Chapter Text
The day after I arrived in my new reality was anything but easy. Having Methos there helped some, but not enough. The day before I'd been in shock, but that had given way to the realization that this was real, and I was never going to see my daughter again. And that sent me spiraling down into a depression. Methos did his best to keep my spirits up, but all he could manage was to keep me from withdrawing completely.
At the end of the day, he put away his homework (it was odd, somehow, the world's oldest man doing homework like some kid) and gave a yawn. "I have no idea how homework can be so tiring."
"History? That's a tightrope walk for you; what you know to be true versus what the historians think happened."
"Hmm, true. You want to grab a shower before bed?"
I hadn't thought about it, but now that I did, it didn't sound half bad. "Sure. Are you going to let me take the sofa, this time?"
"No."
I rolled my eyes. "Methos, I can fit on it a lot better than you can."
"Tough. And before you continue to argue, just remember that I've 5,000 years practice at being stubborn."
"Fine, I know when I'm beat." Besides, arguing took more energy than I had at the moment.
Twenty minutes later I was standing under the hot spray, doing my best not to cry. Half an hour after that, I was standing under the rapidly cooling water, still trying not to cry. I got out and dried off, slipping into a robe before opening the door to let the steam out. Methos' bathroom had no fan, so I would have to grab a washcloth and wipe down the mirror before I could use it.
"Katie? Everything okay?"
I turned to the door at Methos' question. "Fine," I said. "As well as can be expected, anyway. Why?"
"I thought I heard you cry out," he said, coming downstairs.
"It wasn't me," I said, then turned back to the mirror.
And gasped. Someone (me, of course, who else?) had drawn two straight lines in the condensation on the mirror. My heart stuttered and I felt a ripple of fear run through me.
"That's what I heard," Methos said, stepping into the doorway. "What's that?"
I shook my head as the condensation, and with it the marks, began to fade. "I don't remember doing it. I should know why, but I can't come up with it. I do know two things, though."
Methos stepped close, not to hover but to offer support. I found it comforting. "What?"
"They're hash marks, keeping tally of something. And I'm terrified."
"Because you can't remember doing it?"
"No. Because of what they're keeping tally of."
He put a hand on my shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. "Don't try too hard. Sleep on it; you'll probably remember in the morning."
I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. You're probably right."
But in the morning, I'd forgotten all about it. We both had.
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It was a couple of days later when Methos and I were sitting at the park, eating ice cream and enjoying the day. I was starting to feel a bit better; while the soul-crushing sorrow was still present, Methos was at least drawing me back into the world. I wasn't okay but at least I was starting to think that I would be, and that was good enough for now.
Methos had, predictably, tried to find out what I knew of the future and I'd explained why I couldn't be certain that I knew anything. Time was like a pond, I'd told him; drop a stone in and the ripples extended outward and down. My arrival didn't just affect the future, it affected the past, too. Methos wasn't certain he believed me, of course, but he didn't discount it out of hand, at least.
I probably wouldn't have believed it either, except that I'd noticed the Doctor standing nearby. The moment I saw him I knew that, in this reality at the very least, time wasn't linear. And when Methos left I let him go, staying behind to talk to the Doctor. I would have chased after if I'd needed to, but the Time Lord came over and sat next to me on the bench.
"Nice description."
The double heartbeat alone would have told me who he was, even if I'd never seen this regeneration. So would his scent, something that I could only describe as Time. I felt a number of emotions—awe, hope, even love. Of course I was in love with him, I thought, maybe just a little. But I did my best to keep any of that from showing, instead reverting to my default setting of sarcasm. "Better than 'big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff,' that's for sure."
"Cheeky."
"Apparently we haven't met," I said, turning to offer my hand. "Hi, I'm Katie Brown. When I'm scared or depressed or lost—or all three—I use snark to cover it up. And when I'm not, I use snark just for the hell of it. And you're the Doctor. That's it, just the Doctor. Eleventh reincarnation."
He shook my hand, grinning. "We've already met."
I nodded. "Eleven…"
"Spoilers. And that's not my name."
"For six years I've been referring to your various regenerations by number, it's a hard habit to break." Not that he sounded anything but amused. "And I wasn't going to ask for spoilers. You called it a nice description, but is it an accurate one?"
He picked up a stone and tossed it in. "Yes. Your arrival here has sent ripples of change through every level of time. Even things that seem unconnected can change. And have." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "But that's not what you really wanted to ask me."
"It's not, but I already know the answer. You can't take me back."
He gave a sad little smile. "Of course you do. I'm so, so sorry."
I just nodded. I had known, but I still hadn't been able to keep myself from hoping, just a bit. The confirmation that I was right, that even though the Doctor was real here there was no hope of getting back to my family, was a blow. "You watch the shows, and you think about what you'd ask if you got to meet your favorite characters. And now I'm here, in a reality with three of them—more if you count your individual regenerations—and all I want to do is get back."
"Of course you do. Favorite characters aren't a substitute for family. So you'll just have to forget we're characters, and let us become family." He turned to eye me critically. "I think I can risk one small spoiler; let Phil talk you into it."
"Are you telling me that because it's what you think I should do, or because that's what the me you've already met has done?"
Eleven grinned. "Oh, you are good. She told me but this… You know all the right questions to ask, don't you?"
This was an interesting twist. "'She' who?"
"As a wise woman once said, spoilers."
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, have it your way."
"Always do," he said, standing. "Time to go. Things to do, people to see, times to change." He paused, giving me a sympathetic look. "Live your life. If you try too hard to change things, or to not change them, you'll only drive yourself mad."
"In other words, leave it to the professionals."
He gave a grin. "I knew you were clever." With that he spun and was off, the familiar wheeze of the TARDIS coming back to me after a moment. I didn't move, though, thinking over the conversation and what it all meant.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The next day Methos had an early class and I woke after he'd left. He'd left a note and some cash, asking me to do some shopping. It wasn't anything that couldn't wait, but that was Methos, trying to keep me in the world. Remembering the Doctor's words, I let go of the idea of Methos the character, and started to look at Methos the man. A man who'd befriended and cared for me without reason (at least, without a reason that I could see), who'd quickly become a friend. I could do worse than to wind up with family like him.
But why? That was the one thing I couldn't quite get past. Methos hadn't met MacLeod yet, was still trying to isolate himself from the world. So why would he let me in, open himself up to me? I thought about it while I ate, then decided to forget it. Whether or not there was an ulterior motive, he was helping me and that was something I desperately needed right now. I would accept it until I was back on my feet, and then I'd go from there.
After I finished eating I got dressed then stepped into the bedroom to pull my hair back, freezing when I looked into the mirror. There was only one hashmark, a line drawn in soap in the middle, where I would be unable to miss it, and now I knew what I should be afraid of. Not that I could tell anyone what to look for; back there I may only have seen men in rubber masks, but now that I'd seen the Silence, what they'd looked like was wiped from memory.
The doorbell rang and I hesitated before going to see who it was. It was a package from SHIELD, though from whom precisely, it didn't say. Inside was a VHS and a note that read, "By now, you'll know why you have to watch this." It was unsigned and I didn't recognize the handwriting, but I put the tape in and started it up.
It was the moon landing. The moon landing in which was spliced footage of a Silent telling humanity to, "Kill us all on sight." I watched it twice, just to make sure, then sat back with a sigh of relief. There was one threat dealt with.
Too bad there were going to be so many more.