The Doctor has refused to help Kir and Greene with their seventy-year time-f**k of the Earth. Go figure. Things will get hairy because Kir obviously has some method of persuasion in store for the Doctor...
But first, just a touch of domestic life once more. On Monday evening, after gathering info on the time capsule, Donna had invited Colin out to dinner again...
No judging of Donna. She's a grown woman! ;-)
TWENTY-ONE
Eight o'clock on Tuesday morning, Martha had already heard from Julia Swayles, who felt she was ready to return to work. She had rung to thank Martha for covering her shifts during her illness, and to ask if she could buy her friend dinner, as a thank-you. Martha insisted that it had been no trouble at all, and that Julia should go out to dinner with her fiancé instead, as a celebration.
She was still in her pyjamas, having toast and yoghurt at the breakfast bar, when she heard the key slide into the front lock, and Donna stumbled in.
Shamefully, Martha had rather forgotten to wonder what had become of her.
"Blimey, are you just now getting in?" Martha asked, as Donna shut the door behind her.
"Yes, ma'am," Donna chirped.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm great," Donna told her. "No hangover this time." And she walked into the kitchen, smiling to herself, and plugged in the teapot.
Martha watched her closely for a few moments as she too extracted a container of yoghurt from the fridge, and a spoon from a drawer. She could barely contain her smile. Martha resisted the word glowing, but reckoned if ever she'd seen anyone glowing, it was Donna, right now.
"So…" Martha said, pointedly. "How was dinner?"
Donna laughed, then caught herself. "It was good, yeah… brilliant." She broke into a full smile, and blushed.
Martha smirked. "Okay. Erm… I have no idea what to say next."
Donna laughed again, and Martha reacted with a laugh as well. Then Donna said, "I'm sorry. I'm a bit giddy… mood-swing from the morning-after…"
"I'm very glad to hear it," Martha said. "Not that I need to actually hear about it. Ever."
"I'm not normally like this, it's just… I really like him, Martha."
"I'd gathered that."
"And, if I'm honest… well, it had been a while," Donna said, ripping the foil off the top of the yoghurt.
"I'd gathered that, too," Martha confessed. She took a pause, then, "Erm, Donna, I never judge people for stuff like this, and I totally support the prospect of you and my cousin becoming a thing. But you've only known each other for four days, and in that time, your attitude seems to have one a one-eighty. What happened to breaking your bad habit, and taking things slow?"
"I know, I know... you're not wrong. But Martha, every bone in my body, every fibre of my being tells me: this guy is different. I've got voices in my head and outside my head (mostly yours) telling me, Colin is not one of the wankers I generally find, who will just stroke my ego, then use me for something. There has been nothing to disagree with those voices, Martha. No red flags, which, given the amount of time we've spent together so far, should have appeared by now. And last night…" Donna leaned across the counter, and looked contemplatively down at it through an 'A' shaped by her arms. "Last night, I saw a chance at a bit of actual happiness. So I grabbed it. With a totally clear head."
"Okay," Martha conceded.
"And now, in the light of day… it still feels different. There's no shame, no wondering if I made a huge mistake. Everything about it feels new, and at my age, that's saying a hell of a lot."
"At your age?" Martha scoffed.
"I'm thirty-nine," Donna said. "That's like a million, in single-life years. Trust me – I know what I'm talking about."
"I trust you," Martha nodded. "I accept what you're saying."
"Annnnnd…. we still are taking things slow," Donna told her, rather whimsically, her eyes drawn to the ceiling. "It's not like we're getting married next week. We won't move in, we won't meet each other's families – apart from you – we're not going on holiday together…"
"Just… you know. Be careful. Don't get hurt. Don't hurt him."
"I know. By the way, Colin's outside. He and the cab driver were at school together, and they started a chat, so I came inside. He'll be along in a few minutes."
"Oh. Okay. Doesn't he have to work?"
"He's taking the day off," Donna told her. "We weren't ready to be apart yet, so we decided to come here so I could change my clothes, and then… I dunno. Maybe a jaunt out to the country or something."
"Don't forget, the time capsule is scheduled to be opened tomorrow, and the Doctor says it could flatten the city. In 1938, that is."
"Oh!" Donna replied, with some surprise. "Wait, when did he say that?"
"He rang last night, and I read him your notes," Martha said. "He knows everything we know, now. And probably more, as he's quite good at connecting the dots."
"You can read shorthand?"
"The TARDIS translated for me."
"What did he have to say about all of it?"
"He was appalled," Martha said, matter-of-factly. "He's pissed off that he's locked up, and can't help."
"Okay, so this is happening tomorrow, and we're supposed to try to stop it?"
"I think so."
"Any word on what we should actually be doing?"
"No," Martha said. "He said he wanted to see what else happened on his end, with the Heimat Squad, pretending to be the Galactic Council. If he can get a read on what they're going to do next, then he'll tell us how to proceed."
"How is he phoning you?"
"The guard in charge of him… I don't really know the context of the whole thing, but it seems like they trust each other. Pym is his name, and he's been letting the Doctor see me, talk to me… with no surveillance. The Doctor says Pym's a bit iffy on what the Squad is up to – he doesn't know exactly, and he's afraid that he's helping them destroy the universe or something."
"Okay, so basically a guy with a conscience," Donna commented.
"Basically."
That was when they heard a commotion coming from outside the front door. Colin's voice could be heard rather clearly, shouting things like, "What the hell, mate? Stop right there! That's not… no way…" Other muffled voices could be heard, as well, grunting and struggling.
Suddenly, the door flew open again, and Colin stumbled through, nearly falling to the floor. He righted himself in a short moment, and came toward them. "Ladies, you need to get out of here. Now."
But instantly, there were two humanoids in environmental suits, entering the flat behind him.
"No, stay where you are, all three of you," said a voice. "Dr. Jones is coming with us."
"Over my dead body!" Colin cried out, trying to tackle one of the officers.
As his body made contact, there was a loud static sound, and within seconds, Colin's unconscious body hit the floor. Donna called out his name, and went to his side.
"Dr. Martha Jones," said the second humanoid. Martha knew immediately that the voice belonged to Agent Pym. "You're under arrest as an accessory to the murder of an Epidromeas."
"What? That rubbish again?" Donna shouted.
Pym ignored her, and continued to address only Martha. "Please submit to apprehension, or we'll have to take further measures."
His voice sounded almost pleading.
"You can't do this!" Donna shouted at them from the floor. "You can't just kidnap people from their homes! We know you're not the bloody Galactic Council!"
"Donna, shush," Martha urged. "They'll knock you out, too. Someone should stay conscious here."
They put invisible cuffs on her, and marched her out through the front door. Weirdly, none of the passers-by seemed to notice the disturbance. She called back to Donna not to worry, that they'd be in touch as soon as they could…
"What have you done to Colin?" Donna cried out the front door. "This just fucking figures! I finally find a genuinely nice bloke, who isn't out for anything, and he gets knocked out the first morning! What is wrong with you people? What if he never wakes up?"
"He will," Pym said.
"What if he doesn't?" she shouted.
Pym said to his comrade, "Will you go check his vitals, just to be sure? It'll shut her up."
The other officer went back into the flat. Meanwhile, Pym whispered, "I'm sorry, Dr. Jones. I'm under orders."
"Of course you are," she said, venom in her voice.
"It's going to be okay," he said. "You're not in any immediate danger."
"Bloody fantastic."
"I understand why you're upset, but rest assured, I'll take care of you just the way I've taken care of the Doctor."
"Well, if it isn't Buford S. Greene," the Doctor said, setting his book down. He stood up and crossed to the bars, where the nearly immortal being stood, looking angry and inquisitive. "To what do I owe this honour?"
Greene frowned. "All that stuff you said… is any of it true?"
"All of it, yes. But which bit were you referring to? I said a lot of stuff. I always do. I'm kind of a talker," the Doctor confessed, shoving is hands in to his pockets.
"Will the twentieth century really be that unbearable, if we go through with this thing?"
"You know it will," the Doctor said, rocking back on his heels. "And it'll be unbearable on a never-ending loop."
"Britain could rise above it, though, couldn't we?"
"Come on, Buford," the Doctor said, annoyed. "You lived through World War II. You remember how it felt, how hopeless it seemed at times. And if even half the buildings in London get felled or damaged in 1938, how do you think the city will look and feel and function at the end of the Blitz?"
"Maybe there won't be a Blitz."
"Of course there will," the Doctor dismissed, annoyed at the man's obtuseness. "What, do you think Hitler will show compassion to the nation of Great Britain because its Capitol has already seen enough demolition?"
"No," Greene admitted, casting his eyes to the floor.
"No!" the Doctor all but shouted. "If anything, it'll spark a bigger, longer airstrike! He'll know he has the means to take you lot down, and he'll pull out all the stops."
Greene sighed. "Then what happens?"
"You know what happens," the Doctor said, softly. "I can tell by the look on your face, you've thought it through."
"Britain has no working Capitol. The government is in disarray. The provinces suffer economically, because they rely on London for certain provisions, and so does the military. Forces can't be gathered, Britain falls to the Nazis," Greene recited, mechanically.
"The Americans are unsupported in France, and France is never able to get out from under the Nazis either," the Doctor added. "Without Britain and France as their totems, Europe goes down, city by city, country by country, until there are Swastikas lining every street and death camps in every province. Eventually, Japan comes from the west and Germany comes from the east, and the US spends all of the 1950 and 60's expending money, effort, resources and lives resisting it. They basically never recover. The Western World is lost. The Earth, as you know it, never exists again."
"Hm."
"Is that all you have to say? Hm? All of this needless destruction so that you can live a longer life?"
"No… well, isn't there a way out for Great Britain?"
"Like what?"
"Like, I dunno, alien intervention? Couldn't the Heimat Squad fend off the Nazis and help London recover?"
"Aliens conquer the Nazis, and use their mysterious alien-osity to rebuild the city of London? And you don't think that will change history in gargantuan ways?"
"Well…"
"Look, forget the war for a minute. Buford, even if history plays out the way you've seen it, you're still condemning the planet to a time prison, don't you understand that? In 2008, everything ends for the human race. There is no tomorrow."
Greene began to pace back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. The Doctor recalled that when they'd first seen him, he and Martha and Donna had thought he looked like a caricature of a "fat cat" from a political cartoon. Right now, he did seem like a cat, caged, contemplating his next move.
"Well, even if I decided I didn't want to subject the Earth to all of that," Greene said. "I'm in it now. They'll never let me out, and I can't extricate myself from the deal I've made."
"I might be able to help you with that, if you tell me more about how it works," the Doctor said. "If you want out, I can get you out. But I need to understand a few things first."
"Like what?"
"What's keeping you alive?" the Doctor asked. "You truly do look like you've been frozen in time at age forty-two. I know you've been using a fair bit of stolen (or borrowed) Time Lord technology, and so I wondered for a while if you were also borrowing regenerative energy from us, but… no. I'd be able to sense it, even see it. There would be an aura, I think. I mean, you're human, your body wouldn't be able to absorb it. You'd probably just be walking around all the time in this gold cloud."
Buford studied the Doctor, and seemed to think about his words. Then, "It doesn't matter. You can't help me. I don't even know if I want you to help me."
"I can, and you do," the Doctor insisted. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't scared to death. Or, scared unto eternity… since you aren't going to die."
"You can't help me."
"Yes, I can! If you don't think so, why did you come?"
To the Doctor's surprise, a watch on Greene's wrist beeped.
Greene looked about, up and down the halls of the empty cell block, to see if anyone was watching. "I don't know," he said, suddenly agitated. "But I have to go now."
"Where do you have to go in such a hurry?"
"Things to attend to…"
"Look, if you're worried about someone hearing you, I can get the surveillance turned off," the Doctor said. "What you say will be just between you and me."
"That's not what I'm worried about," Greene said. He began to sweat. "I have to get back."
"Back to where?"
"Back to work," he said. "I've been away for too long. My people will be needing some directives."
"Back to work? Where? You mean in London? That building with the glass conference room?"
"I have a job to do, I gave my word, and I'm going to do it. Come hell or high water. Got to get back, got to get back…"
Greene rushed down the hall and out of the vicinity with a nervousness that had seemed to have hit him all at once.
The Doctor waited a moment, and then called out to Agent Pym, to see if he was about. Within thirty seconds, the Agent appeared in front of the Doctor's bars.
"Would I be able to speak to Dr. Jones today?" asked the Doctor.
"It would be in accordance with your care plan," Pym said, a bit uneasily.
"Now?"
"I'm not sure I can provide that opportunity now," said Pym, with a stilted seriousness.
"Then when?"
"I'm afraid I cannot commit to a time."
"Pym, are you all right?" asked the Doctor. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you under some sort of duress?"
Pym stepped back from the bars, and said, "I'm sorry, Doctor."
"Can you at least get a message to her?"
"What message?"
"There's a good chance that the building, Greene's office building, is acting as some kind of talisman that's keeping him alive."
"I will attempt to convey the message."
"Pym, seriously. What the hell is going on?"
Pym looked him in the eye with all of the remorse and worry that he felt. He repeated, "I'm sorry, Doctor."
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Thank you for reading!