Fanfic - Downton Abbey/Doctor Who - "Second Chances" part 3
“Won’t… won’t we stick out like sore thumbs?” Tom asked as Donna and the Doctor ran around the machine they called the Tardis. “I mean, won’t they know we’re from Earth?”
“They’re slavers, Mr. Branson.” The Doctor looked over the coordinates. He could see Jack Harkness’s handiwork in them. “All they will care about is that we are customers looking to buy.” That would get them on the ship at least. Getting to witness the taunt ceremony would be more difficult but it mostly involved turning on the charm with a race of creatures he’d never much liked. “Would you like a pen and paper to sketch the Tardis? Since you’re here to spy?”
“I’m not a spy,” Tom said again. “Why are you so angry with Isobel? She’s a kind woman.”
“What makes you think I’m angry? With Harriet?” He was more curious than anything else.
Tom shrugged. “You had to be convinced to do something that I think, if she wasn’t involved, you wouldn’t have hesitated to do.”
“He’s got you there, Doctor,” Donna said, from behind one of the consoles.
Tom eyed him, obviously warming to his topic. “And you call her Harriet like it is a dirty word. I know what it’s like, to hear my name said so that I’m reminded of my place, or so I know just how low someone thinks of me. “
It was a topic he didn’t want to get into with someone from Torchwood. “She has no regrets over it. She wouldn’t take it back even knowing that *this* is the end result, someone she loves tortured for her crimes.”
Tom crossed his arms. “Are you such a perfect god,” he said softly, his accent stronger than before, “that you’ve never lied? Are you so perfect that you’ve never made a decision you regretted and never felt your back pressed up against a wall with the knowledge that you’ve made the wrong choice? And if you admit it, you’ll never be allowed a moment’s peace about it, that it will always be flung in your face?”
That was unexpected. “I’m not a god.”
“Neither is Isobel. She asked me to give you a message, when I went to get the blood sample this morning.” He glared at the Doctor. “I don’t know that you deserve it but Isobel is part of my family, someone I choose as family, like Matthew so I must do as she asks. She said to tell you she couldn’t regret her decision over the Sycorax because it led her to being Matthew’s mother. And…. On the day she becomes Isobel Crawley, you’ll know that she had to be Harriet Jones in order to get you to where you needed to be. And you’re not to regret the decision you make, because she does not regret it.”
That was delightfully cryptic, but picking at the man wasn’t likely to reveal more. “On the Sycorax ship, you are not to react to Matthew when you see him. I expect that he’ll be easy to find in that this is an era where humans off Earth are a rarity. We’re here for the auction, so they’ll allow us to examine the stock. No matter what, do not leave my side, either of you. They are slavers. As my companions, you’re protected.”
Although, as he considered Harriet’s message, being his companion was hardly a safe job.
~*~
The suns blazed down through the portholes, beating on his head like a fire. Matthew held himself in a rigid ball. It was noon, high noon, he told himself. It was at its worst but it would ease off. He took a burning breath and shuddered. The burning air at noon tasted like the mustard gas in the trenches. Unbidden, the cries and gasps of his men falling in the muddy trenches rose in his ears. It had happened before. “You’re not real,” he whispered, careful to not breathe too deeply, “you’re all dead and gone, and none of you would have wished this on me. Not a one.” Slowly, the cries of the battlefield died off, leaving behind the odd humming of the aliens. He lifted his head, to look at them, wondering why he was suddenly so certain that they were singing. They were, and he leaned back against the wall and hoped they knew how grateful he was to hear something that could drown out the memories the hot metallic air triggered.
The sound of footsteps jarred him out of the exhausted nap. He flinched and covered his eyes as the cell door opened. It was too soon for another session, that would be later, in the slow cooling afternoon. A buyer, he realized as a Sycorax strode in. It had happened before but he blinked in surprise at the three figures that followed the guard. They looked human and he hadn’t seen a human being since the night he’d been captured and… He blinked again and then rubbed his eyes. It was the too bright light making him see things.
Tom Branson was not in his personal nightmare, standing in the cell door way. There was a woman beside him and a man in a long jacket whose eyes blazed with rage. The man looked up at the portholes and then at the huddled aliens. To the Sycorax, he said, his tone short, “You know, you can’t keep Ood in heat like this. Not if you expect to sell them alive.”
“They are for sale,” the Sycorax said. Matthew risked another look. There was a translator device when they took him to their viewer screens and made him watch the films of Harriet Jones, but they never bothered in the cell. He had an idea of what a few of their words were, but they seemed to be speaking English. Which was odd.
The man in the coat looked over the aliens. “Unprocessed, and overheated, you’ll be lucky to get a few coppers, don’t you agree, Tom?”
“Yes,” Tom said, his voice shaky. “Yes, I agree, Doctor.” It made Matthew shudder, because he was certain it was Tom, and if Tom was there….
“Of course you do,” the Doctor said as he shined a blue light at the aliens. Then he spun around and knelt in front of Matthew, shining the blue light in his eyes. “Humans need more controlled climate than this. Next you’ll be putting the lionfish in with the guppies. Still, we promised your sister in law Mary that we’d bring her a present, didn’t we, Tom?” He looked deeply into Matthew’s eyes. “Do you understand the words I’m saying?”
He did. But he didn’t dare hope. He slowly nodded. “Don’t… don’t put Tom at risk for me… he has a child with no mother…”
The Doctor smiled. “You make it easier to try to forgive her.” With that cryptic remark, he jumped to his feet. “How much?” he asked the Sycorax guard.
“It is not for sale,” the Sycorax said slowly. “It is for the blood taunt. It is the blood of Harriet Jones.”
“Is it?” The Doctor stepped back. “I’ve never seen a Sycorax blood taunt. Will it be before or after the auction? Should we bring popcorn?”
~*~
“I really thought you were kidding about the popcorn,” Donna said as she looked at the small paper bag.
“I never kid about popcorn,” the Doctor said. He held out a bag to Tom. Tom, much as he expected, blanched and refused the offered bag. He was pale enough that the Doctor felt compelled to pat him on the back. “You did well, Tom.”
“He looked like he was dying,” Tom said angrily. He paced around the Tardis controls. “He didn’t even recognize me, he could barely move, and he’s been beaten within an inch of his life. He will die if this doesn’t stop.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of the blood taunt, to kill him slowly?” Donna said. “I mean, did I miss something? That’s why we’re here to rescue him?”
“Enough,” the Doctor said to her. With someone like Jack, or Martha, that sort of remark would have relieved the tension. With someone like Tom, it was just making it worse. “Tom, it will be worse before it is better. There is a part of the ceremony where the Sycorax will ask assembled witnesses to prove them wrong. It’s normally ceremonial but their laws require they listen to the proof. But that means we will be sitting through the ceremonial interrogation and those two words don’t really go together well. I scanned him with my sonic screwdriver. He’s not well, but there’s nothing wrong that he won’t survive. Their intent is to inflict pain, not injury.” He wondered if he was right about what was really bothering Tom. “He wasn’t responsive because he could barely breath the air and he was frightened to death that *you* were there. He told me to not risk you, because you have a child.”
“God damn it,” Tom said. He punched the wall of the Tardis. “That is so bloody like him! I swear to god, that man never even thinks of himself. He’s bleeding in a damn alien torture cell and he’s worried about me!”
He wondered if Tom even saw it. He could see that Donna saw it, although she had more background information than Tom ever would. “Humans always astound me, did you know that? Never quite seeing the obvious.”
“What does that mean?” Tom asked, suspicious.
The Doctor threw a piece of popcorn in the air and caught it in his mouth. “You said before, that Matthew was your brother by choice, not blood. Why? I mean, what’s so special about Matthew Crawley, a stranger to you, by blood, by class, that you would get in a space ship with a person you think is your world’s worst enemy, risking orphaning your own child, just to save his life? You said it yourself, he’s the heir, and you’re the uppity chauffer. How bizarre indeed, his being concerned about you”
“Stop it! He is a good man, and I’ll not have you malign him.” Tom actually put up his fists. “Matthew never treated me, or any of the servants, like we were less than him. He defended me, he asked me to be his best man. He treated me….” His voice trailed off.
“He treated you like his brother,” Donna finished, her expression stern. “And he’s likely scared out of his mind that his brother just walked into the hell pit. You chose him, he chose you. It’s as clear as day if you look out the bloody window. You love him. That’s why you’re here. And he loves you, and that’s why he wants you anyplace but here. Gah, I swear the English are the most emotionally repressed men in the world.”
“I’m Irish,” Tom corrected.
“You’re from the bloody British Isles and it shows,” Donna snapped.
“And we have a slave auction and a blood taunt to attend,” the Doctor countered. He shooed them out of the Tardis.
It was unpleasant. Slavery was an offense and the Doctor hated it, so sitting through the Sycorax’s haphazard sales raised his temper. It was lucky that the ceremony of the taunt was timed to occur when the maximum numbers of buyers were there because he wasn’t certain he was capable of sitting through more slave sales.
Matthew was hauled out, in rags and chains, every inch the English gentleman despite his dirty appearance. His hands were chained in front of him, and the Doctor wasn’t surprised he refused to willingly kneel, no matter that he could barely stand. He realized suddenly that Violet, nasty piece of work that she was, was right. Some humans, Rose had been among them, and he suspected Matthew Crawley was another, would forgive anything if they felt the person apologizing was sincere. Rose had made him a better person, and he had a feeling Matthew was the catalyst that made any number of the Crawley and Grantham family better people. Harriet was a better person, by far.
It made watching the grainy video of her escapades on the Sycorax ship easier to watch. He could hear Tom take a breath of surprise. Didn’t really think it was true did you, he thought darkly, that kindly Mrs. Crawley who helps out as a nurse at the local hospital used to rule a more advanced version of your world. The assembled Sycorax roared in outrage as the video ended with a scene of the Sycorax ship exploding. And the real question, the Doctor thought idly, is where did the Sycorax get that? Someone had seen to it that they were given the scent of Harriet Jones.
“This one, this Prime Minister Harriet Jones “roared the Sycorax on the platform with Matthew, “killed our blood. We will be avenged! She will see that all of her blood will be ground down and forced to beg for mercy. And then, we will follow her example and destroy them anyway!” It poked Mathew in the chest with its staff. “You will beg for your life, blood kin of Harriet Jones!”
“You can go to hell,” Matthew said tiredly. Not exactly a defiant shout, the Doctor thought as he munched on some popcorn, but it would look stunning on replay for an Oscar nomination.
One of the aliens smacked Matthew in the head with his staff quite exuberantly. Judging by the blood trickling down Matthew’s face, the decidedly dazed look in his eyes, and the hissing from the other Sycorax, that wasn’t in the plan. Of course, while he doubted Matthew considered himself lucky at all, the rest of his life was going to be a lot easier with most of the scars covered up by the tweed and dining jackets.
His thought was backed up by the lead Sycorax belting the one at fault with a laser whip set on disintegrate. “Fool,” it muttered. “It wants us to kill it, to protect the rest of its blood. “ The Sycorax raised its voice. “But we are fair, we of the Sycoraxi. You may defend yourself, son of Harriet Jones. “
Matthew blinked and swayed on his knees. “That woman looks like my mother when she was much younger, but her accent is different and you fail to understand English naming conventions. My name is Matthew Crawley. If my mother’s name was Harriet Jones, then my name would be Matthew Jones. My mother’s name is Isobel Crawley. Her name was origanally Isobel Turnbull, until she married my father Reginald Crawley. Her parents and brother died of yellow fever in India when she was very young. My father was also an only child, and he died when I was twelve. His parents, my grandparents, died of old age when I was a little boy. My father had two cousins, James and Patrick, but they both died from drowning when the Titanic sank in 1912.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not married, I have no children. My only relative is Isobel Crawley. She is a nurse. She cannot possibly be Harriet Jones.”
The Sycorax leader rained down blows on him. “Stop lying, human!” As Matthew resumed his defense, something that sounded more like a memorized prayer than a recitation of facts, the Doctor leaned over to Tom. “I know we just saw him receive a concussion but didn’t you say he was a lawyer? Did he actually make a living at it?”
Tom shrugged tiredly. “All I know is that he’s a lawyer, and he never wrote a will despite the giant mess being Robert’s heir leads to. Even I have a will. When are we stopping this?”
“Not yet.”
The Sycorax leader whipped Matthew into silence. The man was on his hands and knees, panting from exertion. The Sycorax waited a moment and then kicked him. “Again, we will be fair. Will anyone speak for this liar?”
The Doctor stood up. “I will!” He jumped to the center of the auction arena and gestured for Tom and Donna to follow him. “I am the Doctor and while the law is not my specialty, I would like to represent Mr. Crawley.” He leaned down to Matthew. “To prove my qualifications, I ask you a simple question. What do you say about a man who represents himself in a court, Mr. Crawley?”
Matthew looked up at him, frightened. “That… that he has a fool for a client.”
“Exactly! I’m glad the time at Oxford wasn’t an entire waste.” The Doctor pointed at him and then looked the Sycorax leader in the eyes. “My client has made a false argument because he has not been in possession of all of the facts. Harriet Jones is Isobel Crawley.” The Sycorax gasped and rumbled. “But… Matthew Crawley is not related in any way to Harriet Jones, who has posed as Isobel Crawley for the last twenty eight years. Mr. Branson, Ms. Noble, our evidence?” Donna handed the video recorder to the Sycorax, while Tom held out the vial of blood. “You do agree, your argument is that Isobel Crawley is Harriet Jones and therefore Matthew Crawley is blood related?” He waited for the Sycorax to nod. “Then you will agree that the blood will tell the tale.” The video of Donna taking the blood sample was met with silence from the Sycorax, and a shocked look from Matthew. Best to get it done, the Doctor decided. “You agree that is her blood?”
“Yes,” the Sycorax leader hissed. “It must be tested.” An underling roughly stabbed Matthew’s arm with a sampler and then put both in a nearby analyzer. The inevitable result came. The underling cringed as it handed the leader the results. The leader snarled. “You are correct. It is not blood kin. We were… mistaken.”
Let’s hope it’s this easy, the Doctor though he lifted Matthew up by the arm. Matthew seemed too stunned to notice. “Mistakes happen. We’re willing to forgive and forget. We’ll just take our client….”
The Sycorax leader grabbed the chains, jerking Matthew back. “It is still our slave.”
The Doctor thought fast. “And we did offer to buy it.” He held out the bag of popcorn. “We’ll trade this for him.”
The Sycorax took the bag and sampled it. “The food ration is intriguing but not enough. We would need at least an ounce of gold.”
“Let me do this,” hissed Tom. He strode forward. “An ounce of gold is ridiculous.” He pointed to Matthew’s bloodied feet. “It’s not even intact. I’d have to pay at an ounce of gold just to get it into working shape. Now, as an Irishman, I’ve always wanted to own an English lord, there’s nothing finer than teaching one how to actually get its hands dirty, but I’ll not overpay for shoddy broken goods. I’ll give you a florin, three shillings, and two six pence of copper.” He held out the coins. “I’ll throw in the popcorn but you’re the one getting the bargain here. I’m buying a lot of work. You haven’t even broken him to kneeling before his betters.”
The Sycorax considered it. “A more acceptable offer,” it said as it kicked Matthew to the floor and examined the metal coins, “but not enough.”
“Well,” Tom said softly, twisting his left hand with his right almost as if taken by a nervous twitch. “You do drive a hard bargain…. But I promised my Sybil I’d watch out for her family, and her dear sister was hoping for a fine Christmas gift, and Sybil would forgive this with a laugh if it made her sister happy.” He held out a small gold ring. “I throw this in, you throw in the chains.”
The Sycorax took the ring. “I believe we are getting the bargain,” it said.
“Then I won’t disabuse the notion. “ Tom held out his hand for the chains. “I believe you’re holding my property.”