Doctor Who_ Unnatural History Part 38

Joyce waited. 'Well?'

'Please.' The Doctor gave Joyce a somewhat miffed look, and fussed with the lapels of his jacket. 'I'm sure you of all people appreciate the value of discretion.'

Joyce chuckled. With a final jangling the police box twisted itself into place, and the TARDIS stood there contented in the winter sunlight. None of the Epilogue: The Other Woman 235.

people nearby so much as blinked. The Doctor leaned over and hugged its battered wooden frame, closing his eyes and resting his cheek on its corner pillar.

He straightened up. 'No, what I need to take care of is a bit more serious.'

His face darkened further. 'And I also need to look for a new car.'

'You shouldn't replace one with another so quickly,' said Joyce. 'Give yourself time to mourn, at least.'

'It's still a big universe, isn't it?'

'But getting smaller every day,' sighed Joyce.

'You're right.' The Doctor nodded slowly. 'The unicorns have all left the park. Gone back to their own three-s.p.a.ce, I imagine. There's no room for them anywhere here. . . ' Finally he shrugged and turned to go. 'Ah well. Maybe there'll be room in the next universe.'

'Well, I'll see if I can put a word in,' said Professor Joyce.

Molly's was gone, as if it had never been there. Fitz just stood there for a while, hands in his pockets against the wind, looking at where the steps down to the bas.e.m.e.nt club had been. Neither of them had to say anything. Sam gave him a hug, and he hesitated, not sure where to put his hands.

So there wasn't a trace of the place where Fitz Kreiner had played guitar thirty-nine years ago, the night she'd first met him. Just a restaurant, and a lumpen National Farmers' Union building in its place. That was just time doing its usual work, she supposed, but it only made her memories feel even more tenuous. There wasn't any room for her in this London. No sign she'd ever been here.

She felt like such an impostor, sleeping in dark-haired Sam's bed. All these years she'd half wanted to go back and see her parents and friends again, but had never done it. Maybe this was why. On some subconscious level, maybe she'd known she wasn't a part of this world.

Or maybe it was the other way around. The Doctor had explained over tea in San Francisco that Time hadn't quite finished rest.i.tching the causality around these events. Once they left in the TARDIS, if she came back here in a week's time, chances were she'd find the flat had been rented to someone else for years. That her parents only ever remembered her the way she was now. That none of the friends she'd just tracked down remembered a dark-haired Sam Jones at all.

She'd read the Doctor's TARDIS logs once, and they were full of discontinu-ities on one page they'd say he'd done something, the next he hadn't, the 236 page after that he'd done it a long time ago. She'd put that down to the Doctor's reliability, or lack thereof but maybe that was just what time travel did.

Maybe your past was changing all the time, and you could notice only if you stepped outside the game long enough to see the difference. Maybe this present was gone the moment you left it. Or maybe he'd just caught the habit off Iris Wildthyme.

Still, she owed some kind of explanation to these people, anyway. Or maybe just owed it to dark-haired Sam's memory the memory probably no one else would have in a week's time.

She'd known she had to do this, from the moment she'd ventured into the TARDIS and seen the postcards, in her handwriting, stacked on the corner of her bed.

OK, I don't know what kind of me will be reading this. But my name is Sam Jones. I'm probably not the person you thought you were, I bet I made some Jones. I'm probably not the person you thought you were, I bet I made some choices you wouldn't (and vice versa) but that doesn't matter. You can't change choices you wouldn't (and vice versa) but that doesn't matter. You can't change my life, any more than I can change yours. my life, any more than I can change yours.

I don't think I've got much time till I walk out of that door. But the Doctor's going to need my help, and I don't want to let him down. Whatever happens, I going to need my help, and I don't want to let him down. Whatever happens, I just want you to know who I am and what I want. Wanted. Whatever. just want you to know who I am and what I want. Wanted. Whatever.

Fitz had shrugged off his pa.s.sing angst and was just breezing cheerily off. 'I spotted a pub back at the roundabout. We've got time for a bite and a guzzle before we go on with the tragical history tour, am I right?'

1), the card had continued. Fitz. Fitz.

They settled in at a table near the window. 'Gin again?' Fitz asked with a knowing wink.

She shook her head. 'And wake up in your bed again, convinced we'd in-dulged in carnal l.u.s.t and debauchery?' That night at Molly's had been one of the few times she'd got totally off her face. All she'd done was not think for a moment, listen to that inner voice that said, Go on, it won't matter. 'Nah, I couldn't stand the embarra.s.sment.'

It was a good reminder, for when she thought about some of the other Sam's. . . lapses of judgement. She had it in her, too.

The ghostly scars in the crook of her elbow still creeped her out. But they made sense somehow. A while back, all her own scars even her vaccination had been erased by some overenthusiastic nanotechnology. More signs of her past, wiped away. Now she had them back, and then some. Thinking about it that way made it more palatable.

Epilogue: The Other Woman 237.

Their ears p.r.i.c.ked up when someone put a new song on the jukebox. 'Hmm,'

he said. 'An oldie.'

'Yeah. A whole five years now, I guess.' Fitz did a cartoonish take when the intro led into a different song than he'd been expecting. It was a track from her day, right around when she'd left London. Except that since they'd been to the late sixties, now she knew it was a remake of a Buffalo Springfield tune, one of those stick-new-rap-verses-on-a-sampled-chorus jobs. Fitz had heard only the original. That was the nineties: everything remixed, sampled, rearranged without quite being really remade.

Her look seemed to be in this year. There was a girl at the bar, buying a round for her friends, who could have been her if she'd never left London. Another woman with a more lined face, looking in their direction from a corner table, who could be her at thirty. She should write a letter to herself at thirty, or thirty-five. . . just so that older Sam would have a way of remembering what she'd really been like way back then. See what she'd cared about, make her wonder if she was still pa.s.sionate about it.

But she wouldn't know where to post it to. Somehow the idea that a few years from now she could be anywhere anywhere, doing anything anything, no longer felt so exciting.

'Listen,' Fitz was saying. 'I've been meaning to tell you for a while now. About me and Sam.' He smiled, stopped smiling, fiddled with the cutlery. 'When you were her, she and I, we. . . '

's.h.a.gged like rabbits.'

Fitz blinked. 'You mean you remember remember?'

'Well. . . ' She had a sneaking suspicion she did, actually, but she wasn't going to ask him for details to confirm it. These sense memories could just be her brain playing tricks, inventing a memory 'cause she knew she should have one.

Time did things like that to you. 'She wrote me a note so I'd know, just in case.'

For all I know, maybe you can't stand him. But he cares about me (or you, or whoever) something stupid and wonderful. He talks a good game about not being whoever) something stupid and wonderful. He talks a good game about not being a hero, but he stayed with me when I was hurting. That's too d.a.m.n rare. And he a hero, but he stayed with me when I was hurting. That's too d.a.m.n rare. And he was smart enough to save my life. Keep reminding him of that. If it was up to me, was smart enough to save my life. Keep reminding him of that. If it was up to me, I think I'd try to stay with him. But it's not. I think I'd try to stay with him. But it's not.

'Oh good,' said Fitz, his shoulders slumping with relief. 'I thought you'd think I was joking again.' He really had changed: the Fitz she'd first met would have been gloating. He leaned towards her, a hand shielding his mouth, as if he was trying to keep the other Sam from overhearing him. 'So, um. . . What did she say?'

238.

She leaned in closer. 'That you saved her life.'

'Well. . . yeah.' He sounded surprised to hear himself saying it. She could see a hint of pride beginning to gather in his eyes. 'Yeah. . . I suppose I did.'

'And she said I should thank you for it.'

Suddenly he was a deer in her headlights. 'Oh. Well.'

She looked straight into his eyes. 'Thanks,' she said.

The moment deflated. Fitz's mouth turned down at the corners. 'And that's all she wrote?'

'Pretty much.'

'I suppose I was nothing to write home about.'

'Suppose not.'

In fact, the note had also said, He's pretty d.a.m.n good for someone from before He's pretty d.a.m.n good for someone from before they discovered the c.l.i.toris they discovered the c.l.i.toris, but she wasn't sure she wanted to give him any ideas.

'Never mind,' Fitz said, desperately nonchalant. 'It was just a one-nighter.

Nothing more than that.'

'Yeah. Only a moment.'

'Uh-huh. Neither of us was out for anything more.'

'Right.'

'I mean, I certainly wasn't.'

'Nah. I figured.'

He was slouching in his chair now, looking as uninterested and blokey as he could possibly manage.

You've got to tell him. Even if he gets ideas. No matter how scary the thought of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up a friendship, even if you know he's a lousy cook and his breath will smell like smoke.

She reached out to his cheek, running the edge of her fingers down along it.

'I know. . . you're hurting really bad right now,' she began, trying not to sound shaky. 'You feel like you've lost her. But if you give things a little time, you never know. . . '

She trailed off. She could see the gates sliding down in front of his eyes. She took her hand away, but it was too late.

'So b.l.o.o.d.y understanding,' he said quietly, and lit a cigarette.

Morning had broken inside the church. Whatever the little boy had been using to maintain an affected bit of night indoors, he'd now switched off. In the distance the Doctor could hear the endless grinding and sparking noises, now faltering, running down.

Epilogue: The Other Woman 239.

He stood at the end of the aisle and watched the boy make his way warily towards him.

Once upon a time there was a lion cub with a thorn in its paw. It thrashed about and lashed out at anything around it. A little mouse came along, and happened to realise what was making the lion hurt. He hopped up on the lion's paw and then, because the lion had clawed at him and his friends, the mouse pushed the thorn in deeper and twisted for good measure.

It had stopped the lion, for a moment.

'I was hoping you'd want to talk,' the Doctor said gently.

The boy stared sullenly back at him. 'Nah.'

The paw had already closed up, forming a scar with the thorn still inside.

He'd hardened too much to even try to get it out now. There was nothing to do now but worry about what the cub would do when he grew up.

'All right,' the Doctor said bluntly. 'Then I just want my shadow back.'

He turned in the light of the nearest window, showing the boy. The light was reaching the floor behind him completely undisturbed.

'Oh, don't worry,' said the boy. 'There'll be plenty more dark coming to make up for it.'

'You tampered with my biodata when it was exposed, didn't you?' the Doctor said.

'Did we?'

'But what do you stand to gain from it?'

'Who says it's down to us anyway?' The boy didn't seem to want to play any more. 'The Book of Lies Book of Lies says there's a great darkness going to fall over the universe.' He turned and began to walk away. 'So we're nicking all the light bulbs.' says there's a great darkness going to fall over the universe.' He turned and began to walk away. 'So we're nicking all the light bulbs.'

'And this darkness '

'Well, more like greyness greyness ' '

'What does it have to do with me?' No response. 'Is this part of what you had in mind, for if I'd given you Sam?'

The boy stopped, turned back around, slowly showed his teeth. 'You did give us Sam.'

The Doctor froze, hands spread in astonishment.

The boy walked closer again and stared up at the Doctor. 'You did just what we wanted. Blondie couldn't have been created unless Sam came into direct contact with your biodata. . . '

'Which she did at the scar.'

240.

'And that made the second strand possible. And once she created it, it changed her whole lifeline forward and back.' The boy began to back away, up the aisle, enticing the Doctor further into his territory. His smile sharpened.

'This is what made her blonde to begin with.'

'But Sam would never have come to the scar and created her if I hadn't gone looking for her in London. And I wouldn't have gone looking for her if I hadn't known blonde Sam.'

'Which makes it all. . . ' prompted the boy.

'. . . a paradox.'

'And a really cool big one.' The boy's smile got rounder. He'd almost forgotten to be menacing, he was so in love with what they'd done. 'We got her whole life tangled up in it. And a good chunk of yours, too.'

They'd reached the back room, now a dowdy social hall. Dozens of the boy were swarming like ants over the sculpted generator, removing pieces, forming a column marching to the flickering stone time portal. There they vanished, to be replaced by another column of the boy coming out the other side to carry on the work. They moved with perfect precision, all knowing exactly what he was doing. There was even a certain poetry to the four-dimensional maths involved, behind the sight of an insane clockwork stripping its own gears.

'So you arranged all this? From the beginning?'

The boy laughed and shook his head. 'You'd have done it all without us. All we had to do was make sure you didn't screw it up.'

Of course, thought the Doctor. That's why the Faction could trust a child with the job.

'Then who started the cycle? Who shaped blonde Sam?' The boy didn't answer, just watched him and waited.

So the Doctor wheeled round and grabbed a boy from the line. They fell like dominoes, their rhythm shattered. The boys kicked and struggled to their feet as the Doctor held one and shook him by the collar. 'Who was it?' he demanded. 'The Time Lords? Some ancient evil? Was she shaped by Sam's idea of what blonde Sam would be like?' He stopped, abruptly, and stared straight into the boy's eyes. 'Or was it me?'