A private man in a public circumstance
John Smith dodn't want to die. He has the feeling no sane person does... if he can, in fact, be counted as a person. He's run out of options, though. A life where he lets others die for him (and they will, across the stars, they'll all die) isn't a life worth having... Even a life with the woman he's grown to love more than he ever thought possible
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Martha's already left by the time he finally wakes up, dresses, and starts clambering downstairs. He'll consider wondering where she ran off to once he's had his coffee.
He vaguely registers something Doctor-shaped on his knees in front of the fireplace, but apparently doesn't register the fact that he's frantically searching for something, because he passes by him without incident, headed for the kitchen.
"You know for someone who hates this house, you seem to be spending a good deal of time in it," he calls from the kitchen, thanking the Coffee Gods that Martha made a pot before she left. Granted, it's hardly fresh at this late hour, but coffee is coffee and Des isn't concerned about taste right now.
At some point after the first sip, it finally hits him that something isn't right and he walks back to the living room to figure out just what is rotten in the state of Casa del OT3, and frowns at the Doctor-shaped person on the floor.
"Doctor, what are you doing and why are you dressed like that while doing it?"
Oh yes. This is going to be fun.
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"I had the watch and now I don't, and... Where am I, anyway, and who are you?"
He's not usually this slow on the uptake, but he's just a bit stressed right now.
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There's an eerie sort of calm about him when he lays the coffee down on a nearby table and then, in a manner that suggests that this is about as calm as his violence gets, wrenches John up off the floor by his jacket.
We apologize in advance for any discomfort this may cause, John, and we're especially sorry for what may or may not come next.
"Okay, you know what? Let's forget the watch for a second and talk about how you look like the Doctor and know who he is, but are clearly not him, because, really? I'm very eager to know."
There are so many ways this could be bad. So many ways, and Des is really not all that eager to learn them if he can help it, so explanations would be nice.
...Of course, it's not like John, himself, doesn't need an explanation for why the crazy man is looking at him like he's contemplating murder, but he'll get to that momentarily.
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"I'm not... You're... What?"
The American madman that has him by his jacket isn't going to be impressed by him stammering like an idiot, however. Drawing from a reserve of courage he didn't know he had, he gathers up a complete sentence and all but flings it at Des.
"He became human." A bit higher and shriller than he'd have liked, but still, a sentence. Progress should always be celebrated. "He was in hiding. I don't know all the details, but he sealed himself away and made his body human and he put..." Why, why does he have to explain this? "He put me in his place. He created a false identity, with false memories, and let it loose in the world until they were thrown off the scent. But now," he adds, and his voice is getting stronger, angrier, as he goes on, "they've found us. And people are going to die unless I can get him back. So unless there's something particularly helpful that will come out of pummeling me, let. Go."
No, he's not the Doctor, but every so often -- in the unthinking throw of a cricket ball to save a life, perfectly calculated to set off just the right chain reaction, or in a certain flavor of righteous indignation -- something of the Doctor surfaces briefly. This is one of those times: just a flicker, a turn of phrase, a shift in tone, but in that moment, it's not so hard to believe that this could be the Doctor... even if right now, he isn't.
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Des takes a step back and then another as if he just really needs to put as much distance between this man and himself as possible. This can't have happened in the course of ten hours unless he's somehow slept for a month or fell into one of those damn rifts the Doctor was telling him about and somehow failed to realize it... And really, he doesn't want to consider that as an option. Best to just assume it's some issue with the Rift.
And the Doctor is going to have some serious explaining to do when Des finds him.
But right now it looks like Des has some explaining to do. He gesticulates wildly and starts pacing the floor behind the couch. "Okay, I get it.... No, I don't get it. I don't get it at all, but I deal with that when I find the Doctor." He pauses. "Maybe he should explain that. Um... the Doctor. Yeah, he's here as in... Not inside you or wherever the hell he is when it comes to the subject of... You. And, uh, you fell through the Rift." He points at the fireplace. "Takes people from their home universe and spits them out here in Chicago in the year 2008, which is going to be a big culture shock for you unless you're like Harkness and think period clothing never went out of style." He scratches his head roughly, the motion slightly remiscent of a dog scratching its ears. "And you can't go back. You're stuck. Just like me and just like the Doctor."
He pauses in his frantic rambling to glower in the general direction of the door. "Who I am going to kill."
Yes, Des, because the Doctor really should provide you with a list of everything from his past that may or may not fall through the Rift. Although it would be useful in situations like this.
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"I'm stuck? That's... It's impossible. I have to go back. You said he's here, didn't you? Can't he fix it? He's this great brilliant... thing, can't he send people back?"
And he remembers that perhaps flailing at the man who was getting ready to hurt him a minute ago might not be the wisest possible move. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but... You don't understand. I left Joan behind, in the Year of Our Lord 1913, and the Family of Blood is destroying everything, they're attacking the village and they'll kill her, when they find her..." And it really can't be any more obvious how much he loves her than it is when he says her name. She's all he's ever wanted, all he's ever had time to want... And now, apparently, he has to leave her to die.
What good is the Doctor, then? What good is any of it?
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"He's trying." The flat look on his face vanishes in a second, replaced by a look of growling frustration. Hey, he may be irritated at the Doctor for something he has absolutely no control over because it's just easier to be angry at him, but he is so not going to let anyone else, but that doesn't mean he won't defend him. Des has no starry-eyed idealism about what the Doctor can do, but that doesn't change the fact that he is trying and he wants nothing more to get them home. "It's not as easy as it sounds. There're complications."
Des clenches his fists a little when John goes on. He will not hit this strange little man even though he really wants to. That would be bad and wrong. He does hear the way he says Joan's name, but Des has left people behind too and he's burnt those bridges already. It's just what happens. "Oh I don't understand? I understand plenty, you wiry little son of a bitch. I understand that in a few months my entire world dies, because I'm not there to prevent it from happening." He storms over and, once again, grabs John- this time by the collar. "It's over and it's done. Don't think I didn't leave a hell of a lot behind when I came here. Don't think everyone who fell through that damned thing might not have worlds to go back to. There's no way back and you can lament that to your heart's content, but until someone fixes it, that's the way it is."
Temper, temper, Desmond. And... Way to be sympathetic.
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"But... ah... consider your point taken."
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He releases John's collar and takes a step back, regarding him with a look that may or may not be full of pure loathing. He can put two and two together and get what amounts to this man being perfectly willing to let the Doctor die out of it, and somehow that's even worse than him laying all the blame for not being able to get home on him. So what if it's some other universe's Doctor? It's the Doctor and therefore his.
Finally, he rears back and punches John about as hard as he can (which is pretty damn hard) in the face and jerks his gun out of his jacket pocket and points it at him just in case he tries to retaliate. He doesn't plan on using it, but somehow it makes the situation so much more dire if there are weapons involved.
Every word he speaks next is spoken through teeth gritted so hard, it's a wonder they aren't cracking under the pressure. "Yeah? Well, let's see if this point gets through to you. You don't know him- the Doctor, that is. Maybe you've heard things... Obviously you've heard things if you even know who he is, but you don't know him. You don't know what sort of a man he is, but I'll tell you something, I may have just met you, but I can already tell that he's far better than a sniveling little weasel like you. So you go ahead and tell me again how easy it would have been for you to pretend like he was nothing and I'll make another point that you're not likely to forget. Do I make myself clear?"
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He looks up at Des, at the gun, and suddenly... he just doesn't care. He was ready to die a few minutes ago, and now it makes no difference either way.
"Pretend like he was nothing? Like he would've done to me?" The words don't come out sounding quite right, thanks to the nose, but they're close enough to be understandable. "Create me, let me live my life, him never even anticipating that I could fall in love, and then..." He shakes his head, sending droplets of blood flying. "I die the moment I open that watch. He planned it. He knew. I'm just a story he made up, just a disguise, and it doesn't matter if he has Martha play the role of executioner, because I don't matter.
"So, if it was him or me... Yes, I wanted to live." He looks up at Des, hoping that if he just glares angrily enough, the tears of pain won't be as obvious. Pain is... not something he's good with. At all. "But it wasn't."
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He looks back up at him, fixing him with an expressionless look, and when he speaks his voice is equally flat, "Well, now's your chance to not be nothing. You're here, he's here, and who the hell knows where that damn watch is. Guess no one has to die today."
And no one has to be the executioner. As if to prove this, Des shoves the gun back in his pocket and walks back towards the kitchen. He still doesn't like this situation- doesn't like him and God only knows what the Doctor will think of this whole scenario, but he'll burn that bridge when he gets to it.
He returns a moment later with two washcloths- one wrapped around a few ice cubes and the other soaked in warm water to staunch the bleeding, which he hands off to him first with a gesture to his nose as if to indicate what it's for. Yes, the situation has gone from violent to awkward in no time flat.
He flops down on the couch and sighs. "I'm Desmond Descant, in case you'd like to know the name of the guy who put a gun to your head. It's generally a good thing to know."
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"I'm John Smith," he says... or means to say. It might be a bit garbled.
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"I'd say nice to meet you, but we're past that kind of formality at this point. Nice leaves town after the first punch." He considers the makeshift ice pack in his hand and then puts it to his own forehead rather than handing it off. His needs are more important apparently. He leans back against the couch and sighs.
"I haven't lived in this house three days and already it's too weird for me. That must say so much about my life."
That may or may not be a general rhetorical statement. It's hard to say.
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Oh, look, he's found a bright side. Sort of. Kind of. Not really.
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