Fic: Dating the Cleverest Boy in the World. Chapter 33.
[Cut so as not to spoil people who might not be caught up]Picture of the 2nd Seeker
Fic index here if anyone wants to catch up, or just follow the tags. Also on AO3 and The Teaspoon.
Summary: Allison had always thought that university would be an adventure. But she'd not imagined that she'd end up dating Harold Saxon's son.
Setting: Summer 2029
Characters: Allison, Alex.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 4000 approx
Feedback: Makes my world go round... No really. You have no idea.
Chapter 33
She woke to a voice gently calling her name.
Slowly opening her eyes, she saw a stranger watching her anxiously, a cautious smile appearing when he caught her eyes. He had a handsome face, although the chin was to reckoned with, and his blue eyes offset the red of his hair in a manner which was quite startling when considered attentively.
Slowly, like mist clearing from a mirror, her mind caught up with what had happened previously, and that it was Alex - the Seeker - who was watching her. And she’d just been staring at him like he was something weird out of a zoo.
Sitting up, taking in the surroundings (she was in a cafe, in a comfy sofa right at the back, mostly unseen by everyone else), she smiled back uncomfortably, embarrassment asserting itself with a vengeance.
“What... happened?” she asked.
“You fainted,” he replied gravely. “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”
The question threw her, and she frowned.
“Um. Lunchtime? I was going to get something when I got here, but I was delayed setting off...”
“That’s a long time ago. And then you had several big shocks to the system. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. It’s been... a very long time since I’ve been around humans, I forget how fragile you can be.” He paused, a furrow between his brows. “But even so. I’m much too blunt this time around - there was no need to tell you like that.”
“OK,” she said, feeling mostly confused by now, and he nodded towards the table in front of them.
“I figured you probably needed food. But I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a selection.”
Looking at the table she saw three cups (tea, coffee and hot chocolate) and several sandwiches and salads. To one side was a cup of black coffee which she presumed was his.
“Thank you,” she said, eyeing the rest of the cafe cautiously. “Did you... carry me through?”
“Don’t worry,” he replied, “No one saw a thing. I know you don’t like to be the centre of attention. Not in that way at least. But please - eat.”
Since she was actually hungry she did as she was told, and he sat back quietly; just watching, silently.
She tried to not let it freak her out - but the fact was that he was old enough to be her great-great-great-great-grandfather was not something she found easy to process. Although it did explain the vast difference in temperament and behaviour that had unsettled her so. And the way he looked at her...
As she emptied the tea cup, feeling more like herself after some food (he was very attentive, albeit in a strange, almost brusque, manner), she had a sudden epiphany and mentally kicked herself for being so slow.
“You know... My whole life, my future,” she said, turning to him, and he merely nodded.
“Yes. But I can’t tell you much. Surely you understand that?”
“Obviously. But, but, just a hint...” ‘The Choice’ was hovering over her again, and he knew. “Do we get back together?”
“No.”
His voice was completely toneless, face unmoving and unknowable.
“No?” she replied, feeling like the ground she had been standing on suddenly vanished beneath her feet and she was falling, falling, falling...
It couldn’t end like this, could it? (She remembered that it had started in a cafe like this one... Kissing for hours, so breathlessly happy and jubilant that it had seemed nothing could ever come between them.)
“You sent me a letter,” he explained gently, “breaking up with me for good. And that was the end.”
She shook her head, refusing to let his words make sense.
“No I didn’t.”
“But you will. Because you did - will have done...” He pulled a face.
“Sorry, English is a terrible language for talking about time. And with tonight’s happenings... How to explain? Well, to use the technical term - we got screwed over by time.”
“We what?”
The Seeker steepled his fingers in front of his chest and looked her straight in the eye, searching for the right words.
“It’s like... Books. Everyone’s life is a book. Except you can’t peek at the back, because it’s written as you live it. And your story is part of the greater story of the world, which is part of the story of the universe. And Time Lords... Are the librarians. We keep order, make sure the stories go how they’re supposed to, so the greater story unfolds like it should. And there are certain plot points that must always happen, or the whole thing unravels. Does that make sense?”
“I... suppose so,” she said slowly. This was not what she had expected, and was rather thrown. She was used to him making everything personal - this big picture thing was weird. Although it helped take her mind off the unexpected loss and... other things.
“But how can you tell? How do you know which bits are important? Is it... like handed down, or something?”
“I just know. That is - I see it. All of time and space, I mean. All that is... all that was... all that ever could be. Always.”
“Always?” she echoed like some kind of parrot, trying wrap her mind around what he was telling her, and he nodded.
“Since I was eight. But never mind that now. What is important is your story. And the fact that I know it. Which means it is my duty to preserve it.”
“But, but... I’m not going to be pivotal to the history of the world, am I? And you’re a Time Lord, you can change things. You- you brought that boy back to life Christmas before last, and that was a time thing!”
He was taking her choice away from her, hiding behind weird rules that she knew he could break, and she wasn’t going to let it go without a fight. She didn’t care about the Seeker, this stranger who hid his feelings behind an impenetrable wall. But her Alex was still out there, waiting for her...
The Seeker shook his head, before briefly closing his eyes. The lights caught the fire of his hair, and yet when he looked at her he was suddenly old in ways she hadn’t expected.
“Allison - you are a part of my story. I may be only two hundred and ten, but I am a complicated enough space-time event already for the repercussions of a serious break of my time line to be... substantial. You don’t know what you’re asking. I cannot rewrite my own life, no matter how much I wish I could.”
As she didn’t reply, just stared at him silently (hope dropping from her hands - too heavy to carry) he suddenly leaned forward, laying one of his hands on top of hers, and she realised this was the only time he had touched her, except for the kiss...
(That desperate, searing kiss. She understood it now, and wished she didn’t.)
“My Allie... Believe me, this is as bitter for me as it is for you. I thought it was your choice. I never knew - never guessed - that this happened. That the time lines became entangled. Time travel... is a hard mistress. But. Knowing I had a chance... that you might have chosen me, if things were different-”
For a second she could see through to the pain, his eyes an aching blue ocean.
“I can’t tell you what that means to me.”
She swallowed, the reality of what was happening beginning to sink in, as he, somewhat awkwardly, moved his hand from hers.
“Do I- do I have a good life?” she asked eventually, trying not to cry. Every word meant defeat, but what else could she do?
“Yes,” he replied, without hesitation.
It didn’t help. She felt hollow and empty.
“Allie,” he continued, eyes shuttered again, and the distance helped. This stranger she could be angry with, even as she was starting to mourn the loss of her love. And she should probably be paying attention to what he was saying...
“...this is the point where you have to promise me to never, if you see me, breathe a word about what happened tonight. And you have to write me - past me - a letter breaking up with me for good. It’s all - quite literally - in your hands now. You have the power break time if you so wish it...”
She could see the poetic justice of it, but it was no good. Her eyes were welling up, and he stopped speaking, once more studying her with worry and apprehension.
“I’m being insensitive again, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” she said, fighting the tears back. She would cry - but not now, not on his shoulder. There would be plenty of time for mourning...
They sat in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say or do. He was clearly concerned that he was upsetting her, so she cast about for a different topic. Something to talk about that wasn’t them - or the lack of, rather.
“Um... Can I ask - what happened tonight?”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Who were those aliens? Why were you chasing them? What did they do?”
(‘Why did you kill them?’ The question unspoken, yet clear.)
“Oh. Right.” He touched his chin (it was a chin to be reckoned with) oddly thrown.
“It was pretty much what you saw. Jack called me, asking for help. He didn’t give any details really, but I knew that if he was calling me and not the Doctor he just wanted who-ever-it was dead, rather than some sort of great rescue mission. It proved a lot tricker than anticipated, unfortunately.” He pulled an unhappy face. “Hate days like this. They’re not frequent, but I could do without them...”
He stopped, studying her. “Allison?”
At some point his words had stopped making sense, the same sentence going in circles in her head.
“He called you because he wanted them dead...”
Understanding dawned, and he nodded, that terribly cautious look on his face again. Like he was constantly worried about saying the wrong thing, yet unable to help himself.
“Ah yes. I am sorry. But I was never going to be a hero. You must have known that.”
Even so it was one thing to know something in the abstract, and something quite different to see it play out in front of your eyes. She could still see him, the dark outline, the cold voice. And she realised what bothered her... It was the fact that he had turned away, as if the death wasn’t even worth witnessing. He had certainly not turned because of the delicacy of his feelings, that she was sure of. It had been less execution, more... extermination of something unpleasant, like a cockroach. She shivered.
“Those aliens... They were... people, right?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“But you just...”
“Killed them, yes.” He tilted his head, choosing his words carefully as he continued. “I’m a Time Lord. Sometimes drastic actions are part of my responsibilities. I don’t enjoy it, but I can’t say I’m sorry that they’re dead, or that I killed them. The universe is definitely better off with fewer of them around.”
Matter-of-fact. Unapologetic. Hard facts, and no cushioning. Maybe he didn’t know how.
She was used to him being all smooth manipulation (except for major arguments), adapting himself to every situation, and every person. The change was bewildering, and yet, this was obviously her one and only opportunity to get answers. To find out what kind of person her Alex had grown into.
“Your weapon...” she began, not knowing how to formulate the question, or even what she was asking - but he merely looked resigned and reached into his inside pocked, bringing out the deadly brushed-metal object he’d used earlier.
“This was my father’s. He gave it to me when I turned eight, and for years and years I just kept it hidden away. But I started carrying it after I regenerated, because...”
He hesitated, and she pressed her advantage. She’d loved who he was, she wanted to understand why he’d changed so much, even if it hurt. I couldn’t just be the new face.
“Because?”
“Because of how I died.”
“And?” she prompted. She’d not given much thought to how he had come by his new face, and his extreme reluctance made her suddenly curious. And he’d died... Her beautiful Alex. Knowing how was vitally important all of a sudden, even though the man in front of her seemed exceedingly unwilling to share.
“I... don’t like talking about it. But here goes, I suppose. It was yet another idiot alien trying to destroy the world, and the Doctor had roped me in to help. Except in the end the only way to stop the bad guy was to kill him. And as I had no weapon to hand, the only way to kill him was to physically pull him into a force field - which killed me too.”
She turned it over in her head, and came to the only logical conclusion:
“You mean... you died saving the world?”
He waved her words away, uncomfortable. “Not important. I mean, yes I did, but I was mostly annoyed at losing a life, all because I wasn’t armed. Hence this. It’s a laser screwdriver by the way, so has endless applications - I don’t use it for killing very often.”
As he spoke, a strange truth dawned on her. The boy she had known might have worn his father’s face - and there had certainly been uneasy flashes - but he’d also distanced himself from his heritage as much as he could.
But this new one... The coat might be a touch pirate-like, but even so the style wouldn’t have looked out of place on Harold Saxon. And the rest of his clothing had that sharp and cool look that was slightly too controlled and expensive to be entirely comfortable.
“What are you thinking?” he asked as she’d gone completely silent, and she shook her head.
“Just... the last time I met you, at graduation, you were... furious with your father. Distancing yourself from him completely. And now...” She waved her hands, trying to encompass the smooth elegance in front of her, “you are so much like him.”
He didn’t deny it, just nodded thoughtfully.
“Not insane or evil, nor interested in world domination - much to his continued disappointment - but yes, I’m my father’s son. Took me a couple of centuries to make peace with it, but I couldn’t hide forever.”
Recalling graduation, she was struck by another thing that had stuck out at the time, and as this was probably her last chance to get an answer, she decided to ask immediately, never mind that it was a huge leap in topic.
“Adelaide. What’s so special about her?”
A slow light seemed to ignite in his eyes, and then a bright smile blossomed on his face. He had been so very serious until now (even the smiles had somehow been serious), that she had not really noticed his looks, except in how not-Alex they were. Suddenly she could see how he - under other circumstances - could probably be exceptionally charming. Not her type (too angular, too ginger), but...
“Will you let me show you?” he asked. “It’ll count as a spoiler, but... I think you deserve it.”
“Show me what?”
He held out his hand.
“History being made.”
One last adventure... How could she say no?
Which was how she found herself onboard his ship again (the same as she remembered, although more worn), and before she knew what was happening they were landing somewhere dusty red and... empty.
“I’ve never been here,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “The Doctor must have been, although...” his eyes narrowed, “I can’t see him. I know he went to see the Moon landing four times - at least - so he can’t possibly not be here. Ah well, he’s probably hiding like us...”
“And are you going to tell me where ‘here’ is?” she asked, although she had an inkling.
“Mars. 2041. And... just wait for it.”
They watched in shared silence as a vessel broke through the skies, before landing, the impact shaking the ground and causing huge clouds of dust to rise. Eventually a door opened and an astronaut stepped out, before descending the steps, flag in hand. (Union Jack, Allison noted with great pride.)
“That,” the Seeker breathed, “is Adelaide Brooke.”
Torn between looking at her guide, and the events unfolding, Allison made a noise that hopefully communicated her appreciation. The Seeker nodded.
“You know how I said that people are like books? Some are more widely known and read than others, and only very few last. But there are a some - a mere handful - which echo down the ages, millennia after millennia. And Adelaide is amongst those. Like Neil Armstrong and Columbus and Cleopatra all wrapped up into one. She is the first human being to set foot on Mars. And she’ll be back in 2058, the founder of the first Mars colony. What makes her remarkable isn’t just that she makes it, but that she’s the one who puts herself here. She wasn’t chosen, she chose herself. She is like... the human capacity for achievement, contained in a single person.”
She marvelled, watching the figure in the distance. She remembered Adelaide talking about wanting to acheive this, but to see it...
“Why are you telling me this? Is this not, like, classified?”
He turned to her.
“Because you are a part of her story - and vice versa. She is the poster girl - it is her drive and vision that bring her here. But she could never have done it on her own. You are one of the main people behind her.”
“Me?”
“You’re not the one in all the news headlines, but behind the scenes... everyone knows your name.”
She suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe. He’d torn down one half of her dreams, but he was giving her something else in return... Something solid and real and too amazing for words.
“Doesn’t telling me... constitute some sort of breach of rules? Should I know my own story?”
Ignoring the historic events unfolding, he reached out and gently cradled her cheek. The touch made her shiver - he was so hands-off his interactions almost felt like a brush-off, so this moment of contact had to be special.
“I figure you probably need something to hold onto. There is a red planet in your future, it just isn’t mine... And besides, I don’t think it’s a huge shock to you that you’ll be successful in your chosen career. You’re brilliant, and you know it. Like me.”
He had a point. She’d been attracted to his brilliance right from the start. Attracted, and somewhat jealous.
Then his eyes narrowed a fraction, and she could sense that his focus had changed.
“Do you want a go? As in - would you like to walk on Mars also? Considering your future is bound to this place, it seems a shame that you never get here properly. We could jump back some years and have a little stroll?”
“But won’t that... change something? If Adelaide is the first?”
(She felt like a stuck record, but he kept surprising her. He’d insisted on saying nothing at all and then threw stuff at her she wasn’t prepared for.)
“No one will know, which means history won’t care. Trust me, I’m a Time Lord. We’ll be fine.”
***
She remembered for the rest of her life the almost dreamlike sensation she experienced. The space suit was a lot sleeker (and more comfortable) than the one Adelaide had been wearing, and the view stunning. He took her to a tholus - the Martian term for an isolated, dome-shaped small mountain or hill - and they could see for miles and miles.
(Only several years later did she understand why he had chosen that particular tholus, and laughed as realisation hit, the ouroboros of time asserting itself.)
Most of all, she remembered how... empty it was. How unutterably peaceful. Clear lines wherever she looked. She’d been all around the world, yet there had always been the knowledge that if you continued far enough there would be people somewhere, human life embedded from the deepest rain forests to the coldest ends of the earth. But Mars was extraordinary in its solitude.
A chance to do things right.
To be the first.
A whole world of opportunity and newness, and she would be one of the people to make it happen.
The rust-coloured ground beneath her feet fell away below, becoming craters and mountains and canyons - all new, all never seen by a human before she had arrived.
She knew exactly why Adelaide pushed herself.
Knew why she would help.
Somehow - by intuition or luck - he’d helped her find the answer she had always been looking for, and it didn’t matter what the question was.
(It was wonderful to be transported so easily to any point. But to do it yourself - to create and build and make it all happen by your own effort... How much more rewarding.)
***
When they returned to his ship she was almost itching to get back to her life, and yet... It would be the final goodbye. An irreversible break with what could-have-been, and now never-would-be. He wasn’t her Alex, but he was the last link, and once he was gone that would be it....
“Is this what you do?” she asked once she was out of the spacesuit, and he was storing everything away. “Travel, see history unfold?”
He shook his head.
“Sometimes, but that’s more the Doctor’s thing. I tend to spend most of my time building. Creating and re-creating. Recovering lost knowledge, and discovering new things. Although my current project is a little more ambitious - I’m trying to work out how to create a matrix.”
He smiled, excitement taking over.
“Well, it’s still very much in the planning stage. So far all I’ve made is a tiny model that might as well be made of cardboard and sticky-backed plastic, but it’s a start. And it’ll probably take me decades to even begin to construct the real thing - but I have time.”
“A Matrix... I’m presuming you’re not talking about Keanu Reeves here.”
He began explaining, but - although she got the general gist - the technicalities lost her. (‘This must be how other people feel when I’m talking,’ she thought.)
“Can I see the model?” she asked eventually.
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“Sure. Of course.”
She wondered at the reluctance, but didn't know how to address it - and anyway he was already making his way back to the front of the ship, settling in the captain’s chair. The sharp interior suited him, she thought, and he seemed to take it for granted, unlike the first time, when he’d practically been bursting with delight. Which reminded her...
“Last time I was here... on your ship, I mean... you said that what you did - the thing that got you sent to Cambridge, the thing they confiscated the ship for - was stupid and dangerous and nearly got you killed. But you never said what it actually was.”
He turned, the chair swivelling round to face her, as he studied her with barely concealed amusement.
“You want that story?”
“As you refused to ever tell me, yes. Besides, without that occurrence, we would never have met.”
He chuckled and reached out, flicking a switch, before meeting her eyes again.
“As you wish. But I dare say it won’t be what you expect.”
Chapter 34.
Fic index here if anyone wants to catch up, or just follow the tags. Also on AO3 and The Teaspoon.
Summary: Allison had always thought that university would be an adventure. But she'd not imagined that she'd end up dating Harold Saxon's son.
Setting: Summer 2029
Characters: Allison, Alex.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 4000 approx
Feedback: Makes my world go round... No really. You have no idea.
Chapter 33
She woke to a voice gently calling her name.
Slowly opening her eyes, she saw a stranger watching her anxiously, a cautious smile appearing when he caught her eyes. He had a handsome face, although the chin was to reckoned with, and his blue eyes offset the red of his hair in a manner which was quite startling when considered attentively.
Slowly, like mist clearing from a mirror, her mind caught up with what had happened previously, and that it was Alex - the Seeker - who was watching her. And she’d just been staring at him like he was something weird out of a zoo.
Sitting up, taking in the surroundings (she was in a cafe, in a comfy sofa right at the back, mostly unseen by everyone else), she smiled back uncomfortably, embarrassment asserting itself with a vengeance.
“What... happened?” she asked.
“You fainted,” he replied gravely. “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”
The question threw her, and she frowned.
“Um. Lunchtime? I was going to get something when I got here, but I was delayed setting off...”
“That’s a long time ago. And then you had several big shocks to the system. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. It’s been... a very long time since I’ve been around humans, I forget how fragile you can be.” He paused, a furrow between his brows. “But even so. I’m much too blunt this time around - there was no need to tell you like that.”
“OK,” she said, feeling mostly confused by now, and he nodded towards the table in front of them.
“I figured you probably needed food. But I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got a selection.”
Looking at the table she saw three cups (tea, coffee and hot chocolate) and several sandwiches and salads. To one side was a cup of black coffee which she presumed was his.
“Thank you,” she said, eyeing the rest of the cafe cautiously. “Did you... carry me through?”
“Don’t worry,” he replied, “No one saw a thing. I know you don’t like to be the centre of attention. Not in that way at least. But please - eat.”
Since she was actually hungry she did as she was told, and he sat back quietly; just watching, silently.
She tried to not let it freak her out - but the fact was that he was old enough to be her great-great-great-great-grandfather was not something she found easy to process. Although it did explain the vast difference in temperament and behaviour that had unsettled her so. And the way he looked at her...
As she emptied the tea cup, feeling more like herself after some food (he was very attentive, albeit in a strange, almost brusque, manner), she had a sudden epiphany and mentally kicked herself for being so slow.
“You know... My whole life, my future,” she said, turning to him, and he merely nodded.
“Yes. But I can’t tell you much. Surely you understand that?”
“Obviously. But, but, just a hint...” ‘The Choice’ was hovering over her again, and he knew. “Do we get back together?”
“No.”
His voice was completely toneless, face unmoving and unknowable.
“No?” she replied, feeling like the ground she had been standing on suddenly vanished beneath her feet and she was falling, falling, falling...
It couldn’t end like this, could it? (She remembered that it had started in a cafe like this one... Kissing for hours, so breathlessly happy and jubilant that it had seemed nothing could ever come between them.)
“You sent me a letter,” he explained gently, “breaking up with me for good. And that was the end.”
She shook her head, refusing to let his words make sense.
“No I didn’t.”
“But you will. Because you did - will have done...” He pulled a face.
“Sorry, English is a terrible language for talking about time. And with tonight’s happenings... How to explain? Well, to use the technical term - we got screwed over by time.”
“We what?”
The Seeker steepled his fingers in front of his chest and looked her straight in the eye, searching for the right words.
“It’s like... Books. Everyone’s life is a book. Except you can’t peek at the back, because it’s written as you live it. And your story is part of the greater story of the world, which is part of the story of the universe. And Time Lords... Are the librarians. We keep order, make sure the stories go how they’re supposed to, so the greater story unfolds like it should. And there are certain plot points that must always happen, or the whole thing unravels. Does that make sense?”
“I... suppose so,” she said slowly. This was not what she had expected, and was rather thrown. She was used to him making everything personal - this big picture thing was weird. Although it helped take her mind off the unexpected loss and... other things.
“But how can you tell? How do you know which bits are important? Is it... like handed down, or something?”
“I just know. That is - I see it. All of time and space, I mean. All that is... all that was... all that ever could be. Always.”
“Always?” she echoed like some kind of parrot, trying wrap her mind around what he was telling her, and he nodded.
“Since I was eight. But never mind that now. What is important is your story. And the fact that I know it. Which means it is my duty to preserve it.”
“But, but... I’m not going to be pivotal to the history of the world, am I? And you’re a Time Lord, you can change things. You- you brought that boy back to life Christmas before last, and that was a time thing!”
He was taking her choice away from her, hiding behind weird rules that she knew he could break, and she wasn’t going to let it go without a fight. She didn’t care about the Seeker, this stranger who hid his feelings behind an impenetrable wall. But her Alex was still out there, waiting for her...
The Seeker shook his head, before briefly closing his eyes. The lights caught the fire of his hair, and yet when he looked at her he was suddenly old in ways she hadn’t expected.
“Allison - you are a part of my story. I may be only two hundred and ten, but I am a complicated enough space-time event already for the repercussions of a serious break of my time line to be... substantial. You don’t know what you’re asking. I cannot rewrite my own life, no matter how much I wish I could.”
As she didn’t reply, just stared at him silently (hope dropping from her hands - too heavy to carry) he suddenly leaned forward, laying one of his hands on top of hers, and she realised this was the only time he had touched her, except for the kiss...
(That desperate, searing kiss. She understood it now, and wished she didn’t.)
“My Allie... Believe me, this is as bitter for me as it is for you. I thought it was your choice. I never knew - never guessed - that this happened. That the time lines became entangled. Time travel... is a hard mistress. But. Knowing I had a chance... that you might have chosen me, if things were different-”
For a second she could see through to the pain, his eyes an aching blue ocean.
“I can’t tell you what that means to me.”
She swallowed, the reality of what was happening beginning to sink in, as he, somewhat awkwardly, moved his hand from hers.
“Do I- do I have a good life?” she asked eventually, trying not to cry. Every word meant defeat, but what else could she do?
“Yes,” he replied, without hesitation.
It didn’t help. She felt hollow and empty.
“Allie,” he continued, eyes shuttered again, and the distance helped. This stranger she could be angry with, even as she was starting to mourn the loss of her love. And she should probably be paying attention to what he was saying...
“...this is the point where you have to promise me to never, if you see me, breathe a word about what happened tonight. And you have to write me - past me - a letter breaking up with me for good. It’s all - quite literally - in your hands now. You have the power break time if you so wish it...”
She could see the poetic justice of it, but it was no good. Her eyes were welling up, and he stopped speaking, once more studying her with worry and apprehension.
“I’m being insensitive again, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” she said, fighting the tears back. She would cry - but not now, not on his shoulder. There would be plenty of time for mourning...
They sat in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say or do. He was clearly concerned that he was upsetting her, so she cast about for a different topic. Something to talk about that wasn’t them - or the lack of, rather.
“Um... Can I ask - what happened tonight?”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Who were those aliens? Why were you chasing them? What did they do?”
(‘Why did you kill them?’ The question unspoken, yet clear.)
“Oh. Right.” He touched his chin (it was a chin to be reckoned with) oddly thrown.
“It was pretty much what you saw. Jack called me, asking for help. He didn’t give any details really, but I knew that if he was calling me and not the Doctor he just wanted who-ever-it was dead, rather than some sort of great rescue mission. It proved a lot tricker than anticipated, unfortunately.” He pulled an unhappy face. “Hate days like this. They’re not frequent, but I could do without them...”
He stopped, studying her. “Allison?”
At some point his words had stopped making sense, the same sentence going in circles in her head.
“He called you because he wanted them dead...”
Understanding dawned, and he nodded, that terribly cautious look on his face again. Like he was constantly worried about saying the wrong thing, yet unable to help himself.
“Ah yes. I am sorry. But I was never going to be a hero. You must have known that.”
Even so it was one thing to know something in the abstract, and something quite different to see it play out in front of your eyes. She could still see him, the dark outline, the cold voice. And she realised what bothered her... It was the fact that he had turned away, as if the death wasn’t even worth witnessing. He had certainly not turned because of the delicacy of his feelings, that she was sure of. It had been less execution, more... extermination of something unpleasant, like a cockroach. She shivered.
“Those aliens... They were... people, right?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“But you just...”
“Killed them, yes.” He tilted his head, choosing his words carefully as he continued. “I’m a Time Lord. Sometimes drastic actions are part of my responsibilities. I don’t enjoy it, but I can’t say I’m sorry that they’re dead, or that I killed them. The universe is definitely better off with fewer of them around.”
Matter-of-fact. Unapologetic. Hard facts, and no cushioning. Maybe he didn’t know how.
She was used to him being all smooth manipulation (except for major arguments), adapting himself to every situation, and every person. The change was bewildering, and yet, this was obviously her one and only opportunity to get answers. To find out what kind of person her Alex had grown into.
“Your weapon...” she began, not knowing how to formulate the question, or even what she was asking - but he merely looked resigned and reached into his inside pocked, bringing out the deadly brushed-metal object he’d used earlier.
“This was my father’s. He gave it to me when I turned eight, and for years and years I just kept it hidden away. But I started carrying it after I regenerated, because...”
He hesitated, and she pressed her advantage. She’d loved who he was, she wanted to understand why he’d changed so much, even if it hurt. I couldn’t just be the new face.
“Because?”
“Because of how I died.”
“And?” she prompted. She’d not given much thought to how he had come by his new face, and his extreme reluctance made her suddenly curious. And he’d died... Her beautiful Alex. Knowing how was vitally important all of a sudden, even though the man in front of her seemed exceedingly unwilling to share.
“I... don’t like talking about it. But here goes, I suppose. It was yet another idiot alien trying to destroy the world, and the Doctor had roped me in to help. Except in the end the only way to stop the bad guy was to kill him. And as I had no weapon to hand, the only way to kill him was to physically pull him into a force field - which killed me too.”
She turned it over in her head, and came to the only logical conclusion:
“You mean... you died saving the world?”
He waved her words away, uncomfortable. “Not important. I mean, yes I did, but I was mostly annoyed at losing a life, all because I wasn’t armed. Hence this. It’s a laser screwdriver by the way, so has endless applications - I don’t use it for killing very often.”
As he spoke, a strange truth dawned on her. The boy she had known might have worn his father’s face - and there had certainly been uneasy flashes - but he’d also distanced himself from his heritage as much as he could.
But this new one... The coat might be a touch pirate-like, but even so the style wouldn’t have looked out of place on Harold Saxon. And the rest of his clothing had that sharp and cool look that was slightly too controlled and expensive to be entirely comfortable.
“What are you thinking?” he asked as she’d gone completely silent, and she shook her head.
“Just... the last time I met you, at graduation, you were... furious with your father. Distancing yourself from him completely. And now...” She waved her hands, trying to encompass the smooth elegance in front of her, “you are so much like him.”
He didn’t deny it, just nodded thoughtfully.
“Not insane or evil, nor interested in world domination - much to his continued disappointment - but yes, I’m my father’s son. Took me a couple of centuries to make peace with it, but I couldn’t hide forever.”
Recalling graduation, she was struck by another thing that had stuck out at the time, and as this was probably her last chance to get an answer, she decided to ask immediately, never mind that it was a huge leap in topic.
“Adelaide. What’s so special about her?”
A slow light seemed to ignite in his eyes, and then a bright smile blossomed on his face. He had been so very serious until now (even the smiles had somehow been serious), that she had not really noticed his looks, except in how not-Alex they were. Suddenly she could see how he - under other circumstances - could probably be exceptionally charming. Not her type (too angular, too ginger), but...
“Will you let me show you?” he asked. “It’ll count as a spoiler, but... I think you deserve it.”
“Show me what?”
He held out his hand.
“History being made.”
One last adventure... How could she say no?
Which was how she found herself onboard his ship again (the same as she remembered, although more worn), and before she knew what was happening they were landing somewhere dusty red and... empty.
“I’ve never been here,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “The Doctor must have been, although...” his eyes narrowed, “I can’t see him. I know he went to see the Moon landing four times - at least - so he can’t possibly not be here. Ah well, he’s probably hiding like us...”
“And are you going to tell me where ‘here’ is?” she asked, although she had an inkling.
“Mars. 2041. And... just wait for it.”
They watched in shared silence as a vessel broke through the skies, before landing, the impact shaking the ground and causing huge clouds of dust to rise. Eventually a door opened and an astronaut stepped out, before descending the steps, flag in hand. (Union Jack, Allison noted with great pride.)
“That,” the Seeker breathed, “is Adelaide Brooke.”
Torn between looking at her guide, and the events unfolding, Allison made a noise that hopefully communicated her appreciation. The Seeker nodded.
“You know how I said that people are like books? Some are more widely known and read than others, and only very few last. But there are a some - a mere handful - which echo down the ages, millennia after millennia. And Adelaide is amongst those. Like Neil Armstrong and Columbus and Cleopatra all wrapped up into one. She is the first human being to set foot on Mars. And she’ll be back in 2058, the founder of the first Mars colony. What makes her remarkable isn’t just that she makes it, but that she’s the one who puts herself here. She wasn’t chosen, she chose herself. She is like... the human capacity for achievement, contained in a single person.”
She marvelled, watching the figure in the distance. She remembered Adelaide talking about wanting to acheive this, but to see it...
“Why are you telling me this? Is this not, like, classified?”
He turned to her.
“Because you are a part of her story - and vice versa. She is the poster girl - it is her drive and vision that bring her here. But she could never have done it on her own. You are one of the main people behind her.”
“Me?”
“You’re not the one in all the news headlines, but behind the scenes... everyone knows your name.”
She suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe. He’d torn down one half of her dreams, but he was giving her something else in return... Something solid and real and too amazing for words.
“Doesn’t telling me... constitute some sort of breach of rules? Should I know my own story?”
Ignoring the historic events unfolding, he reached out and gently cradled her cheek. The touch made her shiver - he was so hands-off his interactions almost felt like a brush-off, so this moment of contact had to be special.
“I figure you probably need something to hold onto. There is a red planet in your future, it just isn’t mine... And besides, I don’t think it’s a huge shock to you that you’ll be successful in your chosen career. You’re brilliant, and you know it. Like me.”
He had a point. She’d been attracted to his brilliance right from the start. Attracted, and somewhat jealous.
Then his eyes narrowed a fraction, and she could sense that his focus had changed.
“Do you want a go? As in - would you like to walk on Mars also? Considering your future is bound to this place, it seems a shame that you never get here properly. We could jump back some years and have a little stroll?”
“But won’t that... change something? If Adelaide is the first?”
(She felt like a stuck record, but he kept surprising her. He’d insisted on saying nothing at all and then threw stuff at her she wasn’t prepared for.)
“No one will know, which means history won’t care. Trust me, I’m a Time Lord. We’ll be fine.”
***
She remembered for the rest of her life the almost dreamlike sensation she experienced. The space suit was a lot sleeker (and more comfortable) than the one Adelaide had been wearing, and the view stunning. He took her to a tholus - the Martian term for an isolated, dome-shaped small mountain or hill - and they could see for miles and miles.
(Only several years later did she understand why he had chosen that particular tholus, and laughed as realisation hit, the ouroboros of time asserting itself.)
Most of all, she remembered how... empty it was. How unutterably peaceful. Clear lines wherever she looked. She’d been all around the world, yet there had always been the knowledge that if you continued far enough there would be people somewhere, human life embedded from the deepest rain forests to the coldest ends of the earth. But Mars was extraordinary in its solitude.
A chance to do things right.
To be the first.
A whole world of opportunity and newness, and she would be one of the people to make it happen.
The rust-coloured ground beneath her feet fell away below, becoming craters and mountains and canyons - all new, all never seen by a human before she had arrived.
She knew exactly why Adelaide pushed herself.
Knew why she would help.
Somehow - by intuition or luck - he’d helped her find the answer she had always been looking for, and it didn’t matter what the question was.
(It was wonderful to be transported so easily to any point. But to do it yourself - to create and build and make it all happen by your own effort... How much more rewarding.)
***
When they returned to his ship she was almost itching to get back to her life, and yet... It would be the final goodbye. An irreversible break with what could-have-been, and now never-would-be. He wasn’t her Alex, but he was the last link, and once he was gone that would be it....
“Is this what you do?” she asked once she was out of the spacesuit, and he was storing everything away. “Travel, see history unfold?”
He shook his head.
“Sometimes, but that’s more the Doctor’s thing. I tend to spend most of my time building. Creating and re-creating. Recovering lost knowledge, and discovering new things. Although my current project is a little more ambitious - I’m trying to work out how to create a matrix.”
He smiled, excitement taking over.
“Well, it’s still very much in the planning stage. So far all I’ve made is a tiny model that might as well be made of cardboard and sticky-backed plastic, but it’s a start. And it’ll probably take me decades to even begin to construct the real thing - but I have time.”
“A Matrix... I’m presuming you’re not talking about Keanu Reeves here.”
He began explaining, but - although she got the general gist - the technicalities lost her. (‘This must be how other people feel when I’m talking,’ she thought.)
“Can I see the model?” she asked eventually.
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“Sure. Of course.”
She wondered at the reluctance, but didn't know how to address it - and anyway he was already making his way back to the front of the ship, settling in the captain’s chair. The sharp interior suited him, she thought, and he seemed to take it for granted, unlike the first time, when he’d practically been bursting with delight. Which reminded her...
“Last time I was here... on your ship, I mean... you said that what you did - the thing that got you sent to Cambridge, the thing they confiscated the ship for - was stupid and dangerous and nearly got you killed. But you never said what it actually was.”
He turned, the chair swivelling round to face her, as he studied her with barely concealed amusement.
“You want that story?”
“As you refused to ever tell me, yes. Besides, without that occurrence, we would never have met.”
He chuckled and reached out, flicking a switch, before meeting her eyes again.
“As you wish. But I dare say it won’t be what you expect.”
Chapter 34.