There, and Back Again - Chapter 11
Jul. 23rd, 2020 11:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
schrodingers_time_ladyTitle: There, and Back Again - Chapter 11
Fandom: Doctor Who
Character(s): Rodageitmososa (OC), Others
Ships(s): Rodageitmososa/Perigraphaltas
Previous Chapter: Chapter 10
Next Chapter: Chapter 12
Synopsis: Growing into a Time Lady is hard enough, but growing up as the Lord President's ward is even harder. Especially when it seems as though all of Gallifrey and strangers alike want to tell you how to live your life and who you're going to become.
Cross-posts: AO3
A/N: Two things about this chapter. Actually, three. One, again, it is unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Two, it got so long I had to split it into two. Oops? And three... bear with me on the canon. I plotted this story out before seeing the season 12 finale, and so I'm going with what we knew about a certain group of people before that because it's all I can do. My personal explanation for this is 'yada yada propoganda', and perhaps I'll be able to bring it around to a canon explanation by a later point in Roda's story. For now, it is what it is.
---
Ninety two years later…
After her mistake in the clearing, the years on Gallifrey seemed to pass Roda by in a blur.
She had a new mantra, a new purpose, and that was to make sure that she never let anybody hurt her again. Not a bully, not Rassilon, and certainly not her own mind. Surprising everybody she knew - herself certainly most of all - that apparently meant throwing herself into her studies like a Time Lady possessed, ensuring that nobody could find even the tiniest stitch undone on which to criticize her.
Of course, people still tried. The grades weren't perfect, but they were more than passable. Borusa still managed to write her up on perceived slights, and Roda continued to ignore him. Even worse, things at home became more tense; not so much because Rassilon acted on his words on that day in the Zero Room, but because he seemed content never to address them or bring them up again. Roda still spent time in his workshop, but she steadily began to spend less of it there. What time she did allow herself to forget the words that neither of them could take back she spent not just handing him things and being lectured but instead trying to understand what it was she had spent more than two hundred years helping him to create. She asked more questions, and when Rassilon didn’t answer them she simply paid more attention, making suggestions as to how she would do something in attempts to trip him up into explaining exactly how wrong she was and why. It was a tactic that only worked so well when the person you were, essentially, trying to spy on was one of the oldest and supposedly wisest people on the planet, but Rassilon liked the sound of his own voice, and it was easy to goad him into talking about scientific prowess. By the time her own final engineering exams came at the age of two hundred and fifty she had worked out one very important thing:
Whatever he was building, it had something to do with Amplified Panatropic Computations - and she had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t strictly legal. Or at least, it was definitely not approved by the Council.
Still, figuring out what made Rassilon just as fallible as anyone else on Gallifrey played second fiddle to parts of her life she cared about a Skaro of a lot more. There were exams to pass in the next fifty years if not with flying colours, at least well enough for people not to nitpick her grades, and managing that while still getting to spend time with Peri became a balancing act that took up so much of her time that studying Robin Hood briefly fell by the wayside. (She couldn't remember the last time she'd managed to open a book about him. It felt... weird.) True to everyone’s expectations Peri graduated early and with an almost perfect grade, and was recruited immediately into the Acalian division of the Medical Corps. She and Peri made time for one another where they could - as they always had - but those times grew more infrequent as the days went on, and so Roda did her best to avoid contemplating the difficult conversation of the end. She would always love him, she knew that. But he wouldn’t always be hers in the same way, nor her his. So it was best to make the most of it, as usual.
And oh, the things he could do with his fingers took her mind off ninety percent of her worries.
It was during what had become an incredibly rare break in the amount of things that she had to do in a given day that what she would later think of as 'the moment' happened. Roda had taken once again to spending her spare time at the Library; today, that meant sitting on the roof, so high up that she could almost touch the ceiling of the Citadel. She had installed a perception filter - stolen from the TARDIS docks years ago - and so long as she was quiet, no one ever looked up and saw her. It was one place on Gallifrey where she could get total peace and quiet that nobody else knew about. Not even Peri.
Being so high up also had its benefits. She hadn’t seen the Stranger in years, and so could only assume he didn’t know her hiding spot either. For once, she didn't feel spied on by him or by Rassilon. And on particularly hot days, it seemed to be close enough to the habitat system that she got a little extra breeze - which, with her out of control curls, she was very grateful for. Taming them was difficult enough without the humidity, and she rarely bothered to cut her hair short. And of course, it made a pretty good tower upon which to watch the daily life of Gallifrey unfold. She enjoyed the hustle and bustle of Time Lords going about their business, undeterred by exams or living up to people's expectations or any of the petty things which her life seemed to revolve around these days. Children still ran through the streets and parents still watched them and Gallifrey still turned in the stratosphere. Which was why as soon as the cloister alarm had been set off near the outskirts of the Citadel, she had had a bird’s eye view of what was going on,
She was on her feet before she even knew she was moving, sweeping her books and the small collection of tech she’d been playing around with into her arms in the process. Walking briskly across the roof, she dumped them into a locked crate concealed by a cooling vent, keying in the code to seal it once again without even looking at her hands. It had become second nature, and if it occurred to her that perhaps she was too secretive then it didn't really matter. Better safe than sorry, she thought. You never know when even the best spots will be found. Folding up the rug she had taken with her from her father’s old room so that she could put it back in the home before leaving, she tiptoed to the edge of the Library roof and craned her neck for a good view. It was one of the taller buildings in Gallifrey and sure enough, she soon spotted Castellan Temia jogging in the direction of the alarm, support in tow. He was shouting commands as he went, and pointing frantically, and it was perhaps the most animated Roda had ever seen him.
It wasn’t often that this particular alarm system went off; for the most part, the Citadel was a quiet and crime-free place. In fact, the one and only time Roda ever remembered hearing it had been a false alarm involving escaped vortisaurs in the ventilation. Rassilon had assured long ago that all of Gallifrey’s greatest threats were no more, and there was no war amongst Time Lords. On rare occasion, some big creature stumbled down from the wastelands or the mountains and had to be dealt with, but Roda hardly felt as though they could possibly be considered dangerous enough to sound the alarm; let alone the echoing ring of High Gallifreyan bidding them all to ‘Wait inside, the threat is being investigated’.
She frowned, trying to think what could cause such a ruckus, while also making sure that no one was checking the rooftops. Her perception filter would be no use if people were actually looking up. But thankfully her spot remained hidden; though an easy explanation for what was going on was not forthcoming.
That was when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone knocking on the Library door. Multiple someones, knocking very insistently.
Roda dropped the rug in surprise - almost over the edge of the building - crumpling to the marble rooftop and swearing under her breath. Dragging herself along by her elbows - and wondering if this was one of the times it might be wise to swallow her pride and alert Rassilon to the situation - she wriggled on her belly until she could peer over the edge. What she saw was even more of a surprise. Five people huddled in the doorway of the Library, all trying to occupy the same spot underneath the golden archway at the front (which had, admittedly, seen better days). Their clothes were piecemeal and faded, not at all like the vibrant red and gold and heliotrope and aqua of the Time Lords who lived in the Citadel. The one at the back was the tallest and the oldest, and he was holding a big-looking gun up against his chest as he looked up and down the street while the others hammered down the door.
Shobogans. Roda’s hearts stopped. They were shobogans.
As she inched back across the roof - mind reeling with a hundred and one wild and likely incorrect ideas why they would be at her late father’s door - she considered shouting for the Castellan. If she screamed loud enough, he would probably hear her. But some instinct at the back of her mind told her not to. Even though the shobogans were armed, they weren’t doing anything other than knocking on a door, which meant - obviously, and confusingly enough - that they seemed to expect someone to open it for them. No one was trying to break it down, from what she could tell, and that only opened up a hundred new questions! Shelving them all, she opened the hatch that would drop her back into the top floor of the Library and slipped down as quietly as she could. The door clanked shut above her head and she grimaced, for a moment, before the knocking began again.
For a moment, a stupid memory rushed Roda like a colony of fledershrews, as she crept towards the spiral staircase; her father with his hand against the small of her back, promising that he would catch her as she rode down the banister. It was one of her earliest memories, and she had barely been old enough to talk at the time, but looking back on it as an adult she remembered something else. When they had reached the bottom of the stairs, her father had stopped, and then sent her off to play with her toys in another part of the Library. And while she hadn’t had any reason to question him at the time, innocent as she had been back then, she remembered hearing him talk with strangers. Voices that she had only heard once and never heard again.
Roda took the stairs two at a time, curiosity getting the better of her. She had left her tools on the roof, but there were heavy books and paperweights on the bottom floor, and she could grab one of those before opening the door (just in case). But she was far from quiet as she hurried, all but flying around the tight corners at each landing. No doubt the people outside would hear her running just as clearly as she heard them knocking. She stopped, once, to pick up a heavy-enough marble bust of some Time Lord she didn’t recognize. A member of the Council from long ago, perhaps? It didn't matter, it would do in a pinch. Tossing it in her hand and determining that it would knock someone out if she swung it hard enough she continued her pace, until finally she slammed shut the door to the Library and stood once again in the lobby between it, and her old home.
It had been two hundred and forty two years since she had last stood in front of the main door, wondering who was knocking on it. In all the time since she hadn’t dared come through the front door and instead climbed in through the windows as though somehow, that small act would stop her hearts from breaking at the idea that her father would never be in the building again. Catching her breath she hesitated as she stood in front of the immense mahogany, feeling as though she was eight years old all over again. Would unlocking the door at last break the spell? And if it did, would it ease the pain, or only make it worse?
“Please - Meyerodeon, open the damned door!”
Roda jumped as renewed knocking followed by frantic, terrified shouting interrupted her thoughts. Instinct kicked in and before she even knew what she was doing she threw back the locks and yanked open the door, coming face to face with a group of people she had never seen before in her life.
They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity; Roda surprised not to see a gun in her face, and the shobogan clearly surprised to see her and not her father. And then before she could open her mouth, the small crowd of dishevelled rebels pushed their way into the building and locked the door behind them, congregating in the lobby and looking very, very tired. The oldest one - the one who was carrying the gun - crept up to peer through the peephole, one gnarled finger resting on the trigger, while the rest of them continued to stare at Roda in distrust and confusion. She got the feeling he didn’t know how to use the gun; which, in turn, was shinier and cleaner than he was. Stolen, then.
Well, she thought to herself, bitterly. At least if I’m about to die, I’m at home again.
“Who are you?”
Roda tore her eyes away from the man at the door, glanced briefly at the marble statuette in her hand, and then fixed her gaze on the woman who had spoken to her. She looked old enough to be somebody’s mother, but her eyes were centuries wiser and harder, and the hands that tugged out from her loose-fitting clothing were worn and scarred. The woman had a scarf tied around her neck and the bottom half of her face, and dusty goggles sat on the top of her head. On her back - Roda could see up close - was slung the kind of bow that she had seen in books, partially wrapped in the oiled hide of a creature she didn’t recognize. As the woman addressed Roda, obviously suspicious, a much smaller figure held onto her knee and peered at Roda through wide, inquisitive eyes.
“...this is my home,” Roda replied, though the words didn’t quite feel right in her mouth. She set her jaw, lowering the bust so as not to scare the scruffy-haired child, and without thinking dropped to one knee in front of them. The mother put a hand on the child’s shoulder, pushing them backwards, but Roda set the bust on the ground and held up both her hands to show they were empty. Swallowing - remembering being a small, scared child in this very building - she tentatively smiled through her own unease. The child gave her a toothy grin - a front tooth missing - and Roda stayed at their level while continuing to talk to the adults. “You’re shobogans, aren’t you?”
Before the woman could speak again, the man with the gun turned around, glaring down at Roda with obvious venom in his eyes. “Where’s Meyer? This is his Library.”
Roda set her jaw, eyes darkening, and the child took a step away from her. She regretted that, but stood to face the man with her chin held high, one hand made into a fist.
“He’s dead,” she spat, voice hardly even. “You of all people should know that.”
A concerned and shocked murmur ran through the group, and then the woman who had first spoke shook her head.
“What do you mean he's dead?"
“It means she’s lying,” the man snapped. “Just like any Time Lord.”
“Not like Meyer,” argued someone in the crowd. “He was good to us.”
“And you killed him for it!” snarled Roda, not realising the kind of anger she had in her, nor what they were talking about. “You killed him and left him in the streets to rot!” Her other hand made a fist, and she was faintly aware that she had stepped forward and was practically toe to toe with the man with the gun. He didn’t step away but raised his gun clumsily, and Roda slapped it away with no care for her own safety. It no longer mattered what happened to her. How dare her father’s killers come here looking for him? Did they want to finish the job, and end his line once and for all? If she had thought that they needed help when she’d first seen them knocking on the door, she couldn’t find it in her to care now. “So if you think I’m going to - to help you with whatever it is you’re here for, then you can think again! There is nothing for you here.”
It was only when the child squealed and ran behind their mother for good that Roda realised who she sounded like. An image of Rassilon flashed in front of her eyes, gauntlet raised, all of his disappointment in her evident on his face and Roda felt her shoulders fall as she visibly grimaced. This wasn’t who she wanted to be. Somebody to be feared, somebody who couldn’t care for a person in need. 'Just like any Time Lord'. That didn’t make her a hero; it just made her a bully. And the idea that she had picked up any qualities of Rassilon's at all made her shudder with distaste. Ashamed of herself, she dropped her head and massaged her temples, closing her eyes tightly. She heard the man move in front of her and say something but ignored him completely, steadying her breathing and mentally cursing herself. Omega help her, he would be so proud of her now, wouldn't he? Intimidating helpless shobogans, spouting the same elitist bullshit he always came out of. Her father, she guessed, would not be proud.
When she had gotten control of her anger, she had bit her lip so hard that it was bleeding, and she licked away the salt before looking back up at the gun that was now cautiously pointed at her once again. Everyone was quiet, and the tension could have been cut with a knife, but nobody outside seemed to have reacted to the kerfuffle. Eventually, scooping the child into her arms and lowering her scarf from her face, the woman tentatively spoke again and broke the silence.
“...he was your father, wasn’t he?” Roda nodded silently, and the woman sighed. “You have his eyes. He was good to us. Always sheltered us, and gave us supplies.” She held her child tightly, reaching out to stroke Roda’s cheek with the back of her hand. It took all of Roda's willpower not to flinch away, even as the words seemed to make no sense. He had aided rebels? Why? “I’m sorry for your loss, little one but… we would never have killed him.”
Roda’s mouth opened and shut again, suspicion warring with confusion. Helped them? Sheltered them? It had to be a lie. Her mother had been in the Council, and her father had been a Librarian. They were - as Rassilon was always want to remind her - good, respectable Prydonians and members of society. Why would her father have given aid to violent rebels who didn’t believe in Time Lord culture? And besides, the Castellan had been explicit about what happened from day one. Her father’s body had been found surrounded by shobogans with sharp knives and Time Lord blood on their hands. It was a clear-cut case, even if they had never admitted to the crime. Denied their involvement. They had faced justice, Roda had been told that time and time throughout her life. They wouldn’t kill anybody else ever again… but what if they had died for a crime that they didn’t commit...?
Her legs threatened to go out from underneath her, but Roda stood her ground; not pushing the woman away from her but not returning the affection, either. She didn’t feel… threatened. Even though there was a gun pointed at her, and five and a half potentially dangerous people locked inside the Prydonian Library, somehow she knew that she was safe among them. Despite her anger and her pain, the same voice that told her to believe in Robin Hood was telling her that she could trust these strangers, and that she should give them a reason to trust her.
Wondering if she would regret it - if she would even live to do so - Roda held out her hands calmly as she took a step back, reaching once more for the door handle of the Library. She pushed it open with one foot - not looking over her shoulder - walking backwards and gesturing for the shobogan to follow.
“Put the gun down,” she said, as calmly and quietly as she could manage, “and come in here. The Castellan won’t look inside the Library, it's been locked forever..."
“Why should we trust you?” asked the man with the gun. Roda looked at him sadly, and shrugged once.
“Because I’m trusting you?” She tried again for a nervous smile. “And I’m my father’s daughter. That,” she shrugged again, “and you could just shoot me if you don’t trust me. All I had was…” she gestured at the discarded marble bust with her foot. “I'm not a threat. And it seems to me like you don’t have much of a choice.”
Fandom: Doctor Who
Character(s): Rodageitmososa (OC), Others
Ships(s): Rodageitmososa/Perigraphaltas
Previous Chapter: Chapter 10
Next Chapter: Chapter 12
Synopsis: Growing into a Time Lady is hard enough, but growing up as the Lord President's ward is even harder. Especially when it seems as though all of Gallifrey and strangers alike want to tell you how to live your life and who you're going to become.
Cross-posts: AO3
A/N: Two things about this chapter. Actually, three. One, again, it is unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Two, it got so long I had to split it into two. Oops? And three... bear with me on the canon. I plotted this story out before seeing the season 12 finale, and so I'm going with what we knew about a certain group of people before that because it's all I can do. My personal explanation for this is 'yada yada propoganda', and perhaps I'll be able to bring it around to a canon explanation by a later point in Roda's story. For now, it is what it is.
“Comfort is as comfort does
And I've held up all your crowns
And I've wondered since what I’d do now
And that tower is as feared as that glass is clear
For those inside that do look down.”
- “Stowaway”, PigPen Theatre Co.
And I've held up all your crowns
And I've wondered since what I’d do now
And that tower is as feared as that glass is clear
For those inside that do look down.”
- “Stowaway”, PigPen Theatre Co.
---
Ninety two years later…
After her mistake in the clearing, the years on Gallifrey seemed to pass Roda by in a blur.
She had a new mantra, a new purpose, and that was to make sure that she never let anybody hurt her again. Not a bully, not Rassilon, and certainly not her own mind. Surprising everybody she knew - herself certainly most of all - that apparently meant throwing herself into her studies like a Time Lady possessed, ensuring that nobody could find even the tiniest stitch undone on which to criticize her.
Of course, people still tried. The grades weren't perfect, but they were more than passable. Borusa still managed to write her up on perceived slights, and Roda continued to ignore him. Even worse, things at home became more tense; not so much because Rassilon acted on his words on that day in the Zero Room, but because he seemed content never to address them or bring them up again. Roda still spent time in his workshop, but she steadily began to spend less of it there. What time she did allow herself to forget the words that neither of them could take back she spent not just handing him things and being lectured but instead trying to understand what it was she had spent more than two hundred years helping him to create. She asked more questions, and when Rassilon didn’t answer them she simply paid more attention, making suggestions as to how she would do something in attempts to trip him up into explaining exactly how wrong she was and why. It was a tactic that only worked so well when the person you were, essentially, trying to spy on was one of the oldest and supposedly wisest people on the planet, but Rassilon liked the sound of his own voice, and it was easy to goad him into talking about scientific prowess. By the time her own final engineering exams came at the age of two hundred and fifty she had worked out one very important thing:
Whatever he was building, it had something to do with Amplified Panatropic Computations - and she had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t strictly legal. Or at least, it was definitely not approved by the Council.
Still, figuring out what made Rassilon just as fallible as anyone else on Gallifrey played second fiddle to parts of her life she cared about a Skaro of a lot more. There were exams to pass in the next fifty years if not with flying colours, at least well enough for people not to nitpick her grades, and managing that while still getting to spend time with Peri became a balancing act that took up so much of her time that studying Robin Hood briefly fell by the wayside. (She couldn't remember the last time she'd managed to open a book about him. It felt... weird.) True to everyone’s expectations Peri graduated early and with an almost perfect grade, and was recruited immediately into the Acalian division of the Medical Corps. She and Peri made time for one another where they could - as they always had - but those times grew more infrequent as the days went on, and so Roda did her best to avoid contemplating the difficult conversation of the end. She would always love him, she knew that. But he wouldn’t always be hers in the same way, nor her his. So it was best to make the most of it, as usual.
And oh, the things he could do with his fingers took her mind off ninety percent of her worries.
It was during what had become an incredibly rare break in the amount of things that she had to do in a given day that what she would later think of as 'the moment' happened. Roda had taken once again to spending her spare time at the Library; today, that meant sitting on the roof, so high up that she could almost touch the ceiling of the Citadel. She had installed a perception filter - stolen from the TARDIS docks years ago - and so long as she was quiet, no one ever looked up and saw her. It was one place on Gallifrey where she could get total peace and quiet that nobody else knew about. Not even Peri.
Being so high up also had its benefits. She hadn’t seen the Stranger in years, and so could only assume he didn’t know her hiding spot either. For once, she didn't feel spied on by him or by Rassilon. And on particularly hot days, it seemed to be close enough to the habitat system that she got a little extra breeze - which, with her out of control curls, she was very grateful for. Taming them was difficult enough without the humidity, and she rarely bothered to cut her hair short. And of course, it made a pretty good tower upon which to watch the daily life of Gallifrey unfold. She enjoyed the hustle and bustle of Time Lords going about their business, undeterred by exams or living up to people's expectations or any of the petty things which her life seemed to revolve around these days. Children still ran through the streets and parents still watched them and Gallifrey still turned in the stratosphere. Which was why as soon as the cloister alarm had been set off near the outskirts of the Citadel, she had had a bird’s eye view of what was going on,
She was on her feet before she even knew she was moving, sweeping her books and the small collection of tech she’d been playing around with into her arms in the process. Walking briskly across the roof, she dumped them into a locked crate concealed by a cooling vent, keying in the code to seal it once again without even looking at her hands. It had become second nature, and if it occurred to her that perhaps she was too secretive then it didn't really matter. Better safe than sorry, she thought. You never know when even the best spots will be found. Folding up the rug she had taken with her from her father’s old room so that she could put it back in the home before leaving, she tiptoed to the edge of the Library roof and craned her neck for a good view. It was one of the taller buildings in Gallifrey and sure enough, she soon spotted Castellan Temia jogging in the direction of the alarm, support in tow. He was shouting commands as he went, and pointing frantically, and it was perhaps the most animated Roda had ever seen him.
It wasn’t often that this particular alarm system went off; for the most part, the Citadel was a quiet and crime-free place. In fact, the one and only time Roda ever remembered hearing it had been a false alarm involving escaped vortisaurs in the ventilation. Rassilon had assured long ago that all of Gallifrey’s greatest threats were no more, and there was no war amongst Time Lords. On rare occasion, some big creature stumbled down from the wastelands or the mountains and had to be dealt with, but Roda hardly felt as though they could possibly be considered dangerous enough to sound the alarm; let alone the echoing ring of High Gallifreyan bidding them all to ‘Wait inside, the threat is being investigated’.
She frowned, trying to think what could cause such a ruckus, while also making sure that no one was checking the rooftops. Her perception filter would be no use if people were actually looking up. But thankfully her spot remained hidden; though an easy explanation for what was going on was not forthcoming.
That was when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone knocking on the Library door. Multiple someones, knocking very insistently.
Roda dropped the rug in surprise - almost over the edge of the building - crumpling to the marble rooftop and swearing under her breath. Dragging herself along by her elbows - and wondering if this was one of the times it might be wise to swallow her pride and alert Rassilon to the situation - she wriggled on her belly until she could peer over the edge. What she saw was even more of a surprise. Five people huddled in the doorway of the Library, all trying to occupy the same spot underneath the golden archway at the front (which had, admittedly, seen better days). Their clothes were piecemeal and faded, not at all like the vibrant red and gold and heliotrope and aqua of the Time Lords who lived in the Citadel. The one at the back was the tallest and the oldest, and he was holding a big-looking gun up against his chest as he looked up and down the street while the others hammered down the door.
Shobogans. Roda’s hearts stopped. They were shobogans.
As she inched back across the roof - mind reeling with a hundred and one wild and likely incorrect ideas why they would be at her late father’s door - she considered shouting for the Castellan. If she screamed loud enough, he would probably hear her. But some instinct at the back of her mind told her not to. Even though the shobogans were armed, they weren’t doing anything other than knocking on a door, which meant - obviously, and confusingly enough - that they seemed to expect someone to open it for them. No one was trying to break it down, from what she could tell, and that only opened up a hundred new questions! Shelving them all, she opened the hatch that would drop her back into the top floor of the Library and slipped down as quietly as she could. The door clanked shut above her head and she grimaced, for a moment, before the knocking began again.
For a moment, a stupid memory rushed Roda like a colony of fledershrews, as she crept towards the spiral staircase; her father with his hand against the small of her back, promising that he would catch her as she rode down the banister. It was one of her earliest memories, and she had barely been old enough to talk at the time, but looking back on it as an adult she remembered something else. When they had reached the bottom of the stairs, her father had stopped, and then sent her off to play with her toys in another part of the Library. And while she hadn’t had any reason to question him at the time, innocent as she had been back then, she remembered hearing him talk with strangers. Voices that she had only heard once and never heard again.
Roda took the stairs two at a time, curiosity getting the better of her. She had left her tools on the roof, but there were heavy books and paperweights on the bottom floor, and she could grab one of those before opening the door (just in case). But she was far from quiet as she hurried, all but flying around the tight corners at each landing. No doubt the people outside would hear her running just as clearly as she heard them knocking. She stopped, once, to pick up a heavy-enough marble bust of some Time Lord she didn’t recognize. A member of the Council from long ago, perhaps? It didn't matter, it would do in a pinch. Tossing it in her hand and determining that it would knock someone out if she swung it hard enough she continued her pace, until finally she slammed shut the door to the Library and stood once again in the lobby between it, and her old home.
It had been two hundred and forty two years since she had last stood in front of the main door, wondering who was knocking on it. In all the time since she hadn’t dared come through the front door and instead climbed in through the windows as though somehow, that small act would stop her hearts from breaking at the idea that her father would never be in the building again. Catching her breath she hesitated as she stood in front of the immense mahogany, feeling as though she was eight years old all over again. Would unlocking the door at last break the spell? And if it did, would it ease the pain, or only make it worse?
“Please - Meyerodeon, open the damned door!”
Roda jumped as renewed knocking followed by frantic, terrified shouting interrupted her thoughts. Instinct kicked in and before she even knew what she was doing she threw back the locks and yanked open the door, coming face to face with a group of people she had never seen before in her life.
They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity; Roda surprised not to see a gun in her face, and the shobogan clearly surprised to see her and not her father. And then before she could open her mouth, the small crowd of dishevelled rebels pushed their way into the building and locked the door behind them, congregating in the lobby and looking very, very tired. The oldest one - the one who was carrying the gun - crept up to peer through the peephole, one gnarled finger resting on the trigger, while the rest of them continued to stare at Roda in distrust and confusion. She got the feeling he didn’t know how to use the gun; which, in turn, was shinier and cleaner than he was. Stolen, then.
Well, she thought to herself, bitterly. At least if I’m about to die, I’m at home again.
“Who are you?”
Roda tore her eyes away from the man at the door, glanced briefly at the marble statuette in her hand, and then fixed her gaze on the woman who had spoken to her. She looked old enough to be somebody’s mother, but her eyes were centuries wiser and harder, and the hands that tugged out from her loose-fitting clothing were worn and scarred. The woman had a scarf tied around her neck and the bottom half of her face, and dusty goggles sat on the top of her head. On her back - Roda could see up close - was slung the kind of bow that she had seen in books, partially wrapped in the oiled hide of a creature she didn’t recognize. As the woman addressed Roda, obviously suspicious, a much smaller figure held onto her knee and peered at Roda through wide, inquisitive eyes.
“...this is my home,” Roda replied, though the words didn’t quite feel right in her mouth. She set her jaw, lowering the bust so as not to scare the scruffy-haired child, and without thinking dropped to one knee in front of them. The mother put a hand on the child’s shoulder, pushing them backwards, but Roda set the bust on the ground and held up both her hands to show they were empty. Swallowing - remembering being a small, scared child in this very building - she tentatively smiled through her own unease. The child gave her a toothy grin - a front tooth missing - and Roda stayed at their level while continuing to talk to the adults. “You’re shobogans, aren’t you?”
Before the woman could speak again, the man with the gun turned around, glaring down at Roda with obvious venom in his eyes. “Where’s Meyer? This is his Library.”
Roda set her jaw, eyes darkening, and the child took a step away from her. She regretted that, but stood to face the man with her chin held high, one hand made into a fist.
“He’s dead,” she spat, voice hardly even. “You of all people should know that.”
A concerned and shocked murmur ran through the group, and then the woman who had first spoke shook her head.
“What do you mean he's dead?"
“It means she’s lying,” the man snapped. “Just like any Time Lord.”
“Not like Meyer,” argued someone in the crowd. “He was good to us.”
“And you killed him for it!” snarled Roda, not realising the kind of anger she had in her, nor what they were talking about. “You killed him and left him in the streets to rot!” Her other hand made a fist, and she was faintly aware that she had stepped forward and was practically toe to toe with the man with the gun. He didn’t step away but raised his gun clumsily, and Roda slapped it away with no care for her own safety. It no longer mattered what happened to her. How dare her father’s killers come here looking for him? Did they want to finish the job, and end his line once and for all? If she had thought that they needed help when she’d first seen them knocking on the door, she couldn’t find it in her to care now. “So if you think I’m going to - to help you with whatever it is you’re here for, then you can think again! There is nothing for you here.”
It was only when the child squealed and ran behind their mother for good that Roda realised who she sounded like. An image of Rassilon flashed in front of her eyes, gauntlet raised, all of his disappointment in her evident on his face and Roda felt her shoulders fall as she visibly grimaced. This wasn’t who she wanted to be. Somebody to be feared, somebody who couldn’t care for a person in need. 'Just like any Time Lord'. That didn’t make her a hero; it just made her a bully. And the idea that she had picked up any qualities of Rassilon's at all made her shudder with distaste. Ashamed of herself, she dropped her head and massaged her temples, closing her eyes tightly. She heard the man move in front of her and say something but ignored him completely, steadying her breathing and mentally cursing herself. Omega help her, he would be so proud of her now, wouldn't he? Intimidating helpless shobogans, spouting the same elitist bullshit he always came out of. Her father, she guessed, would not be proud.
When she had gotten control of her anger, she had bit her lip so hard that it was bleeding, and she licked away the salt before looking back up at the gun that was now cautiously pointed at her once again. Everyone was quiet, and the tension could have been cut with a knife, but nobody outside seemed to have reacted to the kerfuffle. Eventually, scooping the child into her arms and lowering her scarf from her face, the woman tentatively spoke again and broke the silence.
“...he was your father, wasn’t he?” Roda nodded silently, and the woman sighed. “You have his eyes. He was good to us. Always sheltered us, and gave us supplies.” She held her child tightly, reaching out to stroke Roda’s cheek with the back of her hand. It took all of Roda's willpower not to flinch away, even as the words seemed to make no sense. He had aided rebels? Why? “I’m sorry for your loss, little one but… we would never have killed him.”
Roda’s mouth opened and shut again, suspicion warring with confusion. Helped them? Sheltered them? It had to be a lie. Her mother had been in the Council, and her father had been a Librarian. They were - as Rassilon was always want to remind her - good, respectable Prydonians and members of society. Why would her father have given aid to violent rebels who didn’t believe in Time Lord culture? And besides, the Castellan had been explicit about what happened from day one. Her father’s body had been found surrounded by shobogans with sharp knives and Time Lord blood on their hands. It was a clear-cut case, even if they had never admitted to the crime. Denied their involvement. They had faced justice, Roda had been told that time and time throughout her life. They wouldn’t kill anybody else ever again… but what if they had died for a crime that they didn’t commit...?
Her legs threatened to go out from underneath her, but Roda stood her ground; not pushing the woman away from her but not returning the affection, either. She didn’t feel… threatened. Even though there was a gun pointed at her, and five and a half potentially dangerous people locked inside the Prydonian Library, somehow she knew that she was safe among them. Despite her anger and her pain, the same voice that told her to believe in Robin Hood was telling her that she could trust these strangers, and that she should give them a reason to trust her.
Wondering if she would regret it - if she would even live to do so - Roda held out her hands calmly as she took a step back, reaching once more for the door handle of the Library. She pushed it open with one foot - not looking over her shoulder - walking backwards and gesturing for the shobogan to follow.
“Put the gun down,” she said, as calmly and quietly as she could manage, “and come in here. The Castellan won’t look inside the Library, it's been locked forever..."
“Why should we trust you?” asked the man with the gun. Roda looked at him sadly, and shrugged once.
“Because I’m trusting you?” She tried again for a nervous smile. “And I’m my father’s daughter. That,” she shrugged again, “and you could just shoot me if you don’t trust me. All I had was…” she gestured at the discarded marble bust with her foot. “I'm not a threat. And it seems to me like you don’t have much of a choice.”