Seven letters, two words, and it’s all adding up to the cruellest truth of his life. So many time he’d just barely there. He had squeaked by and saved the ones who mattered, but not now, because now he was just too late. He hated that word, too late. Not too late to save the entire species from dying out, not too late for saving the crown prince of Cola from being assassinated, and not even too late to save a certain Harkness naked trouble day in Paris, but too late to save the one he loves the most. Too late to save her.
Tears were still burning down her cheeks as he pulled away, the taste of honey, spice, time, and Rose was lingering on his tongue. The sweet amazing golden glow faded from her, and for just a moment, he was staring into the familiar warmth of hazel brown-hued eyes that would look at him with her warm tongue tied smiled.
The warmth was an illusion; he saw what he wanted to see. Her eyes were wide and glassy, no longer bolstered by the Bad Wolf, her knees buckled, and the only thing that kept her from the unrelenting metal floor was his arm about her waist. He lifted her easily, cradling her gently against his chest as he returned to hi lovely time machine, feeling anger and guilt crashed through him.
He placed his burden down gently upon the cool grating of the console room floor, and took a long deep breath, before smoothing his palm over her eyes. It was easier to pretend she was simply asleep, wasting precious time-as the silly little apes tended to do with so much of their lives Something in him, disconnected, and unemotional, laughed at the necessity of the pretence. He moved to the console, slapping at the controls with well-honed instinct and an utter absence of thought, his mind was frozen, unable to grasp anything beyond the moment when he had realized that Rose’s soft lips were cold and unmoving between his own.
She had burned, and it was all for him.
Instinct told him to run, and his mind was distant enough not to question. He took his fractured beauty of a time ship and vanished into the vortex, away from the memories and away from the many, varied, and hunting nightmares. He ran from the abomination, whom he would never be able to think of without the faint bile taste in the back of his throat.
He kept the console between him and the motionless girl, while his thoughts whirled through any variety of mundane tasks, anything and everything that he could be concentrate on, other than what would he do next. Thinking of next was too cruel for him, a world without her; a world without her laugh, her smile, her warm hands intertwined with him. A world where he wasn’t quite ready to face, maybe he even shouldn’t face at all.
Somehow coordinates were set, and the hip was in motion. He had nothing more to do, it was a rough landing but he did nothing to soften it, when he was knocked off his feet, he simply stood up again. Wrapping his knuckles around the rail at the console, thinking of repairs was a nice distraction, but it wouldn’t work for long. He wouldn’t be able to keep living in denial.
The time he stood there, staring at nothing seemed interminable. To anyone else, it might well have been-but he knew with dismal certainty. It had been six hours, twelve minutes, and forty-seven seconds since Rose Marion Tyler had died.
Sam Piper can’t sleep. His head is ringing out of control, worse than the constant one he’d had since he could remember, anyway followed with stuffy nose; and worse of all, he can’t breathe properly and he can felt himself having a slight fever. If this add up, there’s a chance he would get a bad asthma attack and would be hospitalized which no one want that to happened, especially him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen this coming, on Christmas he would always get sick because his body can’t stand the cold winter wind, this would also apply to him when it’s raining and he hates it. His childhood would always fill the smell of a rainy day or the fun snowy day because he would stay indoors and be miserable in his bed.
Of course that doesn’t mean he can’t get some food or a cup of tea from the kitchen, so he got out of his room and walked down the stairs going through the hallway and made his way to the kitchen while gave a little cough on the way. He didn’t mind being a bit loud in the house, he was alone and there’s no one there with him, his aunt and uncle were gone with his cousin to some tropical island, because they all hate the cold winter weather here and leave him here to guard the house, which was great news for him especially in time where he got sick. Besides, there’s no one who would tell him to be quite or screaming at him because he was wasting their money for medicine.
Shuffling slightly down the stairs, he went straight to the kitchen and made himself a warm milk as he felt something brushing his head slightly. He flinched and looked around and saw there was no one and nothing there, he shook his head and thought it was probably cause by his fever and took a can of biscuit from the cupboard. Until he heard a weird wheezing sound from outside that made him stopped and looked at the kitchen window.
A blue telephone’s box was saw from outside the window. It didn’t stick out that much, in fact he wasn’t sure what it was about that made him notice, but he notices that is something’s that made the box is not an ordinary box. Probably it was the deep blue colour that has thrown it off, or perhaps it was the lamp on top that looked nearly new and not at all broken. But that’s not what make him think it wasn’t just ordinary box, it was the whispered in his head and a soft brushing that he was sure it was come from the box, that sounded sad and followed by a soft singing, although the message was clear.
Help my thief.
The door suddenly flew open and tall man with a leather jacket, who looked in his early thirties popped his head out. He looked about six feet, given that he was a little over a head taller than his uncle who stood at about five foot six. The man looked around and suddenly fall to his feet as he could be seen groaned in pain. Sam didn’t waste his time and ran out from the house with only his boots, and quickly opened the door and ran outside which he found the man already on the floor, passed out.
“Uh sir?” Sam poked the man.
The man only responded with a groaned, he looked fine but there’s something Sam can’t point out what, that is wrong with him. He looked around and there were no one was up at this hour, everyone was either sleeping or enjoying a nice quite night in the cold winter inside of their house.
“What should I do now?” Sam asked himself. An idea came popped out to his head which could be a terrible idea in this situation. “No way, I can’t just bring him inside. That’s how people got killed. I won’t do it.”
The cold air hit Sam’s face as he tried to walked away. Dim streetlamps lit up the sidewalk, as he looked down at the man once again. A sense of guilt and sympathy build up through his mind, if leave the man behind than he could catch a cold or even worse. He silently groaned, knowing he made up his mind.
He shook his head, muttering, “You’re an idiot, Sam Piper.” Taking a step forward, he started to pull the man by the collar of his jacket, trying to move him.
In an event of some miracle strength, he managed to haul the man up and carried him inside the house and lay him gently down in the couch on the living room. Sam groaned as he stretched his arms, the man was heavier than he looked and he should know, his uncle was just a tad bit lighter than him. He should know, he used to haul him when he got into one of his ‘mates’ part at night and his aunt don’t want to do nothing about it and just leave him on the floor of the house.
He quickly run upstairs to his bedroom and grabbed his blanket also pillow from his bed, and he ran back downstairs to make the man comfortable, at least maybe if he saw he was being treated well, he won’t immediately have kidnapped him and sell him to some black market. Taking off his jacket slightly, he put the heavy blanket to his tall body, and tried his best to tucking him in and he could see the man groaned but not showing any sign of waking up soon. He stared at the man, taking in his features, he had brown hair that was sort of windswept up and out of his face, and sideburns down the side of his thin face.
Sam thought back at the whisper earlier, help my thief, is he a burglar. Did he just let in a burglar inside his uncle and aunt house? If he woke up, will he just leave or would he rummage the house while leaving Sam’s tied inside the toilet or the wardrobe? But there’s something else, something about him felt that he wasn’t human. That would be a bit daft, he can’t be an alien. At that moment, the man gave a slight sigh, releasing a wisp of gold light. Sam gaped in amazement, as the golden particles slipped out the cark in the window.
“Okay, that’s definitely not human thing to do,” Sam said aloud as he glanced between the man and the window. He watched to see if anything else happened, but he just continued to lie there.
Checking the man for the last time for any peculiar signed that probably going to pop out from the man, he finally nodded and made his way outside the living room and tried to settled down for a sleep, as he let out a sniffle from the cold.
Time flew by, and before he knew it, it was morning and he felt worse. This probably the result of him going outside on the cold Christmas night without wearing any coat while also having a cold. He just wished it won’t escalate to a full blown asthma, and with a strange man that was sleeping inside the living room, that would be the last thing he need from all of this mad day. There’s also the little fact it would get him into a huge trouble, because not only his aunt and uncle would be screaming on the top of their head because he was bothering their holiday, he also let in a strange man inside the house. That would have resulted either he would die because of the asthma or they would kill him.
Making his way downstairs, he made his way to the kitchen when a brass band wearing Santa masks caught his eyes from across the street while there’s people outside watching them playing some Christmas song. He wasn’t sure what captured his interest, maybe it was the way one of them seemed to be staring at him, or the almost robotic way their legs moved while their upper bodies preternaturally still, or maybe it was the fact that there were never a brass band that would go door to door neighbourhood and just stood there in front of the house that would watch the house as if it was targeting something.
The band stopped playing and all hell broke loose. All of a sudden, the trombone player blew fire out of his instrument, causing panic around him. Sam ran towards the window and peeked over the edge to see the three of the band members were staring right at his hiding spot, while the tube player made his way over the house.
“Why are they- Oh.” Sam realized. They after the man. They know about the weird alien-man in the living room.
Sam had to get out of there and lock all the door and window to the house. The man might be safe in the living room, but that won’t happen for so long, he might not know what he did, but he knows for sure that he’s not the bad guy. Bad guy won’t get attack with weapon he wondered aloud, he even thought about how maybe that’s the reason he passed out at the first place. He needs to protect him, he determined to not let him be taken by them, even if it cost him a big trouble for this.