Spiegel im Spiegel, Chapter 7
Jan. 18th, 2009 11:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fic_of_forkWord Count: 2910
Summary: Like a mirror reflected into a mirror, choices made create an infinite of possibilities, and images seen may not be what they appear. An encounter with an elusive, incorporeal race leads the Doctor and his allies on a dark journey.
Warnings: None specifically for this chapter. (Spoilers for Season 4, of course.)
Rating: Teen
Characters: Ten, Donna, Braxiatel, Torchwood, Original characters (Mike)
Genre: AU, Adventure
Author's Note: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mtemplar_fic for the beta! The Taj Mahal is first mentioned in the NSA book, Ghosts of India, as a place Donna likes to frequent.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood, or any of its characters, and I'm receiving no profit from this beyond the joy of writing.
If you're still unclear about Braxiatel and his relationship to the Doctor, I typed up a relevant scene from Tears of the Oracle.
Chapter 6, Chapter 5, Chapter 4, Chapter 3, Chapter 2, Chapter 1
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving. It's a bit late for the Taj Mahal, though, and they'll be closing up soon. Beans on toast all right?" Donna asked. "Doesn't look like there's much else. Either they had people over, or my grandfather didn't do the shopping today."
"It sounds delightful. Pass me the bread, and I'll make the toast," Braxiatel responded as he loosened his tie. The jacket and waistcoat were already shed and carefully draped over the back of a chair.
"Mind watching the beans, too? I need to get out of this dress," Donna said. She disappeared for a few moments, while Braxiatel stirred the beans. When she came downstairs after changing, the toast was ready, and the beans were nearly heated.
"No cheese?" Braxiatel asked, his head in the refrigerator.
"Should be in there, if there's any," Donna replied as she shivered. "It's odd. I can remember coming downstairs...after...and there was the Doctor. But I didn't know it was him. It must've really hurt him to see me not remembering anything after what he had to do."
Braxiatel was absorbed in dividing the beans between the plates of buttered toast. "The Doctor has always been considerate to a fault, when it comes to such things."
"Oh, that bit was fine," Donna said. "On my end, it felt good, like I was giving him this treasure to look after. Of course, I was furious with him for a few days after I got all my memories back, but Mike and I had a chat. It's not like I left an advance statement or anything." Donna lapsed into silence and languidly pushed some beans around her plate, in spite of her hunger. "Can you promise me something?"
"Depends," Braxiatel said.
"If something should happen to me again, can you do two things?"
"By 'something,' you mean the metacrisis?"
"Yeah," Donna said. "One, you get a message to the Doctor that I don't hate him for what he did. Two, you let me go because I don't want to put another person through that," she said.
Braxiatel was silent for a moment as he studied the food on his plate. "There are certain disciplines that every child learns before admission to the Academy is granted. Their mastery is absolutely necessary. I think part of the problem arose that your mind was suddenly flooded with a host of information it wasn't ready for."
"Like Maggie's okay as a Time Lord?"
"Exactly," Braxiatel said. "She's had time to grow into the knowledge of a Time Lord."
"Before she mentioned that she wasn't the first human to become a Time Lord." Donna sighed. "I'm nothing special, though. I'm older than Maggie, and my O-levels were ages ago."
"Mere rote learning," Braxiatel said. Pushing back his empty plate, he leaned on the table. "The kind of learning necessary is the kind of thinking that is able to formulate a plan to shut down the Citadel of the Time Lords so completely that the President, herself, had to become involved."
"I had help," Donna said.
Braxiatel smiled. "Most of the plan was yours, my dear. You wouldn't need the full curriculum, just enough to be able to control your mind."
Donna didn't respond for a moment, then gathered her empty plate. "Let's leave the washing up for later. I could do with a bit of fresh air, and I'm sure my grandfather lost track of time with that telescope of his. How mad is that? He just left me, and I haven't seen him for weeks."
Donna put their soiled plates into the sink. As she turned to grab a cardigan, she saw Braxiatel rub his forehead. "You all right?" she asked.
"I'm fine," Braxiatel said. "A bit of a headache, but nothing to worry about."
"At least I know not to offer you aspirin," Donna said.
"Some fresh air might do me some good," Braxiatel said, as he followed Donna.
The two of them exited the back door and walked in silence to the hill by the vegetable patch where Wilf had his telescope trained on the night sky. At first their approach didn't register with Wilf, but as they grew closer, he eased out of his lawn chair and hurried towards them as quickly as he could.
Hugging Donna, Wilf said nothing. "I'm all right now, Gramps," she said. "I remember everything."
"And the Doctor?" Wilf asked.
Donna sighed and exchange a glance with Braxiatel. "Better, I guess."
Wilf noticed Braxiatel standing off to the side, still in a starched white shirt and tuxedo trousers. "Who's your friend?"
"Gramps, this is Irving Braxiatel, the Doctor's older brother," Donna explained. Braxiatel shook his head and sighed at her emphasis and returned Wilf's handshake.
"Any of the Doctor's friends and family are welcome in our home," Wilf said. "You'll catch your death standing out here in your shirtsleeves," he said as he ushered them back to the house. "I'm glad they returned you the day you left. I'd have an awful time explaining to your mother where you went."
Braxiatel watched as Donna stiffened at the mention of her mother. As he tried to gently rummage through her memories, he winced in pain. Just as suddenly, the pain abruptly stopped.
"What is it?" Donna asked, as she held Braxiatel's arm to steady him.
"I'm not quite sure. There's nothing on this planet that would remotely be a threat to a Time Lord, but..." Braxiatel responded. "Whatever it is, it didn't like what it found in my mind."
They hurried back down the hill to the house. Donna noticed a silver car parked outside. "That same car was out there when the car from the American embassy dropped us off. Oh, that extra door off the garage is Brax's TARDIS. We can get him to move, if it's in the way," Donna explained.
Stopping before the front door, Braxiatel winced again. "The same thing?" Donna asked.
"Since the first attack in the kitchen, I've been bolstering my defenses. The strain is getting to me," Braxiatel explained. Before he could explain further, he collapsed.
"Oh my God," Donna said. "He's fainted."
"Let's get him inside. Your mother's room is closest," Wilf suggested.
Between Donna and her grandfather, they were able to move Braxiatel inside and into a bed. Now barely conscious, his skin felt cold and clammy. To Donna, the Doctor had always felt cool, but Braxiatel's skin felt sick. He tensed in pain and writhed under the blankets.
Wilf shook his head. "Poor bugger. Wish I knew what to do for a sick alien."
"Mum's going to be furious, since we put him in her bed," Donna responded.
"You just let me take care of her. I don't care what she says, but we couldn't just leave him," Wilf said, motioning to the figure in the bed. "Haven't a clue what's wrong with him."
"He said something about a headache earlier and something attacking him," Donna said. She absentmindedly stuck a hand into a pocket and found the bottle Margaret had given her. "Hang on, the one who was fixing him up, Margaret, gave me this, if he had a spell. Don't know why, but I put it in my pocket after I changed."
Wilf examined it. "You know what to do with it?"
"She said to put a drop or two on a couple of pulse points," Donna responded. "I haven't a clue where to find them, since he's got two hearts, and all." Donna grabbed a nearby telephone and frantically dialed a number.
After what felt to be an eternity, she yelled, "Doctor! Pick up your bleeding mobile, why don't you? It's Brax. He's in a bad way, and needs help." Hanging up, she sighed, then dialed it again, but hung up when she was shunted to voicemail.
"We could try the usual places. He can't be that different from us," Wilf said, as he carefully eased the blankets away from Braxiatel's body.
Sitting on the bed, Donna gently brushed the inside of his wrist with a finger but couldn't feel anything. She thought she felt something at his neck, but couldn't be certain because it was faint. In exasperation, she placed a hand on his chest, to feel both hearts strongly. Carefully unbuttoning his shirt, she found places slightly above each heart, where she could feel a pulse. Donna dabbed a little of the oil near each one. Then tightly closing the bottle, she waited and watched as Braxiatel visibly relaxed, although he still shivered with cold.
Wilf disappeared, hearing sounds in the kitchen as Sylvia came home. Donna left her spot on the edge of the bed and quietly shut the door. She could feel her mother's voice travel up her spine, as there were the beginnings of a loud discussion in the kitchen. Kicking off her shoes, Donna climbed into bed with Braxiatel, and relaxed only when his shivering eased with her warmth. Curling her body around Braxiatel's, Donna faintly remembered the layers upon layers of psychic and telepathic barriers between a Time Lord's mind and the outside world, and she wondered if he had the strength to protect himself. Sylvia's voice continued to rise, so Donna began to recount her travels with the Doctor to Braxiatel. Those memories made her feel happy, so she tried to project that sensation to the unconscious Time Lord next to her. In the middle of describing the Oodsphere, she drifted off to sleep.
***
The next morning, Braxiatel realized he was warmer than he would've liked, but the extra heat wasn't unpleasant. He sat up, disentangling Donna's arm from his waist, panicked then relaxed, when he realized they were both fully clothed. Carefully, so as not to wake Donna, he got out of the bed and replaced the blanket around her. He took a few moments to freshen up in the bathroom nearby, then padded down the stairs to the kitchen.
Wilf was already up and nursing a cup of tea over the newspaper. Grinning, he said, "Good morning, sir. Cup of tea?"
"Don't get up, I'll manage," Braxiatel responded amicably.
"Feeling better? Gave us a fright last night."
"None the worse for the wear," Braxiatel said, as he waited for his water to boil.
"So which one are you?" Sylvia accused, as she swept through the kitchen during her preparations for work. "Spare me the excuses. Passed out in my bed, of all places, with some rubbish story from my father to cover for both of you. Which pub did my daughter meet you in?"
Braxiatel remembered a few of the memories about Sylvia from Donna that had bled through into his consciousness the night before. His eyes were dark and cold. Politely to Wilf he said, "Would you excuse us for a moment?" He grabbed Sylvia's arm--not enough to hurt or even leave a bruise--and directed her towards the living room. When he finally spoke, his voice was silken, but with an edge of command. "Now listen to me very carefully, Sylvia," Braxiatel began. "You will go back upstairs, forgetting something in your preparations. When you finally do come back downstairs, you will not remember this conversation or what happened before it. You will be pleasant to everyone in this house. Do you understand me?"
When Sylvia spoke, her voice was flat. "Yes," she whispered.
"Good," Braxiatel crooned. "Now go back upstairs. There's a good girl," he said as she turned. He sighed. Humans weren't even remotely a challenge. Turning, he entered the kitchen and poured boiling water into his waiting cup.
A minute or two after Braxiatel sat down and resumed sipping his tea, Sylvia swept back into the kitchen, smiling. "Good morning!" she sang. Wilf looked up from his newspaper, gave his daughter a puzzled look as she hugged and kissed him, then gaped at Braxiatel.
"Mrs Noble! A good morning to you, too," Braxiatel responded.
The back door banged open, as the Doctor burst into the kitchen. "Finally got the voicemail from Donna." He looked at Sylvia smiling, then looked at Braxiatel, and his face darkened. "What did you do?"
"Doctor!" Sylvia beamed. She gave the Doctor a warm hug, and kissed him on the cheek. The Doctor stiffened, looking uncomfortable. Only his eyes betrayed his shock.
The Doctor's eyes narrowed to dark slits. "What did you do to her? Put her back the way she was," he hissed at Braxiatel.
"Why ever for? She's tolerable like this."
"Can't say I'm complaining," Wilf interjected.
"Do it now, or I will," the Doctor said.
"Can you let me finish my tea, first? She'll nag me to rake the leaves," Wilf suggested.
Braxiatel rolled his eyes and sighed in indignation. "Fine, very well, have it your way, just don't blame me, if the situation turns unpleasant. Sylvia, on the count of three, you will revert to your wretched, harpy self. One...two...three."
Sylvia blinked and looked around her. She glowered at Braxiatel and slapped him across the face. "How dare you sleep with my daughter in my bed under my roof."
"What?" the Doctor said, amazed. "Him? No way."
"Oh yes, him," Sylvia said with venom dripping off of every word. "They shared a bed. I saw them."
"Really, Sylvia, it wasn't like you think," Wilf tried to interject. "It was completely innocent."
"You and Donna? Ew..." the Doctor asked Braxiatel, still stunned.
"What? No, of course not."
"Then what did happen last night?" Sylvia asked Braxiatel.
"I honestly don't know. The last thing I remember is collapsing on your doorstep," he answered.
"See? He speaks for himself. Too drunk to remember," Sylvia scoffed.
"Donna...and Brax?" the Doctor asked Wilf, still gobsmacked.
"I assure you, Madam," Braxiatel began with sarcasm dripping off of every word, "that your daughter's honor is undefiled, at least not by me."
Donna flopped out into the kitchen, with her clothes rumpled and hair messy. She squinted her face at the argument raging, rubbed her eyes, then blew an ear-shattering whistle. In silence, she got a cup of tea for herself, sat, and drank while glaring with narrowed eyes at everyone else.
"Now you've really done it," the Doctor said, breaking out of his trance. "You've woken up Donna."
Seeing the look in her daughter's eyes, Sylvia backed away. Even Braxiatel moved his chair away from her slightly.
"For the last time," Donna uttered. "Nothing happened. Especially not with him." Braxiatel gave an affronted sniff.
"Hang on," the Doctor said, pulling up a chair to the kitchen table. "Brax, you collapsed, then what?"
"We put him to bed. He was shivering uncontrollably, like he was in shock or something," Wilf answered.
"Psychic shock?" the Doctor asked.
"I'll explain later," Braxiatel muttered.
Sylvia snorted. "Of course, he isn't going to admit sleeping with my daughter in my own bed in front of me."
"I'm getting some fresh air," Braxiatel announced. "There seems to be precious little of it now that you made me put Sylvia back the way she was." He got up and left the kitchen by the back door.
Sighing, Braxiatel walked around to the front of the building and observed the crisp autumn morning. It wasn't cold enough for him to see his breath, but he enjoyed the silence as the rest of the neighborhood awoke and left for work. He turned to walk to his TARDIS, when he felt a sharp sting in the back of his hip. Turning, he saw a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his leg, and then everything went black.
***
The Doctor sprawled on a couch, idly flipping through channels on the television, waiting for Donna to get ready and Braxiatel to return.
"Donna," he yelled.
She poked her head down the stairs and glared at him. "What? I'm getting into the shower."
"Where did you say Mike was?"
"I don't know. Think he was filling in at some parish in Cardiff."
"It isn't confirmation season," the Doctor observed.
Donna poked her head out of the upstairs bathroom yet again. "How the hell should I know? I can count the number of times I've been inside a church on one hand."
Idly, the Doctor dialed Mike's number. It rang for awhile, and the Doctor thought it would go to voicemail, when a sleepy voice answered.
"This is Father Mike," he mumbled.
"Mike! It's the Doctor. Say, is Brax with you? Put him on, if he's there, would you?"
"Who?"
"Braxiatel. Irving Braxiatel, Time Lord. Tall, thin bloke. Bit of a ponce? Though that doesn't narrow it down, when you're describing Time Lords."
"Never heard of him."
"I woke you up," the Doctor said, apologetically. To himself he wondered just how deeply Mike had been asleep, since he normally woke up faster than this. "Say, are you done with your business? I can pick you up on the way. I know where the time lock in question is, and it'll be easy for me to sort. I owe Brax a few favors, anyway. By the way, how's Maggie? I hear she might get the nod to replace the junior Patrexian member of the High Council."
There was a long, uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line. "That's not even remotely funny. Maggie has been missing for three years."
A cold realization gnawed at the Doctor's stomach. "Mike, where are you?"
"Where you left me, in New York. St. Timothy's closed and they moved me to the Upper East Side."
Summary: Like a mirror reflected into a mirror, choices made create an infinite of possibilities, and images seen may not be what they appear. An encounter with an elusive, incorporeal race leads the Doctor and his allies on a dark journey.
Warnings: None specifically for this chapter. (Spoilers for Season 4, of course.)
Rating: Teen
Characters: Ten, Donna, Braxiatel, Torchwood, Original characters (Mike)
Genre: AU, Adventure
Author's Note: Thanks to
mtemplar_fic for the beta! The Taj Mahal is first mentioned in the NSA book, Ghosts of India, as a place Donna likes to frequent.Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood, or any of its characters, and I'm receiving no profit from this beyond the joy of writing.
If you're still unclear about Braxiatel and his relationship to the Doctor, I typed up a relevant scene from Tears of the Oracle.
Chapter 6, Chapter 5, Chapter 4, Chapter 3, Chapter 2, Chapter 1
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving. It's a bit late for the Taj Mahal, though, and they'll be closing up soon. Beans on toast all right?" Donna asked. "Doesn't look like there's much else. Either they had people over, or my grandfather didn't do the shopping today."
"It sounds delightful. Pass me the bread, and I'll make the toast," Braxiatel responded as he loosened his tie. The jacket and waistcoat were already shed and carefully draped over the back of a chair.
"Mind watching the beans, too? I need to get out of this dress," Donna said. She disappeared for a few moments, while Braxiatel stirred the beans. When she came downstairs after changing, the toast was ready, and the beans were nearly heated.
"No cheese?" Braxiatel asked, his head in the refrigerator.
"Should be in there, if there's any," Donna replied as she shivered. "It's odd. I can remember coming downstairs...after...and there was the Doctor. But I didn't know it was him. It must've really hurt him to see me not remembering anything after what he had to do."
Braxiatel was absorbed in dividing the beans between the plates of buttered toast. "The Doctor has always been considerate to a fault, when it comes to such things."
"Oh, that bit was fine," Donna said. "On my end, it felt good, like I was giving him this treasure to look after. Of course, I was furious with him for a few days after I got all my memories back, but Mike and I had a chat. It's not like I left an advance statement or anything." Donna lapsed into silence and languidly pushed some beans around her plate, in spite of her hunger. "Can you promise me something?"
"Depends," Braxiatel said.
"If something should happen to me again, can you do two things?"
"By 'something,' you mean the metacrisis?"
"Yeah," Donna said. "One, you get a message to the Doctor that I don't hate him for what he did. Two, you let me go because I don't want to put another person through that," she said.
Braxiatel was silent for a moment as he studied the food on his plate. "There are certain disciplines that every child learns before admission to the Academy is granted. Their mastery is absolutely necessary. I think part of the problem arose that your mind was suddenly flooded with a host of information it wasn't ready for."
"Like Maggie's okay as a Time Lord?"
"Exactly," Braxiatel said. "She's had time to grow into the knowledge of a Time Lord."
"Before she mentioned that she wasn't the first human to become a Time Lord." Donna sighed. "I'm nothing special, though. I'm older than Maggie, and my O-levels were ages ago."
"Mere rote learning," Braxiatel said. Pushing back his empty plate, he leaned on the table. "The kind of learning necessary is the kind of thinking that is able to formulate a plan to shut down the Citadel of the Time Lords so completely that the President, herself, had to become involved."
"I had help," Donna said.
Braxiatel smiled. "Most of the plan was yours, my dear. You wouldn't need the full curriculum, just enough to be able to control your mind."
Donna didn't respond for a moment, then gathered her empty plate. "Let's leave the washing up for later. I could do with a bit of fresh air, and I'm sure my grandfather lost track of time with that telescope of his. How mad is that? He just left me, and I haven't seen him for weeks."
Donna put their soiled plates into the sink. As she turned to grab a cardigan, she saw Braxiatel rub his forehead. "You all right?" she asked.
"I'm fine," Braxiatel said. "A bit of a headache, but nothing to worry about."
"At least I know not to offer you aspirin," Donna said.
"Some fresh air might do me some good," Braxiatel said, as he followed Donna.
The two of them exited the back door and walked in silence to the hill by the vegetable patch where Wilf had his telescope trained on the night sky. At first their approach didn't register with Wilf, but as they grew closer, he eased out of his lawn chair and hurried towards them as quickly as he could.
Hugging Donna, Wilf said nothing. "I'm all right now, Gramps," she said. "I remember everything."
"And the Doctor?" Wilf asked.
Donna sighed and exchange a glance with Braxiatel. "Better, I guess."
Wilf noticed Braxiatel standing off to the side, still in a starched white shirt and tuxedo trousers. "Who's your friend?"
"Gramps, this is Irving Braxiatel, the Doctor's older brother," Donna explained. Braxiatel shook his head and sighed at her emphasis and returned Wilf's handshake.
"Any of the Doctor's friends and family are welcome in our home," Wilf said. "You'll catch your death standing out here in your shirtsleeves," he said as he ushered them back to the house. "I'm glad they returned you the day you left. I'd have an awful time explaining to your mother where you went."
Braxiatel watched as Donna stiffened at the mention of her mother. As he tried to gently rummage through her memories, he winced in pain. Just as suddenly, the pain abruptly stopped.
"What is it?" Donna asked, as she held Braxiatel's arm to steady him.
"I'm not quite sure. There's nothing on this planet that would remotely be a threat to a Time Lord, but..." Braxiatel responded. "Whatever it is, it didn't like what it found in my mind."
They hurried back down the hill to the house. Donna noticed a silver car parked outside. "That same car was out there when the car from the American embassy dropped us off. Oh, that extra door off the garage is Brax's TARDIS. We can get him to move, if it's in the way," Donna explained.
Stopping before the front door, Braxiatel winced again. "The same thing?" Donna asked.
"Since the first attack in the kitchen, I've been bolstering my defenses. The strain is getting to me," Braxiatel explained. Before he could explain further, he collapsed.
"Oh my God," Donna said. "He's fainted."
"Let's get him inside. Your mother's room is closest," Wilf suggested.
Between Donna and her grandfather, they were able to move Braxiatel inside and into a bed. Now barely conscious, his skin felt cold and clammy. To Donna, the Doctor had always felt cool, but Braxiatel's skin felt sick. He tensed in pain and writhed under the blankets.
Wilf shook his head. "Poor bugger. Wish I knew what to do for a sick alien."
"Mum's going to be furious, since we put him in her bed," Donna responded.
"You just let me take care of her. I don't care what she says, but we couldn't just leave him," Wilf said, motioning to the figure in the bed. "Haven't a clue what's wrong with him."
"He said something about a headache earlier and something attacking him," Donna said. She absentmindedly stuck a hand into a pocket and found the bottle Margaret had given her. "Hang on, the one who was fixing him up, Margaret, gave me this, if he had a spell. Don't know why, but I put it in my pocket after I changed."
Wilf examined it. "You know what to do with it?"
"She said to put a drop or two on a couple of pulse points," Donna responded. "I haven't a clue where to find them, since he's got two hearts, and all." Donna grabbed a nearby telephone and frantically dialed a number.
After what felt to be an eternity, she yelled, "Doctor! Pick up your bleeding mobile, why don't you? It's Brax. He's in a bad way, and needs help." Hanging up, she sighed, then dialed it again, but hung up when she was shunted to voicemail.
"We could try the usual places. He can't be that different from us," Wilf said, as he carefully eased the blankets away from Braxiatel's body.
Sitting on the bed, Donna gently brushed the inside of his wrist with a finger but couldn't feel anything. She thought she felt something at his neck, but couldn't be certain because it was faint. In exasperation, she placed a hand on his chest, to feel both hearts strongly. Carefully unbuttoning his shirt, she found places slightly above each heart, where she could feel a pulse. Donna dabbed a little of the oil near each one. Then tightly closing the bottle, she waited and watched as Braxiatel visibly relaxed, although he still shivered with cold.
Wilf disappeared, hearing sounds in the kitchen as Sylvia came home. Donna left her spot on the edge of the bed and quietly shut the door. She could feel her mother's voice travel up her spine, as there were the beginnings of a loud discussion in the kitchen. Kicking off her shoes, Donna climbed into bed with Braxiatel, and relaxed only when his shivering eased with her warmth. Curling her body around Braxiatel's, Donna faintly remembered the layers upon layers of psychic and telepathic barriers between a Time Lord's mind and the outside world, and she wondered if he had the strength to protect himself. Sylvia's voice continued to rise, so Donna began to recount her travels with the Doctor to Braxiatel. Those memories made her feel happy, so she tried to project that sensation to the unconscious Time Lord next to her. In the middle of describing the Oodsphere, she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, Braxiatel realized he was warmer than he would've liked, but the extra heat wasn't unpleasant. He sat up, disentangling Donna's arm from his waist, panicked then relaxed, when he realized they were both fully clothed. Carefully, so as not to wake Donna, he got out of the bed and replaced the blanket around her. He took a few moments to freshen up in the bathroom nearby, then padded down the stairs to the kitchen.
Wilf was already up and nursing a cup of tea over the newspaper. Grinning, he said, "Good morning, sir. Cup of tea?"
"Don't get up, I'll manage," Braxiatel responded amicably.
"Feeling better? Gave us a fright last night."
"None the worse for the wear," Braxiatel said, as he waited for his water to boil.
"So which one are you?" Sylvia accused, as she swept through the kitchen during her preparations for work. "Spare me the excuses. Passed out in my bed, of all places, with some rubbish story from my father to cover for both of you. Which pub did my daughter meet you in?"
Braxiatel remembered a few of the memories about Sylvia from Donna that had bled through into his consciousness the night before. His eyes were dark and cold. Politely to Wilf he said, "Would you excuse us for a moment?" He grabbed Sylvia's arm--not enough to hurt or even leave a bruise--and directed her towards the living room. When he finally spoke, his voice was silken, but with an edge of command. "Now listen to me very carefully, Sylvia," Braxiatel began. "You will go back upstairs, forgetting something in your preparations. When you finally do come back downstairs, you will not remember this conversation or what happened before it. You will be pleasant to everyone in this house. Do you understand me?"
When Sylvia spoke, her voice was flat. "Yes," she whispered.
"Good," Braxiatel crooned. "Now go back upstairs. There's a good girl," he said as she turned. He sighed. Humans weren't even remotely a challenge. Turning, he entered the kitchen and poured boiling water into his waiting cup.
A minute or two after Braxiatel sat down and resumed sipping his tea, Sylvia swept back into the kitchen, smiling. "Good morning!" she sang. Wilf looked up from his newspaper, gave his daughter a puzzled look as she hugged and kissed him, then gaped at Braxiatel.
"Mrs Noble! A good morning to you, too," Braxiatel responded.
The back door banged open, as the Doctor burst into the kitchen. "Finally got the voicemail from Donna." He looked at Sylvia smiling, then looked at Braxiatel, and his face darkened. "What did you do?"
"Doctor!" Sylvia beamed. She gave the Doctor a warm hug, and kissed him on the cheek. The Doctor stiffened, looking uncomfortable. Only his eyes betrayed his shock.
The Doctor's eyes narrowed to dark slits. "What did you do to her? Put her back the way she was," he hissed at Braxiatel.
"Why ever for? She's tolerable like this."
"Can't say I'm complaining," Wilf interjected.
"Do it now, or I will," the Doctor said.
"Can you let me finish my tea, first? She'll nag me to rake the leaves," Wilf suggested.
Braxiatel rolled his eyes and sighed in indignation. "Fine, very well, have it your way, just don't blame me, if the situation turns unpleasant. Sylvia, on the count of three, you will revert to your wretched, harpy self. One...two...three."
Sylvia blinked and looked around her. She glowered at Braxiatel and slapped him across the face. "How dare you sleep with my daughter in my bed under my roof."
"What?" the Doctor said, amazed. "Him? No way."
"Oh yes, him," Sylvia said with venom dripping off of every word. "They shared a bed. I saw them."
"Really, Sylvia, it wasn't like you think," Wilf tried to interject. "It was completely innocent."
"You and Donna? Ew..." the Doctor asked Braxiatel, still stunned.
"What? No, of course not."
"Then what did happen last night?" Sylvia asked Braxiatel.
"I honestly don't know. The last thing I remember is collapsing on your doorstep," he answered.
"See? He speaks for himself. Too drunk to remember," Sylvia scoffed.
"Donna...and Brax?" the Doctor asked Wilf, still gobsmacked.
"I assure you, Madam," Braxiatel began with sarcasm dripping off of every word, "that your daughter's honor is undefiled, at least not by me."
Donna flopped out into the kitchen, with her clothes rumpled and hair messy. She squinted her face at the argument raging, rubbed her eyes, then blew an ear-shattering whistle. In silence, she got a cup of tea for herself, sat, and drank while glaring with narrowed eyes at everyone else.
"Now you've really done it," the Doctor said, breaking out of his trance. "You've woken up Donna."
Seeing the look in her daughter's eyes, Sylvia backed away. Even Braxiatel moved his chair away from her slightly.
"For the last time," Donna uttered. "Nothing happened. Especially not with him." Braxiatel gave an affronted sniff.
"Hang on," the Doctor said, pulling up a chair to the kitchen table. "Brax, you collapsed, then what?"
"We put him to bed. He was shivering uncontrollably, like he was in shock or something," Wilf answered.
"Psychic shock?" the Doctor asked.
"I'll explain later," Braxiatel muttered.
Sylvia snorted. "Of course, he isn't going to admit sleeping with my daughter in my own bed in front of me."
"I'm getting some fresh air," Braxiatel announced. "There seems to be precious little of it now that you made me put Sylvia back the way she was." He got up and left the kitchen by the back door.
Sighing, Braxiatel walked around to the front of the building and observed the crisp autumn morning. It wasn't cold enough for him to see his breath, but he enjoyed the silence as the rest of the neighborhood awoke and left for work. He turned to walk to his TARDIS, when he felt a sharp sting in the back of his hip. Turning, he saw a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his leg, and then everything went black.
The Doctor sprawled on a couch, idly flipping through channels on the television, waiting for Donna to get ready and Braxiatel to return.
"Donna," he yelled.
She poked her head down the stairs and glared at him. "What? I'm getting into the shower."
"Where did you say Mike was?"
"I don't know. Think he was filling in at some parish in Cardiff."
"It isn't confirmation season," the Doctor observed.
Donna poked her head out of the upstairs bathroom yet again. "How the hell should I know? I can count the number of times I've been inside a church on one hand."
Idly, the Doctor dialed Mike's number. It rang for awhile, and the Doctor thought it would go to voicemail, when a sleepy voice answered.
"This is Father Mike," he mumbled.
"Mike! It's the Doctor. Say, is Brax with you? Put him on, if he's there, would you?"
"Who?"
"Braxiatel. Irving Braxiatel, Time Lord. Tall, thin bloke. Bit of a ponce? Though that doesn't narrow it down, when you're describing Time Lords."
"Never heard of him."
"I woke you up," the Doctor said, apologetically. To himself he wondered just how deeply Mike had been asleep, since he normally woke up faster than this. "Say, are you done with your business? I can pick you up on the way. I know where the time lock in question is, and it'll be easy for me to sort. I owe Brax a few favors, anyway. By the way, how's Maggie? I hear she might get the nod to replace the junior Patrexian member of the High Council."
There was a long, uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line. "That's not even remotely funny. Maggie has been missing for three years."
A cold realization gnawed at the Doctor's stomach. "Mike, where are you?"
"Where you left me, in New York. St. Timothy's closed and they moved me to the Upper East Side."
