Chapter 7- Bringing It Home
The Doctor and I fell to the dusty cobblestones, back in the alley behind the furniture showroom. Only then did my hand fall from his, and that was only to stop myself from face-planting the ground. I flexed my fingers; they had cramped up with how tightly I'd been gripping the Doctor's hand. I pulled the Doctor further away from the portal, which was now shimmering and cracking. I dragged him against the opposite wall, which we sagged against as we caught our breath and watched the portal disappear with a series of flashes and one last great breath of wind.
I remember all this worry rushing up to me as the portal to the Alcazar vanished, worrying when it was pointless to worry anymore. All the fear I should've had as we escaped was now making itself present. What if the Doctor had made a mistake while he tinkered with the ship, and rendered the portal inoperable and trapped us there? What if the portal had spit us out someplace so far we could never get back to the TARDIS? What if we had gotten stuck inside the portal, forever trapped in the nowhere space between the Alcazar and Athens? My ears began to pound as I realized just how close to death we might have been. But all these after-worries were unnecessary: the Doctor had gotten us through, and that's all that mattered.
I had definitely demolished my distrust of the Doctor.
Carefully, the Doctor and I climbed to our feet, somber. The Doctor looked especially grieved, even more than when he pulled the lever in the Alcazar. He looked like he was about to say something, but I couldn't stand his grief any more.
I flung my arms around him tightly and buried my face in his shoulder.
There was a second of confusion when he didn't know how to react, but then he gave in and wrapped his own arms around me, his chin perching on the top of my head. He held me tight and secure, like I would fall apart if he let up just a little. It wasn't me who'd fall apart, though. Well, I'm actually not sure—emotions ran high for both of us. I probably needed that as much as he did.
After a few moments, we separated. Before we could say anything to each other, the ground suddenly shook beneath us, making us grab at each other again to keep our balance.
"What the hell was that?" I asked, clutching the Doctor's arms in vice-like grips.
"It was the Alcazar," the Doctor said, steadying me. It was the first time either of us had referred to the ship by name out loud. He glanced out of the alley, looking at the people without really seeing them. "It must've been so deep in the Earth that the shocks of the explosion only just made it to the crust." Still carefully hanging on to each other, we made our way to the end of the alley. All around, people were climbing to their feet and picking up wares that had fallen from stands, looking around for some explanation.
"They'll never know," I said as we watched them. "They'll never know that Earth's first alien encounter happened right beneath their feet." Neither of us said it, but we both knew that Athens would never know what had happened to Herod. I slipped my hand into the Doctor's, squeezing it comfortingly. He glanced at me, a shadow of a smile coming back.
After a moment, the Doctor said, "Well, not the very first…"
"What?" I interjected as the Doctor and I began walking down the road back to the TARDIS. "What do you mean, 'not the very first'? There were others before this?"
"Well, I wouldn't say 'alien' encounter," the Doctor amended. "Actually…they were here first."
"What?" The Doctor and I went back and forth as we looked for the TARDIS, with me asking every question possible and the Doctor giving me vague answers that kept me running in circles. When we finally found the TARDIS again and took shelter behind its doors, I breathed a sigh of relief. We were putting Athens behind us, once and for all.
The Doctor bounded up to his controls, a good deal more excited than he's been since we'd left. He enthusiastically began operating his beloved machine as I lagged behind him. I climbed up the steps and leaned against the banister, watching him like a mother watching her child on a playground. I was exhausted. I don't know how long we've been in Greece, but it must've been a while.
The Doctor had noticed. "Go on and get some sleep," he said, smiling gently.
I glanced around. "Where?"
The Doctor smacked himself on the forehead. "That's right, you don't have a room yet, do you?" He swung around to the computer monitor and tapped a few buttons, and after a few seconds added, "There! Go down the hall, take your first right, and your room is the second door on the left."
"Aren't you going to get some rest?" I asked. He wasn't superhuman—wait, never mind.
"Rest is boring!" the Doctor exclaimed, whirling back around the console to face me. "I only need it once every week or so."
"When was the last time you had some sleep?"
"Three days back!"
I sighed. "Fine. I'll see you…later." I would've said tomorrow, but was there really a tomorrow or yesterday in a time machine? "Good night, Doctor."
"Sweet dreams, Erica," he replied. I smiled back at him as I ascended the steps to my newly-acquired room.
"First right, second door to the left," I chanted, just to be sure I didn't mess up the directions and end up walking into a room containing a black hole or something. I finally found the room, and the doors opened for me into a masterpiece.
There was a huge king bed with thick brown and white comforters, made up as if the world's best housekeeper had done it. There were large white double doors with brass handles in both the left and right walls, which were painted hazel, like coffee. There was a white dresser in one of the far corners of the room, a hamper in the other, and a nightstand next to the bed, but that was the rest of the furnishing. On a whim, I decided to try the double doors on the left.
I pulled the doors back and found myself staring into a warehouse of more doors. Just doors, doors, doors: there were three levels of balconies containing nothing but doors. I climbed up the steps and tried one, with a plaque over it that said:
United States of America, Earth, 1950-1959
Curious, I opened the doors and found racks upon racks of beautiful clothes, just waiting to be worn. There were dresses of every shade, pants of every length, and shoes of every size, all from the fifties. Clothes were organized by what type they were (pants, dresses, shoes, and so on), what size, and then by color. The room seemed to stretch on forever, containing heaps of fifties trends.
This.
Was.
Beautiful.
After that, I tried more rooms: one meant for Victorian England, another for Aboriginal societies in ancient Africa, and one for Brazil in the thirtieth century, the latter of which included clothes with two extra sleeves in the back and necklaces made of coins.
"Clothes for every era on every planet," I said aloud. "TARDIS, you are incredible."
The lights flared in appreciation as I looked for the room dedicated to modern American clothing—mercifully close to my room. I went back before I got lost in the clothes: it was nice to have so many to choose from. I love shopping, but it's so hard to get it done.
When I reached my bedroom, I did nothing but cross it and plunge through the other double doors, excited for whatever wonder would be there, waiting for me.
I found myself in a beautiful, modern bathroom, just begging to be used. There was a huge shower with at least thirty water jets set into the walls, floor, and ceiling, the controls on a metal panel set on the glass door; a gigantic, obsidian hot tub, with clawed feet, a golden faucet, and even more massage jets inside; a sea-green sink and mirror above it, the medicine cabinet stocked with moisturizers and night masks galore; a tall cabinet next to the shower, filled to bursting with fluffy towels, washcloths, and terrycloth robes; and an opaque screen in the corner, which I slid back to reveal a simple white toilet, the lid down.
Some things never change, I thought, smiling as I slid the privacy screen back. I noticed yet another door, blending in with the white walls. I turned the knob and went through it—and if I thought I'd seen it all, then I was horribly wrong.
There was a huge, huge observation deck, looking into deep space. I ran to the banister, eagerly soaking up the images of spiraling galaxies, of pink and orange nebulas, of bright comets blazing through space. My jaw dropped.
Suddenly, a familiar voice piped up, "Enjoying the view?"
I whirled around to find the Doctor leaning in the doorway, watching me with a smile. He pushed himself off the doorjamb and began walking toward me, continuing, "Came up to see that everything was to your liking."
"No complaints here," I said, turning back to the beautiful view. The Doctor joined me at the banister, though I wasn't sure if he was looking at the stars or at my reaction.
"It's lovely, isn't it?" the Doctor said.
"The final frontier," I joked. We shared a moment of comfortable silence, happy in each other's presence.
"Well, I'll be letting you go," he said when the moment had passed, clapping me on the shoulder. "I've got tinkering to do. The TARDIS will see to your bedtime preparations."
"Good night, Doctor," I said for the last time that night, bringing him in for one more hug. He squeezed me briefly, then kissed my forehead.
"See ya later."
"See ya."
Smiling he left the observation deck, I after a few minutes of solitude. I rummaged through the dresser, where I found pajamas, socks, gloves, undergarments, and all sorts of little accessories, and changed into a pair of baggy, purple plaid pajamas. I threw my old clothes into the hamper (which funneled them away to probably the wardrobe), found the toothpaste and an abundance of toothbrushes, and began my night rituals: brushing teeth, combing hair, the works. I even tried a face mask for the hell of it (ancient Athens was hot, and the sun was not kind to your skin). Finally, I settled in to bed—my God, the bed felt like sinking into a pit of mashed potatoes. As I slid the light dimmer down to darkness, I thought about Naomi, I thought about the Doctor, and I thought about Herod.
My mission is to find Naomi, I reminded myself. But that doesn't mean I can't help people who need it along the way. And it might not be that bumpy of a ride.