The Light of the Moons - Chapter 4

[whosintheattic]

Title: The Light of the Moons
Author: whosintheattic
Beta: DavidTennantsTrainers
Chapter: 4/4
Rating: T
Characters: Tenth Doctor and Original Character
Spoilers: Doctor Who up until The End of Time [stop reading now, because the the Author's Notes have spoilers too].
Summary: Three years after the events of Journey's End, the Doctor meets Sara Parker while investigating a wave of disappearances on a university campus in America. After rescuing her from the clutches of danger, the two set out for Fentiern, a three-mooned planet in serious need of help.
Authors Notes: This goes AU after Waters of Mars and sticks to canon as much as possible other than the death prophecies throughout series four and the specials, and whatever I might get wrong due to lack of familiarity with Classic Who.



The Doctor was carrying Sara in his arms, where she hung limply and half-conscious. He pushed away the thought of the helpless look she’d given him before blacking out. The way her voice cracked when she’d said, “Doctor?” and the puzzled look that spread across her face; those cold familiar waves of his conscience crashed over him again. Shame. Guilt. In and out, a tide of anguish, telling him he deserved to be alone after all he’d done.

He looked down at her periodically as he ran past dozens of shelves to the back of the warehouse where he knew he would find the TARDIS. The Gaffel leaf was still bonded to Sara’s skin, the blue-green making the ragged wound in her abdomen look slightly less severe. Blood was seeping out with every thump of her heart. He’d had to pull the Hendica spearhead out; he’d noticed straightaway it had a timer, and no sooner had he withdrawn it from her side than its mechanism activated, more than doubling its size. So now she very well could bleed to death. All because she had to be here. All because she’d met him. Had he foreseen this series of events, Laws of Time be damned; he never would’ve brought her along. Her shirt was soaked in blood, and stained his coat and blazer; it pocked her jeans. “Hold on, Sara!” He looked down at her face, her blue eyes open and wandering, not fixing on him or anything else.

Her head was swimming, and slowly, she was feeling colder. Her gut initially screamed and throbbed, as if someone had jabbed her with a hot poker. Now she was numb and dizzy, more aware-she was flying. No. The Doctor was carrying her. She could see the blur of his face, but couldn’t focus. She faintly felt the familiar tingle, like electric sand washing over her mind. Red grass. Silver leaves. Guilt. An orange sky. Fear.  Fire. Longing. The pain brought by the pounding of the Doctor’s footfalls was muffled by her own shock. She felt more like she was floating down a lazy stream, a leaf twirling in the cool whirlpools as the stream swells into a river, rushing faster…and it’s exhilarating and beautiful, but so cold.

“Sara!” the Doctor shouted. She was unconscious again. He had to set her down to fish the key from his trouser pocket and unlock the TARDIS. He heard the storage bay door slide open on its track, and knew that the foot soldiers were dangerously close. He stooped low and scooped Sara under her arms, and as quickly and carefully as possible, dragged her inside and shut the door. “Hang in there, Sara,” he strained as he pulled her up the catwalk and laid her next to the main console. He threw a few levers-they needed to get out now-and sprinted down the corridor to the closet. He thrust the door open, and began searching; he furiously hurled things over his shoulder and against the wall, until after what seemed like an eternity, his eyes lit upon his goal. It was a small metallic cylinder.

“I’m coming, Sara!” The Doctor shouted as he hurried down the corridor; he was twisting the cap off as he skidded to a painful landing on his knees at her side. He tipped the open container over her wound, and gave a desperate smile as thousands of Chula nanogenes lit up and flooded into her system. He immediately pressed his fingers to her neck. He could feel her weak pulse, moving slowly. So slowly. He pursed his lips and looked down and away from her, silently hoping. Time crawled, but he felt her pulse slowly creep up, edging closer and closer to normal. He lifted her shirt just enough to inspect the wound. The smile on his face grew wider and wider as the wound shrank and disappeared, and Sara’s pulse grew stronger. The Doctor noticed the blue-green-silver of the Gaffel leaf was just as quickly turning into a brown-gray; the nanogenes had known it didn’t belong and so it was being extricated.

He cupped her hand in both of his, ignoring the flakes of leaf that crumbled off her forearm. As Sara’s eyes fluttered open, and the nanogenes came out of her, hovering over her in a cloud of tiny lights, the Doctor used one hand to hold the cylinder up, encouraging the nanogenes to return. Sara only gasped as they swarmed into the can that The Doctor held. He recapped it. “What are those?” She asked. Her voice was solid, and she was alert.

“Chula nanogenes. Picked them up during the London Blitz; I was going to deactivate them, but thought better of it. Thought I’d hang onto them in case of an emergency.” Sara gave a start as she remembered; she clutched her belly, only to realize she was covered in a profuse amount of blood. There was no injury, much to her relief, and she looked hesitantly at the Doctor. His coat and jacket were stained with her blood, relief written in the faint lines of his face. His hair was disheveled, but still somehow looked perfect. Her expression must have been one of confusion, because he added, “Think of them as medics in a can.” She smiled at him, and she just couldn’t help herself-her smile was a broad ridiculous smile that would’ve been a dead giveaway for any human, betraying every inch of the conflicted feelings she’d been forcing herself to ignore-she sprang up and hugged him around the neck, head under his chin. It was platonic and natural, and she didn’t let herself think or care; just enjoyed the feel of him-enjoyed the ability to feel at all-and the smell of him. He encircled her in his arms and she breathed deeply. Summer wind, she thought. After a moment, they broke their embrace and Sara stuffed those confusing feelings away again. She got to her feet.

“I never was a very good runner,” she said, silently chiding her poor athleticism. She looked down at herself, “It’s a shame, too,” she said, brushing leaf flecks from her arms, “I really loved this shirt.” She was a bit disappointed that she would no longer have the beautiful silken Gaffel leaf to call her own.

The Doctor chuckled at the ‘unpredictable’ girl-alive when by rights she should be dead-and with a sense of humor. As she shifted on her feet, she began to feel the discomfort of being covered in dry leaf and sticky with blood. Her hair was matted. Suddenly she felt as undignified as if she’d been honeyed and feathered. She was molting leaf particles with every movement, and it made her itch all over. “I am in desperate need of a shower,” she said. Then a look of concern crossed her face that was hauntingly similar to the one she’d worn just after being shot, “I don’t have anything to put on.”

“I’ll take care of that,” he assured her. “You just wash up.” She didn’t move for a moment. “Well go on then,” he gestured, “Towels are in the cupboard,” and he darted to the control panel. She looked down at his stained garments, and since his back was turned, she scooped them up and took them with her.

The Doctor plucked his re-breather from his throat and began working furiously at the controls, programming a computer virus and beaming it into the mainframe of the Hendica fleet. The virus would eat through the Hendica control systems and allow the ships their freedom. He tried not to think of what that meant for the passengers of the living ships. They would probably be ejected into the vacuum of space. The virus would also transmit a message concerning the incidents on Fentiern to the Shadow Proclamation; the Hendica ships would need aid and protection, and so would the Gaffel.

**

Sara stepped into the empty bathtub after gingerly peeling her re-breather off and setting it on the sink. She shucked off her garments one at a time. Every article was completely marred by blood, and her t-shirt had a gaping hole in it. She figured that the blade had pierced her liver and possibly her kidney, based on the looks of her shirt and where she remembered feeling pain. She shuddered and dropped her tattered clothing into the wastebasket, then pulled the curtain shut.

Once the hot water was flowing over her, she felt more like herself. The flecks of Gaffel leaf had been scrubbed off; some of them dancing around the drain. As Sara looked down at them, she began to weep, and then sob. She lingered under the jets long after she’d gotten clean, allowing them to run over her body in consolation.

I could’ve died tonight. She allowed herself to stand under the water until she cried all she could cry. It seemed like an eternity, but the hot water never did run out. She shut off the tap, and dried herself carefully before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around herself, tucking it just above her breasts. Just then, she heard a soft knock at the door, “Sara, I found some clothes for you. I’ll just leave them-” she opened the door.

The Doctor’s eyes darted across her bare skin before looking away. “I see you got the leaf off, then,” he said, offering her a small cluster of shopping bags, “Here,” he smiled, “I hope I did alright; had to guess on the sizes.”

“Thank you,” she smiled shyly, taking the bags. One of them was particularly weighty.

“I’m going to start tea shortly,” he said.

“I’ll be there.” She shut the door softly and piled the bags onto the sink. She emptied them one at a time, putting the articles on; a pair of blue skinny jeans (nearly identical to the ones she’d been wearing), a plain white t-shirt, a bra that was-she blushed-exactly the right size, socks, underwear, and a pair of navy blue Converse. She smiled, clean and dressed, and withdrew the contents of the last bag; a black leather jacket. She shouldered it on and it fit like a dream. It hung to the backs of her thighs and flattered her figure. She turned a bit, this time looking in the mirror on the back of the door. She tucked her hands into the pockets and admired the coattails.

If the shower had made her feel like herself again, then this jacket made her feel better than herself. It was like a suit of armor; she couldn’t help but think of The Matrix. She felt her self-confidence inflate like a party balloon. When she opened the door, the smell of a hot meal filled her nostrils. “Doctor?” she called, as she moved down the corridor and re-entered the control room. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger. What time was it at home? How long as it been since she left? She looked down at her watch, but it wasn’t working.

“This way!” his voice echoed from another corridor. She followed the sound of his voice and the smell of a hot meal. As soon as she laid eyes on the spread of the dinner table, she gasped. The round table was draped with a white cloth and set for two. Sara looked at the place settings, feeling more than a little intimidated. She looked at the three forks to the left side of the plate. “Have a seat,” he offered, pulling out her chair. She settled into it, trying to ignore the way his knuckles brushed against her shoulder blades as he moved the chair back into place. “I know, it’s all a bit much for fish and chips,” he said, flitting toward the counter, “But this is a celebration!” He glided toward her again, clutching a bottle in his fist. “Wine?” he offered.

“Sure.” he spun on his foot and snatched up a corkscrew before whirling back and plopping the bottle down on the dining table. He made a less-than-elegant show of getting the cork out of the bottle before pouring them each a glass. Again he flitted back to the counter. It almost made her dizzy; he was like a ping-pong ball-here, there, here, there-but she liked it. His frenetic movements were somehow soothing; they allowed her to let the terror she’d felt previously fade to the background. She silently wondered if they did the same for him.

“What sauce do you like on your chips?” He asked, a dinner basket in either hand. The Doctor placed one in front of her and the other in his place, and turned again to the fridge.

“Ketchup,” she said. He bent down into the open maw of the refrigerator to retrieve the plastic squeeze bottle, and Sara caught herself again staring at his backside. She looked away guiltily and stuffed a fry into her mouth.

“There you are; catsup!” he said, his lips bending around the repeated word differently than hers had. He plopped the bottle down before her, “Perfect for chips.”

“Chips,” she tried the word as she upended the bottle and applied the contents next to her fries. “I think I’m going to call them that from now on,” she said, dipping a French fry and pointing its end at him before stuffing it into her mouth, “It sounds cool.”

“May I propose a toast?” Sara nodded and took up her glass of wine. “To friendship,” he said, “to life and chips.”

“And to the Gaffel,” Sara added. The Doctor nodded and they clicked their glasses together. She took a gulp of her wine. “I’m going to use this tiny fork,” she laughed, “pretend I’m a giant,” she poked at the fish on her plate and began to eat. The Doctor laughed.

“Not a bad idea,” he said, copying her. After a few minutes, she asked, “So what’s going to happen to Fentiern? And the Gaffel?”

“The Hendica commanders will be arrested, if their own ships haven’t killed them. The ships will be protected by Galactic law in any case, and patrols in the Fendel system will likely be increased.”

“Business as usual?” she said. The whole thing was procedural and mundane, but on such a grand scale that it fascinated Sara. He only nodded. “And the moon…?” Her question trailed off and her face held a searching expression. She knew there was something important about Tieramenaat, and wanted to ask him about it, but she couldn’t think of what exactly to ask. The thought sat on the tip of her tongue and taunted her. The Doctor could see her confusion turning to frustration as she tried to sort out the fragments of thought in her mind.

“Beneath the surface of Tieramenaat lies a very powerful and valuable compound. The Hendica meant to exploit that by strip-mining the moon. Fentiern’s sunlight, reflected from the surface of Tieramenaat-the surface they were so ready to decimate-allows for the production of the sugars that feed a Gaffel trees’ immune system.  Few do; it’s a well-guarded secret. One I happened to steal from the Hendica mainframe while I was…improving the system.”

“That’s amazing!” she grinned, finally able to make sense of her fragmented memories on the subject.

“Quite. Just a couple million years of artificially-accelerated evolution; nothing fancy, really,” he shrugged, taking a bite of fish. “If you think that’s impressive,” he grinned, “remind me to tell you about the time I encountered a living sun.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Sara’s eyes grew wide, and he relished the surprised look that showed on her face through the mouthful of fish and chips. “Cool,” she mumbled through her meal, holding a hand in front of her mouth.

“Quite the opposite, actually.” for a moment, Sara saw a hard look cross his face. He seemed to be staring through her; remembering. Then the look was gone and his bright smile returned, not quite reaching his eyes. She could tell that he wished he hadn’t brought it up.

“I once found an arrowhead when I was rock-climbing in Alabama,” she offered weakly, deliberately changing the subject. The Doctor relaxed his posture and the smile crept into his eyes again. “I was fourteen.”

“That must have been very exciting.”

“It was; I felt like an archeologist,” Sara beamed, “Like Indiana Jones.”

“One problem with that,” the Doctor said, sipping his wine.

“What?”

“You’re a time traveler now; we point and laugh at archeologists,” they both laughed.

The rest of their meal was all laughs, and afterward, as Sara and The Doctor finished the wine and tidied the kitchen, he said, “I can take you home when you’re ready,” he said hesitantly, not looking at her.

The thought of home crept into her mind; the quiet little place she’d left that morning seemed so far away; not just in space and time, but for her personally. Her mom’s cooking, her homework, her upcoming geography exam…they all seemed so distant. So small. So unimportant. Home; the place where nothing happens. Not tomorrow, not the next day. Nor the day after that. But today, something did happen, and her whole world changed. The thought of going back to that old life filled her with anxiety. The Doctor noticed her long silence and gave her a sideways look as she fidgeted with the clean plates. He knew she didn’t want to go home, which was nice, because he didn’t really want her to go either. He added, “You could see your mum, and pick up some comforts. For another trip...” He arched an eyebrow and looked at her sideways as she turned to look at him. “…if you want.”

Sara’s head began to swim immediately. She could feel the two hemispheres of her brain dueling in her skull. You almost died; you need to go home. But what’s at home? You have your whole life ahead of you. A life of what? Exams? Nine to five? Her mind boiled; the pros and cons rolling in on each other. It’s dangerous. “Is it always…?” She started.

“Dangerous? Yes. It can be, though not every trip is so…eventful.” That wasn’t what she’d meant to ask. She’d meant to ask if it was always so beautiful. She wanted to ask if she would feel that feeling again; the feeling she felt when she looked up at the moons of Fentiern and wept. Because no matter how terrified she was, or how close to death she was, what she felt in those minutes they stood hand-in-hand in the moonlight was all she wanted to feel for the rest of her life.

“Then yes,” she replied, jutting her chin just a bit and giving him her biggest smile. Her stomach was doing back-flips. What did I just agree to? She thought.

“Well, we’ll get a good night’s sleep and then tomorrow we can pop back to yesterday afternoon. If you go home now, your mother will wonder; you look terrible.” Sara made a face. He’d been rude without realizing it.

“Sorry. I mean you look tired. A lot more tired than you should be for attending a few lectures.”

“Yeah, sure.” she said, feigning offense and wearing a smirk.

That night, she awoke from a nightmare. Not of her imminent death, but of the sadness and longing. Now that she was awake, all she could recall were flashes. Red grass. Guilt. Orange sky. Shame. Silver leaves. Loneliness. The beautiful images swirled with pain and loss…what did they mean? She couldn’t get back to sleep, so she just stared at the ceiling and after awhile, began to cry. She cried for the unfathomable grief of her new friend, and she cried for herself. She cried for the feeling that she had forgotten something very important; why was the Doctor so lonely? So sad? She’d caught just a flash of it, but just like the secret of the Fentiernian moon, it had slipped away from her. She cried all the tears she had left and was spent. She became restless, tossing and turning until finally she couldn’t bear it anymore.

Sara got out of bed and crept back to the bathroom where she’d showered earlier, and took out the Doctor’s blood-streaked coat and blazer. The deep red splotches were still wet, and so she turned on the cold tap in the tub. Sara spent the next 90 minutes meticulously scrubbing her blood out of his clothing, paying special attention to the lapels and being sure to get under the buttons. She scrubbed as if erasing the blood from the fabric would erase the memories from her mind. She held each up to the scrutiny of the vanity lights, and after two or three attempts, she was quite pleased with the results. She draped the wet garments over her arm and slunk back to the bedroom. She opened the closet at the far side and hung the coat and blazer on hangers to dry, admiring her handiwork. A little hand soap and elbow grease, and both pieces were as good as new. The satisfaction that came with her success was enough to still her nerves, and she was finally able to crawl back into bed, and settle under the covers. She was quite happy with herself and resolved to present the cleaned garments to him in the morning. As she imagined the pleased look on his face, she fell asleep.

**

“I have a surprise for you,” she said the next morning, entering the control room. She had his coat and blazer tucked behind her back. The two of them both knew they were plainly visible, but The Doctor played along.

“Oh! Is it a horse? I like horses. I had a horse once-borrowed him actually-Arthur, I called him.”

Sara grinned, “No, not a horse,” she paused for the dramatic reveal. “Ta-da!” She said, pulling the two pieces of clothing from behind her back. The Doctor was thrilled.

“My coat!” he said, rushing over. He quickly shrugged his blazer on, then snatched his coat off the hanger and threw it on. “I love this coat; Janis Joplin gave me this coat,” he ran his hands over the front and gripped the lapels in between his fingers and thumbs.

“You can’t even tell it had blood on it,” she said, “My mom always told me to use cold water-not hot water-to get blood out.”

“Thank you,” he said, catching her by surprise in a hug. Her face was against his chest now, and his smell filled her nostrils. He was the wind coming off Lake Michigan in August. He was lilacs. He was dry autumn leaves. She hugged him back awkwardly, arms with no place to go but around his middle, as his embrace had her upper arms pinned to her sides. That part of her; the noticing part rejoiced in the closeness and savored the feel of her palms against his Oxford and his body beneath it; enjoyed the feel of the satin lining of his blazer against the backs of her hands. Sara’s other part-the rational part-resisted the urge to clutch at his shirt and pull him even closer.

The Doctor knew she’d done this in the middle of the night, when she couldn’t sleep. He’d heard her moving in the hall in the wee hours, while he was reading. He felt a pang of guilt. The thought of her reliving her near-death in her sleep at night made his hearts ache. How much more would she endure because of him? How miserable he is, knowing the harm he’s doing to her-as he had all his companions-in bringing her on this journey. But he just couldn’t bear to be alone. And all the sights of the universe just weren’t the same without someone to share it with.

“Well then, let’s get to your mum’s.” He said, pulling away.

**

The Doctor and Sara arrived at the little house she shared with her mother Janet. Janet was still at work, and would be for another hour and a half. Sara hadn’t wanted to explain the Doctor to her mother. She didn’t want to lie about how she’d spent the last twenty-four hours-well, for her mother it had been less than two-all she wanted was to grab an overnight bag and leave a note so her mother wouldn’t worry.

I’m going to run upstairs and pack a bag real quick,” Sara said. “You can help yourself to the fridge,” she offered. She scurried up the steps and to her bedroom at the end of the hall. She stuffed a pair of jeans and a pair of shorts into her duffel bag, a t-shirt and a sweatshirt, three pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear, and some hair ties from her dresser. She crossed the hall into the bathroom and retrieved her toothbrush, toothpaste and hairbrush.

As Sara crossed the hall with the items, she saw the Doctor approaching. “Nothing good in the fridge, huh?” She smiled. Her mom had been on a bit of a health food jaunt the last few weeks, stocking the fridge with organic fruit, free range eggs, and tofu.

“Not a thing,” he said, “Except this,” he held up a banana. She smiled.

“My favorite,” she said.

“Mine too.”

Sara re-entered her bedroom and the Doctor followed, peeling the banana. She was a bit uncomfortable having him in her room; it was cluttered. There were papers strewn about her desk, many of which were covered in doodles, there was a bit of dirty laundry on the floor, her bed was unmade, and an ancient stuffed teddy bear lay on the pillow. She quickly stuffed the bear into her travel bag; he smiled and pretended he didn’t notice. “This is nice,” he said taking a bite of banana and eyeing the posters she’d pinned to her wall. She had dozens of posters of various sizes, most of which were of nebulas and planets, or old buildings. A large poster of St. Basil’s Cathedral hung above her desk, and over her bed was a picture of a nebula.

“Thanks,” she said, “Mom always tells me I should take them down. She says I’m too old for posters; I should hang up framed pictures.”

“Well that’s just silly.”

Sara grinned and zipped up her bag. She went over to her desk and took out a pen and pad. She wrote, “Mom-I’m going to stay with Sandy tonight. I might be gone a couple days; I have my bus pass, so don’t worry about that. I love you. See you soon, Sara.” She looked at her penmanship and nodded. “There. All done.”

The Doctor seemed dubious that a note would be enough to satisfy her mother, but she really didn’t want to go into her mother’s aloof attitude, or how she’d gotten that way. Sara pushed away the guilt that bubbled to the surface at that thought.

**

The two were nearly back to the TARDIS, walking in silence and enjoying the afternoon air. Sara felt the excitement swelling inside her; the future! She was going to see the future! She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it. Her excitement was tinged with fear, that same fear she always got while waiting in line to ride a roller coaster; it built in her gut with every step she took toward the TARDIS in the same way as it built as she neared the front of the queue. Now she was standing next to the Doctor, the key to his blue box in hand, and she was trembling.

“Are you alright?” He asked, frowning.

“Yeah…yes, but…”

“What?”

“Would you promise me something?”

“What’s that?”

“If I get lost, or something happens to me, I want you to tell my mom I’m dead. Even if I’m really not. I don’t want her to wonder about me and where I’ve gone to, so I want you to promise that-if you can-you’ll do that. You’ll tell her somehow.”

The Doctor stopped and looked very serious. He read the expression on Sara’s face; it was one of determination, not fear. Just then, he thought maybe he should send her home. Never mind the future, he imagined himself saying, Go home to your mother, stay in university. Become a sociologist. But he could see in her eyes that she couldn’t accept that-wouldn’t accept that-and it made him smile. The breadth and depth of insatiable human curiosity was their greatest asset, and the cobblestones that paved their way to ruin. “I promise,” he said at last, stepping into the TARDIS. He hoped that day would never come. Sara followed, and shortly after the door closed behind her, the TARDIS no longer stood on a street corner in America; it was soaring through the time vortex, taking the two of them on their next adventure.

THE END

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