr. Smith asked curiously. Freya shook her head.
"I don't," she murmured.
"You look tired still. It must not have been but a few hours since you calmed down. Go back to sleep. I can move if you'd like," Mr. Smith offered, slowly starting to rise. He stopped halfway in his movement, noticing her stiffening at his attempt to leave.
"Or I can stay here. We can ask Matron today if there is any solution she can think of to help aid your sleep," Mr. Smith suggested, settling himself back onto the couch. There was next to no sunlight streaming in; it must still have been relatively early in the morning. Freya laid her head back down on his lap and his fingers wove themselves in her hair automatically.
And her eyes slid back shut with ease.
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"Mr. Smith, I must protest. It is far from proper."
"I understand the concern, but what am I to do? It was the only way she remained calm enough to stay asleep, and she must need sleep," Mr. Smith's voice responded.
"She does need sleep, but there has to be a better way to help her getting it," the Matron's voice said. Freya became aware of the fingers slowly running their way through her hair.
"Surely given the situation there is something we can do," Mr. Smith pointed out.
"It is highly improper for a man to share a bed or couch with an unmarried woman. Surely you realize that, Mr. Smith. To be doing otherwise is dishonorable and threatens her very honor," Matron said.
"It can't threaten it that badly. She's already pregnant from an attack," Mr. Smith scoffed.
"I already heard all day yesterday from the older boys' inappropriate assumptions about you and her. I feel as though this would give them proof to their accusations," Matron said.
"What should we let her do? Have nightmares and remain unable to rest? When she woke up, she looked as if she had only had an hour of sleep. Which is the only time I had been here with her," Mr. Smith said.
"Matron is correct, Mr. Smith. It is highly inappropriate for you to be sharing a bed or a couch with a woman you are not married to," a male voice said. Freya's mind tried connecting the voice to a person. The Headmaster? Yes. The Headmaster. Freya's sleepy mind wasn't quite understanding why there were people there or what they were talking about.
Her hand moved and the conversation seemed to cease.
"She's waking up. I'll speak with her on the matter," Mr. Smith said, his tone final. There was shuffling as Freya's eyes blinked open.
"Morning," Mr. Smith told her. Freya glanced at the door where the Matron and Headmaster were leaving, her eyes going wide.
"You had a nightmare. You only calmed down by touch," Mr. Smith told her, his voice trying to sound clinical but only coming off as nervous.
"I am so sorry," Freya said as she sat up, instantly missing the warmth of Mr. Smith as she did.
"Don't be. Do you feel well?" Mr. Smith asked her.
"I will," Freya told him. And she would, as soon as those images escaped her head. It had been nice, having time without them in her head.
She missed the TARDIS.
"Do you remember anything else about your past?" Mr. Smith asked.
"What?" Freya asked, momentarily confused.
"Your past. Your amnesia? You had a nightmare," Mr. Smith pointed out.
"I had nightmares a lot," Freya said.
"What are they about?" Mr. Smith asked.
"Being alone. That cold, emptiness," Freya said with a shudder.
"Do you remember anything about your family?" Mr. Smith persisted. Freya opened her mouth and then closed it once more. She could claim Torchwood. But could she? Lady Isobel would be pretty old if she were even still alive.
"I had an aunt. A great aunt. She has an estate in Scotland. I used to spend time there with her," Freya said. She hoped that matched up.
"That is not the best, unfortunately. Do you remember what the estate was called?" Mr. Smith asked.
"Torchwood," Freya answered with ease. The name sent a shiver down Mr. Smith's spine, as if he were remembering something.
"We can send word to Torchwood and see if they have any information about you. I'll send someone immediately," Mr. Smith said, quickly making his way off of the couch.
Freya just hoped that whoever owned Torchwood would be able to vouch for her.
I'm fairly certain there will be at least another part, possibly two, left to the 1913 arc here. What do you think of this? Some of it may feel a bit unrealistic, but think about it. Somewhere, deep inside, Mr. Smith still remembers Freya and has that urge to protect her. He doesn't realize what it is. But it's there.
Next chapter we'll get to the heart of Martha's problems, and some other things you won't be expecting!
Oh! Also, how would you guys feel about a Broadchurch fanfiction? I've been playing around with the idea for months and while I'm still doing this, I might want to start one...what do you guys think of that?
Review!
Andi