The Always More (Doctor Who Fanfiction)

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen
Third Person

The world may have been dull and grey to some people that day, but to The Doctor, nothing in the universe could be better. A few clouds couldn't dampen his spirits. He was looking forward to a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Aloud, he would only scorn the drink, and claim that tea was much more elegant. He did it only to wire up his little friend (figuratively, of course) and listen to her tease him about England as though he was a member of that vicinity. She was so sure that he took offense when she insulted the British crown. It was frustrating, but in an innocent sort of way, like when you can't convince a child that it's not the stork that brings babies. Irene was positively wonderful. Spending time with her almost made him forget...

"It could be hot water that we would argue about," he decided, interrupting his own depressing thoughts, "because we're both just looking forward to anything warm on such a cold day."

Where was she, anyway? The man came to the counter with the hot chocolates. He didn't seem as patient when it was explained to him why The Doctor could not yet pay.

"If there's no money, there's no chocolate," he snapped, and took the cups off the counter. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder at the tent flap. He found that he kept glancing over his shoulder at the tent flap. A minute passed. Then two, then three. How hard was it to throw a couple rings and come back?

The Doctor wandered around the tent. It was a nice tent. The tables were arranged around the edges, and the walls and ceiling was draped crimson cloth. While the man wasn't looking, The Doctor took a cookie off the counter. He didn't mean to sneak about getting the treat. The man just hadn't been looking at him when he had taken it.

When he finished the cookie, he wiped the crumbs from his lips, wishing he had a glass of milk to finish it off with. "Fine then, Irene," he thought. "If it's me you're trying to lure after you, it's me you'll get."

He went out and traced the very simple path all the way to the ring toss. There, he found nothing. Irene wasn't there. He squinted at the crowd around him, studying each smiling face in detail. If she were here, he would see her; she was so recognizable when she smiled. Irene wasn't here, though. It started to snow again. His gaze stayed at the level of people's feet and waists, because Irene was pretty small compared to grown-ups, and her general existence took place at this relative height.

He turned, ready to go back to the tent (Surely she went back there, and he just didn't see her going the opposite direction).

A scream tore through the air, and silenced much of the laughing and chatter. It came from beside one of the nearby tents. The Doctor knew he really should go back and wait for Irene. He shouldn't investigate.

His feet carried him towards the scene, anyway.

A clump of people had gathered, and they all stared at the same thing. They all murmured, some of them cried out, and some called for help. The Doctor slipped through their midst to see for himself. A man stood in the middle. He was pale as pale can be, and his eyes were sunken caves of black. His hands shook. His mouth was tightly shut.

There was a woman lying on the ground behind him, heaving at the cold air, with a black eye and blood on her neck. The spiralling snowflakes settled on her skin like she had no body heat of her own to speak of. Every time someone tried to get close to her, the man snarled at them like a rabid dog.