There, and Back Again - Chapter 12
Jul. 31st, 2020 07:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
schrodingers_time_ladyTitle: There, and Back Again - Chapter 12
Fandom: Doctor Who
Character(s): Rodageitmososa (OC), Odell (OC), Sax (OC), Bren (OC), Tillie (OC), Ellan (OC), Z'man (OC)
Ships(s): Rodageitmososa/Perigraphaltas
Previous Chapter: Chapter 11
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: Good grief, the OCs took over. Again - no beta, just me. :)
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As Roda stood in the arched doorway - impatient and nervous - the shobogans all grouped together to talk among themselves once again. All except for the older lady and her child. Roda waggled her fingers at the child (careful to keep her hands in view of the person with the potentially happy trigger finger) and got a giggle for her troubles that almost, but not quite, made her smile more genuine. The woman studied her curiously, taking in the oil on her cheek and the loose trousers and tunic she had substituted for her usual school robes, now that a proper summer was settling in one again. The tunic was Peri’s, and more than a little too big for her, but it was comfortable. It also had the remarkable knack for making her look smaller than she actually was, and just a little bit more scruffy than she was sure Rassilon would approve of.
The shobogan seemed to come to some sort of conclusion while Roda was under scrutiny, and led by the armed man - their leader? - they migrated into the Library one at a time with the haste of people certain they would be caught at any moment. Which, she supposed, they were. She sighed with relief as the man holstered his gun once again, and she quietly locked the door behind them, putting her back to it as the shobogans milled around the lower level as if they’d been there before. By their admission of course, they had, but she still wasn't quite sure what to make of them. She suspected that the feeling was probably mutual, but at least no one was shooting anybody.
“Thank you.” It was the woman who spoke up, reaching out to squeeze Roda’s forearm where she stood defensively against the door. It felt good to have her back to an escape route, just in case her hearts were leading her to ruin. “We won’t stay long, we just-”
“We need a place to hide from that bastard Temia and his bullies," snapped the older man, interrupting. The woman rolled her eyes. "Is that allowed, Time Lady?”
The leader - Roda decided from his behaviour, he had to be - was far less pleasant than the woman who had spoken before, his tone sharp and bitter. It was raspy, as though he smoked too much, or had been ill in the past. Roda looked at the obvious repair work needing done to his clothes and then to her own, feeling a stab of guilt that while the people in the Citadel lived in peace and prosperity, those outside of it were clearly suffering. All of her life she had been told that they were rebels and terrorists and violent criminals, and that as such they deserved to live like barbarians. But the people in front of her were just that - people. People who needed help - people who, apparently, her father had trusted, even if it had gotten him killed.
One thing nagged at her, though, and she realised with a start that the leader's voice was familiar, if unkind. Had he been one of the people who had met with her father on that day they’d slid down the banisters over and over again? Was he telling the truth?
“You don’t need my permission for anything,” she said tentatively, hoping that it was the right thing to say. But the man only snorted disdainfully.
“Excuse me if I don’t believe you. You high and mighty Lords and Ladies always-”
“Sax, she’s Meyer’s daughter. She let us in.” The woman rolled her eyes, juggling her child from her hip to Roda’s surprised arms to make her point. Roda held them at arm’s length at first - not sure that she had ever been handed a Tot to hold before, in living memory - until the child made grabby hands for her curls and she was forced to hold them close if only to save her hair from being tugged. Curls bounced, and the child giggled, oblivious to the adults bickering. “Don’t you think we can trust her?”
“She said herself she wasn’t going to help us, Odell.” The man ran a hand through his hair. “We’re staying here until the Castellan’s gone and not a moment longer.”
“Fine,” snorted the women - Odell? “So we may as well trust her until then, right?”
Without gracing that question with another response the man turned away, throwing his hands in the air and disappearing into the depths of the Library. Roda reached a hand out to stop him - no one but her had been inside the building in nearly two hundred and fifty years - but she wasn’t quick enough. And besides, what was she supposed to say? ‘Excuse me, but I’m still upset about my father’s death which I’m still not convinced you didn’t cause, so I’d rather you not look at his books?’ It sounded stupid even to think about. It wasn't as though he'd snuck his way into the building just to destroy the books...
Instead, she sank into her father’s armchair behind a large, messy desk, moving the child to her lap and absentmindedly looking through the desk drawers for something that might entertain them. It wasn't exactly a playroom, but she found a doll that might have been hers - not that she recognized it at all - and the child took it with a squeal of delight as though they had never had a toy of their own before. With a spike of guilt, Roda wondered if they ever had. She ruffled the child's hair, making the doll say 'hello' and smiling gently. "Keep it. I'm too big for dollies."
Soon the woman joined them, perching on the edge of the desk and smiling fondly at their interaction. She sighed, and dusted her palms off on her lap.
“Don’t mind Sax,” she said quietly, fondly, picking up papers for something to do with her hands. Roda didn’t stop her. “Sometimes I don’t think he trusts his own parents.”
“I don’t trust him either,” admitted Roda, eliciting an honest laugh from Odell.
“No. No, that’s fair…” Odell sighed sadly, and then gestured at the remaining three shobogan who had been largely silent throughout the arguments. “Grumpy one’s my husband, Sax. I’m Odell. This is Bren,” she pointed at the only other person who had spoken up, “Ellan and Z’man. The wriggler on your knee,” she reached forward, ruffling the child’s hair, “is Tillie.”
“I’m free!” Tillie announced proudly, holding up two fingers and then - frowning thoughtfully - a final third one. She gave Roda another toothy grin, dropping her hand and prodding at an empty spot in her mouth with her tongue. "An' I lost a toof!"
“That’s... nice,” said Roda, weakly, trying to remember all of the names and struggling to know what to say, period. “I’m two hundred and fifty.” She paused. “And uh… Roda. My name’s Roda.”
“Bit short for a Time Lord,” commented one of the shobogan - Bren? - awkwardly. “Shouldn’t it be something stupid like,” he took a deep breath, “Rodainthelibraryallhighandmightytimewotsitorother?”
"How did you say all that in one..." Roda shook her head, blinking. "I mean, it is," she added, only half reproachfully. "Not... that. But I'm just Roda. I'm no one important, and it's," she grinned, going for a joke, "well, easier to say."
Bren roared with laughter. The rest of the group fell into silence once again. Ellan and Z’man - clearly the youngest of the group, other than Tillie - wandered around the room exploring the Library, picking up books from time to time and thumbing through them absentmindedly. Some were in Gallifreyan, while others were in a million other languages that she wondered if shobogans would be able to read. Even some Time Lords couldn't; without prolonged experience to a TARDIS translation matrix, you had to learn some languages from scratch. But Roda couldn’t help but feel an unexpected pang of pride that the books - whether understood or not - were getting some attention again after all this time. Tillie continued to play with the doll, singing some toothy song clearly of her own invention to herself, occasionally overbalancing on Roda's lap in a way that had Roda lurching to make sure she didn't hit the ground. Bren and Odell - apparently satisfied that Roda wasn't a danger to the child - put their heads together to talk quietly among themselves, and Roda found herself staring at the table most of the time, at a loss as to how to feel about the unexpected turn of events for the day.
On the one hand, she was harbouring fugitives from the law. Fugitives who - despite their claims - might have been friends with the people who killed her father; or even the killers themselves. Fugitives who - if found here, in a Library that she would inherit in just fifty years - could not simply be hand waved away by the Authority (deserving of capitalization) of Rassilon, and who could get her into some real trouble. If the Castellan had any suspicions that someone was hiding here, it would be Roda’s neck on the line just as much of the shobogans. And if that happened, she could lose the Library, or worse.
On the other hand… they hadn’t given her any reason to feel threatened, at least not yet. (Apart from the gun pointed at her, of course, but she figured she could put that down to them being as unsure about her, at first, as she was about them.) They seemed to be scared and honest people - and friendly enough, apart from Sax - and Roda’s gut was telling her that despite all of the evidence she could trust them. For now, they seemed to have trusted her, so she owed them at least that in return. And the truth of her father’s death was beginning to sit leaden in her stomach; if she could help them, maybe the could shine some light on the real story. Tell her about a side of her father that she might never have heard before. After two centuries of never hearing his name outside of taunts and sympathies, there was something refreshing about thinking there was something new to know about him. And even if they couldn’t tell her anything that she didn't know, what harm ever came of helping people? That shouldn't come at a cost.
She wondered if Robin Hood would be proud. She wondered if her father would be proud.
“How did you know my father?”
It wasn’t the question that she had meant to ask, but it was the one that spilled out of her mouth. She had meant to start with something ‘more important’ like ‘why are you being chased by the Castellan?’ or ‘if you’re so innocent, why are you carrying weapons?’ But as soon as she said it, she knew that it was the only question that she really cared about.
Odell looked at her, raising an eyebrow before giving a small, sad smile. She gestured at an abandoned chair, as if asking for permission, and when Roda gave a cautious nod slipped into it. Tilly wriggled out of Roda’s lap and rushed over to her mother, showing off the doll with delight, and Odell took a minute or two to let the child chatter at her before returning her attention to Roda. She tilted her head to one side, a curious look on her face as she tried to decided where to begin.
“How much do you remember about him?”
Roda chewed at her already torn lip. “He…” Why was she telling these strangers anything? “He died when I was eight. I remember his hands, his smile." Sadness gripped her throat, choking out the words, and she chided herself for the weakness as she cleared her throat and continued. "I remember sliding down the banister with him, and the stories he used to tell me. Riding on his shoulders.” She hesitated, wondering if she should show her hand. “I remember him talking to you. I think. Or... Sax, at least.”
Odell nodded thoughtfully. “He did. Many times. I suppose you’re old enough that perhaps you’d remember… but I was much younger, then.” She sighed, looking at her knees. “Your father was a good man. Your mother, too." Roda's eyes widened - she didn't know her mother at all, and no one ever had anything to say about her that wasn't 'she made a good councilwoman'. "They sheltered us, even before you were born. Meyer hid us from the Castellan when we needed to creep into the Citadel for supplies." She pointed at the table Roda sat at. "There's a hidden room, below this floor."
Roda blinked. "I - what?"
Odell chuckled and continued, not answering the question. "And your mother, well, Dahle could have looked a god in the eye and lied to their face; no one ever suspected anything.”
“But why did they help you?” Roda shook her head, her mind reeling. Despite herself, despite how rude it might have been, she couldn’t help but put out careful psychic feelers, looking for some sign that she was being lied to. On the surface, at least, all of Odell’s words seemed to be the truth. Or at least, the truth as she saw it. But if that was the case then it changed… everything. All of her life, she had hated the wrong people for her father’s death, while the real villains could easily still be walking around the Citadel! “Why them?”
“Because they were there? Because they were kind?” Odell shrugged. “Because no one else did? Does it really matter?”
“Was my father killed because he helped you?”
A look of sincere pain crossed Odell’s face, and she played with Tillie’s hair absentmindedly. “...maybe. I don’t know. If he was, I…” she looked up at Roda, who was surprised to see tears in the older woman’s eyes. “If he was, then I’m sorry. I truly am.”
Pain lacerated Roda’s hearts. She slumped in the chair, feeling hollowed out and shocked. Truth, again, in Odell’s eyes. Honesty. Roda pulled back her feelers, ashamed at herself for expecting that she was being lied to. Odell truly was sorry, and… was it so hard to believe that her father had been kind, even to Gallifrey’s supposed enemies? That was the man she remembered, after all. And from everything she had ever been told about her mother, the idea that she could lie to Rassilon’s face wasn’t all that surprising, either. But it was still a lot to take in. She had believed what now sounded like a lie for more than two hundred years, and this new ‘truth’ wasn’t something she could just adopt in a second. She realised with a start that she wanted to believe that her father had been a good man, a trusted man, but that meant believing that his death had gone unavenged, and that his kindness could have been the cause. But if he hadn’t been killed by the shobogans, who had got to him? Shobogan terrorists who weren’t affiliated with these ones? Random criminals? Or - and this idea was by far the hardest to swallow - had it been the Castellan himself? Mistaking her father for a shobogan because of those he was around, or perhaps punishing him for… what? Treason? Harbouring fugitives?
Who was she to believe? The Time Lords she had known all of her life, or a bunch of rebels she had truly met for the first time today? She shook her head, making a frustrated noise under her breath that she knew Odell hadn't failed to notice. She needed time and space to think, and she couldn’t get it here. But there was nowhere for her to run to, and she was damned if she was leaving these people alone in the Library. Even if she’d decided that she could trust them - and so far, she had - that trust only went so far. They had still pointed a gun at her, and they were still armed, and there was still the very real chance that they were adept liars with better telepathic abilities than she gave them credit for and were the murderous bastards she’d always thought they were after all.
Except… she hadn’t. She had been sympathetic to the stories of rebels arrested within the Citadel walls since she was a teenager; ever since she had learned about the Merry Men of Sherwood. Which meant that she was sympathetic to a bunch of murderers or a complete idiot, or there was more to the story than the Council wanted the people of Gallifrey to believe.
The latter made an uncomfortable amount of sense.
“Why are you here?” she asked, steering the topic away from her father. “Today, I mean. Not…” she waved a hand at the Library. “Not here, but in the Citadel?”
It was Bren who answered. He looked young, with dishevelled black hair and a heavy scar splitting his face orthogonally. Roda would have guessed that he was about her age - either literally, or mentally; she hadn't paid anywhere near enough attention in Gallifreyan biology and they barely touched on the shobogans as it were - although while she had twelve whole lives ahead of her this was his one and only. What was that like? she wondered. Living one life knowing you’d die at the end of it?
“Prison break.”
Roda's jaw. “...what?”
“Sax’s brother,” explained Odell, all gentleness gone from her face. “He was always too soft. Figured you Time Lords - no offence, the other ones - wouldn’t harm ‘im if he just asked for some food.”
“Sandstorms in the drylands destroyed our crops this year,” continued Bren. “The old man figured if we just explained…”
“Sax tried to stop him," picked up Odell, as Bren made fists and fell quiet. "But he wouldn’t listen. Went off on his own, got himself captured.” Odell swallowed. “We don’t even-"
“We don’t even know if he’s still alive,” finished Bren, expression dark. “But we had to know. We look after our own.”
Roda felt herself open and close her fists in her lap, a flash of anger overwhelming her. She wasn't sure exactly who she was angry at, only that the whole situation felt overwhelmingly unfair.
“That doesn’t make any sense! We have plenty of food to spare, even replicators." She ran a hand through her hair, tugging strands loose haphazardly. "If you had just asked-”
“What?” snorted Bren. “Then your Lord President would have welcomed us in with open arms? Fed and sheltered us? Sent us on our way with food to spare and his almighty blessing?" He looked away, his hackles just as raised as Roda's were. "Is that what they tell you Time Lords they do, to sate your consciences? Or are you all simply too privileged not to realise what 'we took care of them' really means?”
"Hey! We're not all like..."
Roda frowned, unable to find a good argument. He was right. They never did give the shobogans a chance to speak for themselves, and many of the older Time Lords considered them to be barbaric and savage. And yet here she was, having a perfectly reasoned conversation with two people who were certainly a couple of meals short of well nourished. Surely not every Time Lord had always turned them away, but these days… she didn’t know a single Time Lord who wouldn’t have, either.
Roda’s nose scrunched up in displeasure. It wasn’t unheard of for shobogans to be taken prisoner, especially if he’d been mistaken for a rebel. And there had been executions, of course, or at least charges laid. She had never really paid it much attention, and she was beginning to think that perhaps she should have. But she hadn't heard about any shobogan activity in the Citadel recently - was it being covered up? Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding. Perhaps if she…
She didn’t finish that thought. No, she highly doubted Rassilon would let the man go if she just asked him nicely. Not with the elections coming up in the next couple of weeks, to coincide with the recent graduation ceremonies. He had spent more time than usual in the Panopticon, and given so many speeches that Roda no longer bothered to tune into them. And even if he was inclined to listen to her, she doubted he would do her a favour quite as big as this without significant proof, which she wouldn't be able to give without admitting her involvement. Call her cowardly, but she didn't see that admittance going well at all...
“Why bring your child, then?” The thought nagged at her, as Roda watched Tillie play as though she was any other Time Tot. What separated shobogans from Time Lords, really, but for a symbiote that could have been given to any of them. But for the grace of science, Roda was a Time Lord, and they were shobogans. And yet she had been raised to think of them as the enemy. Tillie was just like any other Tot in the kindergarten. “If you thought you had to come armed, why bring her?”
Bren laughed humourlessly. “She snuck along. Hid in our transport. S’why we came here, to Mey-” he cut off, and pursed his lips. “Well, to you I guess. 'Cause we couldn't let her get hurt.”
“Doesn’t matter if any of us get captured or killed,” said Odell, holding onto her daughter tight. “But not my Tillie. They won't have my Tillie. I thought maybe if we came here, your father could hide us until the Castellan gave up the hunt, then help us get out. And if he had connections in the Council, maybe he could find out if Mal was still…”
Odell looked away, clearly upset. Roda wanted to reach out to her and comfort her, but she didn't know if she would just be pushed away, or make the pain worse. Instead - feeling as though she had to do something to make this right - she slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out the by-now crushed bar she had stolen away from the Academy canteen some time ago and had found in her trousers that morning. It wasn’t the tastiest thing in the world, and she had probably sat on it at some point in the day. She reckoned it had been there for weeks if not longer (honestly, she was just surprised that Peri hadn't thrown it out) but they were designed to last for long school trips that the older students went on. It would still be good to eat. Tearing it open with her teeth she pulled herself to her feet and held out the sticky, half-wrapped package to Tillie.
"Here. I know it doesn't... fix things. But it tastes of berries."
The child glanced at her mother for permission, eyes wide with wonder, and then stuffed half of the bar into her mouth in one go when her Odell nodded at her. Crumbs went everywhere and it wasn’t long until the bar was devoured and Odell’s sleeves were a mess of sticky smudges as she dabbed at her child’s face.
Bren watched her with a new expression on his face, his opinion slowly changing. He leaned casually against the wall, sizing Roda up with newfound interest.
“You are Meyer’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Why would I lie about that?” Roda asked quietly, disbelievingly.
“Because Time Lords always lie?”
“I don’t,” Roda argued. “At least, y'know," she tried to smile, "not about something like this. So that’s one of us, at least.”
"One in a million."
Roda sighed, but there wasn't a good comeback to that. “What are you going to do about your… prison break?”
Odell’s face fell again. Her voice was almost a whisper. “If he is alive, s'not much we can do now. Castellan’s going to be turning the whole Citadel upside down looking for us.”
“You can stay here,” Roda said, earnestly. It was - and she knew it - the very least that she could do, but her hands were tied. As the ward of the President, she had nowhere better to offer them and she wasn't stupid enough not to know that getting caught would be a diplomatic issue on a colossal scale that would... well, be an absolute headache, at the very least. But she was also only one person. She might have been largely powerless, but she would never forgive herself if she didn't do something. “I’ll - I’ll bring you more food, whatever you need. If Castellan Temia tries to force his way in here, I’ll just tell him it’s my inheritance."
Bren grinned wickedly. "You think you can tell off the Castellan? Now that I wish I could see."
"I have... connections," she said, vaguely, before hurrying on. Best not to let them ask what connections and let slip who had raised her. Somehow, it felt as though mentioning Rassilon’s name was about the worst thing that she could do. And it wasn’t as though she could ask him a favour, anyway. Not without giving away the fact that she was harbouring fugitives in the Library, apparently just like her father had done. Apparently, suggested a little voice, just as my father had gotten himself killed. "But anyway, when the alarm dies down, you can-”
“We blew our chance soon as we set the alarms off. They’ll up security. If my brother in law isn’t already dead, there’s no way in Skaro we’re getting him out now.”
“I could…” Roda trailed off. “I mean, I could ask questions.” She knew how weak the offer was as soon as Odell pulled another face at her, and held up her hands apologetically.
“You don’t have to help us.”
What went unspoken between them was the fact that she probably couldn’t. Neither was ready to say it out loud.
“I do, though!” argued Roda, eyes flashing. “If - if my father would have… even if he didn’t, you’ve done nothing to hurt me. Why would I hurt you?”
“Because you’re a Time Lord?" As Sax reappeared, skimming through a book he had chosen from the Library seemingly at random, Roda felt her frustration grow again. Oh, she might have decided that she liked Odell and Bren and Tillie, but Sax was still an asshole. And his blind hatred of her was beginning to get more than a little tiring. "Because you can?”
“Oh, shut up Sax.” Putting Tilly on the ground to keep playing Odell stood up, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at her husband. She was a small, round-faced woman and seemed to be half his height, with cropped brown hair and a crooked nose. Sax, despite his age, could have overpowered them all, Roda guessed. But it didn’t matter at all to Odell, who glared up at him as though she had the power of the heart of a TARDIS behind her. Sax raised an eyebrow, but bit his tongue. “The child says we can stay here.”
“I’m coming on three hundred…” Roda pouted despite herself, muttering under her breath so that no one could (hopefully) hear her.
“And if she changes her mind?” snapped Sax, gesticulating at Roda with the book. The Time Lady tipped her head, but could only make out the author and not the title. Some Gallifreyan scholar, if she remembered correctly. It had been in her syllabus a few decades back. Not irreplaceable, then, if he damaged it waving it around like an idiot. “What then?”
“Then we cross that bridge when we come to it,” argued Odell. “But I trust her, and Tillie trusts her.”
“Tillie trusts everyone.”
“Not true,” piped up Bren, moving to stand beside Roda as he did so. “She bit Z’man last week because he woke her up too early.” His hand ghosted down to take Roda’s, and she found herself squeezing his fingers, and shooting him a sideways smile. He isn't bad looking, said a cheeky little voice at the back of her mind. She blushed, but he smiled back. “And I trust her, too. She said she’d try and find out what happened to Mal.”
Sax snorted derisively. “She’s either lying, or stupid.”
"Probably stupid," said Roda, self-deprecatingly.
“But she means well,” said Odell. Roda wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or not. “That has to count for something.”
“I still don’t like her.”
“Fine,” snapped Odell, tweaking her husband on the nose. Sax recoiled with surprise, but shut his mouth. “But you like me, and you like Bren. And I say she’s not going to turn us in, and that you should shut your damn mouth and accept some help for once in your life.”
From the quiet chuckle from Bren standing beside her, still holding her hand, Roda could tell it wasn’t the first time that they’d argued like this. Hopefully, they would make it out of the Citadel alive like she’d said, and it wouldn’t be the last time they argued. Roda couldn’t do much… but she could do something.
“Look,” she said, cutting into the middle of a sentence that seemed to have deviated from the task at hand into petty comments about unbrushed hair and goodness only knew what else. Both shobogans stared at her as though they'd completely forgotten she or Bren was there. “Clearly I have… no idea what life is like for your people. But if my father thought you deserved his help, then so do I. Let me do something to make up for the rest of my people.”
Sax glowered at her for a long time. Roda held his gaze, feeling her resolve waver as her mind still rushed with unanswered questions and utterly destroyed ideologies. But she didn't dare look away, didn't dare give him any reason to think that she wasn't sincere. Two hundred and forty two years of lies…
Eventually he seemed to come to some sort of decision and tore his eyes away from Roda, turning to press a kiss to his wife’s cheek. Odell ran a hand through Sax’s hair, resting her forehead against his in a gesture so like the way that she and Peri shared affection that Roda couldn’t help but smile. And then they pulled apart, and Sax gave her an angry, but defeated, half-grin.
“Fine. But only because Odell’s the one who really wears the trousers.”
“Good,” Roda smiled, genuinely, “and I promise, I’ll do what-”
“I still don’t trust you. And I don’t want your help finding my brother,” Sax interrupted. “But if we can stay here, then you have my… thanks.”
It was a start. Even if Sax would probably have had more fun pulling his own fingernails out than admitting he was grateful for a Time Lord. If everything that they had said was true, then Roda couldn’t find it in herself to blame them. And however long they had to stay here, she would make sure that they were safe as best as she could. Maybe, just maybe, she would finally get some answers.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Character(s): Rodageitmososa (OC), Odell (OC), Sax (OC), Bren (OC), Tillie (OC), Ellan (OC), Z'man (OC)
Ships(s): Rodageitmososa/Perigraphaltas
Previous Chapter: Chapter 11
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: Good grief, the OCs took over. Again - no beta, just me. :)
“It only takes a tweak to make the whole world new.”
- “A Slip of the Keyboard: Collected Non-Fiction”, Terry Pratchett
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As Roda stood in the arched doorway - impatient and nervous - the shobogans all grouped together to talk among themselves once again. All except for the older lady and her child. Roda waggled her fingers at the child (careful to keep her hands in view of the person with the potentially happy trigger finger) and got a giggle for her troubles that almost, but not quite, made her smile more genuine. The woman studied her curiously, taking in the oil on her cheek and the loose trousers and tunic she had substituted for her usual school robes, now that a proper summer was settling in one again. The tunic was Peri’s, and more than a little too big for her, but it was comfortable. It also had the remarkable knack for making her look smaller than she actually was, and just a little bit more scruffy than she was sure Rassilon would approve of.
The shobogan seemed to come to some sort of conclusion while Roda was under scrutiny, and led by the armed man - their leader? - they migrated into the Library one at a time with the haste of people certain they would be caught at any moment. Which, she supposed, they were. She sighed with relief as the man holstered his gun once again, and she quietly locked the door behind them, putting her back to it as the shobogans milled around the lower level as if they’d been there before. By their admission of course, they had, but she still wasn't quite sure what to make of them. She suspected that the feeling was probably mutual, but at least no one was shooting anybody.
“Thank you.” It was the woman who spoke up, reaching out to squeeze Roda’s forearm where she stood defensively against the door. It felt good to have her back to an escape route, just in case her hearts were leading her to ruin. “We won’t stay long, we just-”
“We need a place to hide from that bastard Temia and his bullies," snapped the older man, interrupting. The woman rolled her eyes. "Is that allowed, Time Lady?”
The leader - Roda decided from his behaviour, he had to be - was far less pleasant than the woman who had spoken before, his tone sharp and bitter. It was raspy, as though he smoked too much, or had been ill in the past. Roda looked at the obvious repair work needing done to his clothes and then to her own, feeling a stab of guilt that while the people in the Citadel lived in peace and prosperity, those outside of it were clearly suffering. All of her life she had been told that they were rebels and terrorists and violent criminals, and that as such they deserved to live like barbarians. But the people in front of her were just that - people. People who needed help - people who, apparently, her father had trusted, even if it had gotten him killed.
One thing nagged at her, though, and she realised with a start that the leader's voice was familiar, if unkind. Had he been one of the people who had met with her father on that day they’d slid down the banisters over and over again? Was he telling the truth?
“You don’t need my permission for anything,” she said tentatively, hoping that it was the right thing to say. But the man only snorted disdainfully.
“Excuse me if I don’t believe you. You high and mighty Lords and Ladies always-”
“Sax, she’s Meyer’s daughter. She let us in.” The woman rolled her eyes, juggling her child from her hip to Roda’s surprised arms to make her point. Roda held them at arm’s length at first - not sure that she had ever been handed a Tot to hold before, in living memory - until the child made grabby hands for her curls and she was forced to hold them close if only to save her hair from being tugged. Curls bounced, and the child giggled, oblivious to the adults bickering. “Don’t you think we can trust her?”
“She said herself she wasn’t going to help us, Odell.” The man ran a hand through his hair. “We’re staying here until the Castellan’s gone and not a moment longer.”
“Fine,” snorted the women - Odell? “So we may as well trust her until then, right?”
Without gracing that question with another response the man turned away, throwing his hands in the air and disappearing into the depths of the Library. Roda reached a hand out to stop him - no one but her had been inside the building in nearly two hundred and fifty years - but she wasn’t quick enough. And besides, what was she supposed to say? ‘Excuse me, but I’m still upset about my father’s death which I’m still not convinced you didn’t cause, so I’d rather you not look at his books?’ It sounded stupid even to think about. It wasn't as though he'd snuck his way into the building just to destroy the books...
Instead, she sank into her father’s armchair behind a large, messy desk, moving the child to her lap and absentmindedly looking through the desk drawers for something that might entertain them. It wasn't exactly a playroom, but she found a doll that might have been hers - not that she recognized it at all - and the child took it with a squeal of delight as though they had never had a toy of their own before. With a spike of guilt, Roda wondered if they ever had. She ruffled the child's hair, making the doll say 'hello' and smiling gently. "Keep it. I'm too big for dollies."
Soon the woman joined them, perching on the edge of the desk and smiling fondly at their interaction. She sighed, and dusted her palms off on her lap.
“Don’t mind Sax,” she said quietly, fondly, picking up papers for something to do with her hands. Roda didn’t stop her. “Sometimes I don’t think he trusts his own parents.”
“I don’t trust him either,” admitted Roda, eliciting an honest laugh from Odell.
“No. No, that’s fair…” Odell sighed sadly, and then gestured at the remaining three shobogan who had been largely silent throughout the arguments. “Grumpy one’s my husband, Sax. I’m Odell. This is Bren,” she pointed at the only other person who had spoken up, “Ellan and Z’man. The wriggler on your knee,” she reached forward, ruffling the child’s hair, “is Tillie.”
“I’m free!” Tillie announced proudly, holding up two fingers and then - frowning thoughtfully - a final third one. She gave Roda another toothy grin, dropping her hand and prodding at an empty spot in her mouth with her tongue. "An' I lost a toof!"
“That’s... nice,” said Roda, weakly, trying to remember all of the names and struggling to know what to say, period. “I’m two hundred and fifty.” She paused. “And uh… Roda. My name’s Roda.”
“Bit short for a Time Lord,” commented one of the shobogan - Bren? - awkwardly. “Shouldn’t it be something stupid like,” he took a deep breath, “Rodainthelibraryallhighandmightytimewotsitorother?”
"How did you say all that in one..." Roda shook her head, blinking. "I mean, it is," she added, only half reproachfully. "Not... that. But I'm just Roda. I'm no one important, and it's," she grinned, going for a joke, "well, easier to say."
Bren roared with laughter. The rest of the group fell into silence once again. Ellan and Z’man - clearly the youngest of the group, other than Tillie - wandered around the room exploring the Library, picking up books from time to time and thumbing through them absentmindedly. Some were in Gallifreyan, while others were in a million other languages that she wondered if shobogans would be able to read. Even some Time Lords couldn't; without prolonged experience to a TARDIS translation matrix, you had to learn some languages from scratch. But Roda couldn’t help but feel an unexpected pang of pride that the books - whether understood or not - were getting some attention again after all this time. Tillie continued to play with the doll, singing some toothy song clearly of her own invention to herself, occasionally overbalancing on Roda's lap in a way that had Roda lurching to make sure she didn't hit the ground. Bren and Odell - apparently satisfied that Roda wasn't a danger to the child - put their heads together to talk quietly among themselves, and Roda found herself staring at the table most of the time, at a loss as to how to feel about the unexpected turn of events for the day.
On the one hand, she was harbouring fugitives from the law. Fugitives who - despite their claims - might have been friends with the people who killed her father; or even the killers themselves. Fugitives who - if found here, in a Library that she would inherit in just fifty years - could not simply be hand waved away by the Authority (deserving of capitalization) of Rassilon, and who could get her into some real trouble. If the Castellan had any suspicions that someone was hiding here, it would be Roda’s neck on the line just as much of the shobogans. And if that happened, she could lose the Library, or worse.
On the other hand… they hadn’t given her any reason to feel threatened, at least not yet. (Apart from the gun pointed at her, of course, but she figured she could put that down to them being as unsure about her, at first, as she was about them.) They seemed to be scared and honest people - and friendly enough, apart from Sax - and Roda’s gut was telling her that despite all of the evidence she could trust them. For now, they seemed to have trusted her, so she owed them at least that in return. And the truth of her father’s death was beginning to sit leaden in her stomach; if she could help them, maybe the could shine some light on the real story. Tell her about a side of her father that she might never have heard before. After two centuries of never hearing his name outside of taunts and sympathies, there was something refreshing about thinking there was something new to know about him. And even if they couldn’t tell her anything that she didn't know, what harm ever came of helping people? That shouldn't come at a cost.
She wondered if Robin Hood would be proud. She wondered if her father would be proud.
“How did you know my father?”
It wasn’t the question that she had meant to ask, but it was the one that spilled out of her mouth. She had meant to start with something ‘more important’ like ‘why are you being chased by the Castellan?’ or ‘if you’re so innocent, why are you carrying weapons?’ But as soon as she said it, she knew that it was the only question that she really cared about.
Odell looked at her, raising an eyebrow before giving a small, sad smile. She gestured at an abandoned chair, as if asking for permission, and when Roda gave a cautious nod slipped into it. Tilly wriggled out of Roda’s lap and rushed over to her mother, showing off the doll with delight, and Odell took a minute or two to let the child chatter at her before returning her attention to Roda. She tilted her head to one side, a curious look on her face as she tried to decided where to begin.
“How much do you remember about him?”
Roda chewed at her already torn lip. “He…” Why was she telling these strangers anything? “He died when I was eight. I remember his hands, his smile." Sadness gripped her throat, choking out the words, and she chided herself for the weakness as she cleared her throat and continued. "I remember sliding down the banister with him, and the stories he used to tell me. Riding on his shoulders.” She hesitated, wondering if she should show her hand. “I remember him talking to you. I think. Or... Sax, at least.”
Odell nodded thoughtfully. “He did. Many times. I suppose you’re old enough that perhaps you’d remember… but I was much younger, then.” She sighed, looking at her knees. “Your father was a good man. Your mother, too." Roda's eyes widened - she didn't know her mother at all, and no one ever had anything to say about her that wasn't 'she made a good councilwoman'. "They sheltered us, even before you were born. Meyer hid us from the Castellan when we needed to creep into the Citadel for supplies." She pointed at the table Roda sat at. "There's a hidden room, below this floor."
Roda blinked. "I - what?"
Odell chuckled and continued, not answering the question. "And your mother, well, Dahle could have looked a god in the eye and lied to their face; no one ever suspected anything.”
“But why did they help you?” Roda shook her head, her mind reeling. Despite herself, despite how rude it might have been, she couldn’t help but put out careful psychic feelers, looking for some sign that she was being lied to. On the surface, at least, all of Odell’s words seemed to be the truth. Or at least, the truth as she saw it. But if that was the case then it changed… everything. All of her life, she had hated the wrong people for her father’s death, while the real villains could easily still be walking around the Citadel! “Why them?”
“Because they were there? Because they were kind?” Odell shrugged. “Because no one else did? Does it really matter?”
“Was my father killed because he helped you?”
A look of sincere pain crossed Odell’s face, and she played with Tillie’s hair absentmindedly. “...maybe. I don’t know. If he was, I…” she looked up at Roda, who was surprised to see tears in the older woman’s eyes. “If he was, then I’m sorry. I truly am.”
Pain lacerated Roda’s hearts. She slumped in the chair, feeling hollowed out and shocked. Truth, again, in Odell’s eyes. Honesty. Roda pulled back her feelers, ashamed at herself for expecting that she was being lied to. Odell truly was sorry, and… was it so hard to believe that her father had been kind, even to Gallifrey’s supposed enemies? That was the man she remembered, after all. And from everything she had ever been told about her mother, the idea that she could lie to Rassilon’s face wasn’t all that surprising, either. But it was still a lot to take in. She had believed what now sounded like a lie for more than two hundred years, and this new ‘truth’ wasn’t something she could just adopt in a second. She realised with a start that she wanted to believe that her father had been a good man, a trusted man, but that meant believing that his death had gone unavenged, and that his kindness could have been the cause. But if he hadn’t been killed by the shobogans, who had got to him? Shobogan terrorists who weren’t affiliated with these ones? Random criminals? Or - and this idea was by far the hardest to swallow - had it been the Castellan himself? Mistaking her father for a shobogan because of those he was around, or perhaps punishing him for… what? Treason? Harbouring fugitives?
Who was she to believe? The Time Lords she had known all of her life, or a bunch of rebels she had truly met for the first time today? She shook her head, making a frustrated noise under her breath that she knew Odell hadn't failed to notice. She needed time and space to think, and she couldn’t get it here. But there was nowhere for her to run to, and she was damned if she was leaving these people alone in the Library. Even if she’d decided that she could trust them - and so far, she had - that trust only went so far. They had still pointed a gun at her, and they were still armed, and there was still the very real chance that they were adept liars with better telepathic abilities than she gave them credit for and were the murderous bastards she’d always thought they were after all.
Except… she hadn’t. She had been sympathetic to the stories of rebels arrested within the Citadel walls since she was a teenager; ever since she had learned about the Merry Men of Sherwood. Which meant that she was sympathetic to a bunch of murderers or a complete idiot, or there was more to the story than the Council wanted the people of Gallifrey to believe.
The latter made an uncomfortable amount of sense.
“Why are you here?” she asked, steering the topic away from her father. “Today, I mean. Not…” she waved a hand at the Library. “Not here, but in the Citadel?”
It was Bren who answered. He looked young, with dishevelled black hair and a heavy scar splitting his face orthogonally. Roda would have guessed that he was about her age - either literally, or mentally; she hadn't paid anywhere near enough attention in Gallifreyan biology and they barely touched on the shobogans as it were - although while she had twelve whole lives ahead of her this was his one and only. What was that like? she wondered. Living one life knowing you’d die at the end of it?
“Prison break.”
Roda's jaw. “...what?”
“Sax’s brother,” explained Odell, all gentleness gone from her face. “He was always too soft. Figured you Time Lords - no offence, the other ones - wouldn’t harm ‘im if he just asked for some food.”
“Sandstorms in the drylands destroyed our crops this year,” continued Bren. “The old man figured if we just explained…”
“Sax tried to stop him," picked up Odell, as Bren made fists and fell quiet. "But he wouldn’t listen. Went off on his own, got himself captured.” Odell swallowed. “We don’t even-"
“We don’t even know if he’s still alive,” finished Bren, expression dark. “But we had to know. We look after our own.”
Roda felt herself open and close her fists in her lap, a flash of anger overwhelming her. She wasn't sure exactly who she was angry at, only that the whole situation felt overwhelmingly unfair.
“That doesn’t make any sense! We have plenty of food to spare, even replicators." She ran a hand through her hair, tugging strands loose haphazardly. "If you had just asked-”
“What?” snorted Bren. “Then your Lord President would have welcomed us in with open arms? Fed and sheltered us? Sent us on our way with food to spare and his almighty blessing?" He looked away, his hackles just as raised as Roda's were. "Is that what they tell you Time Lords they do, to sate your consciences? Or are you all simply too privileged not to realise what 'we took care of them' really means?”
"Hey! We're not all like..."
Roda frowned, unable to find a good argument. He was right. They never did give the shobogans a chance to speak for themselves, and many of the older Time Lords considered them to be barbaric and savage. And yet here she was, having a perfectly reasoned conversation with two people who were certainly a couple of meals short of well nourished. Surely not every Time Lord had always turned them away, but these days… she didn’t know a single Time Lord who wouldn’t have, either.
Roda’s nose scrunched up in displeasure. It wasn’t unheard of for shobogans to be taken prisoner, especially if he’d been mistaken for a rebel. And there had been executions, of course, or at least charges laid. She had never really paid it much attention, and she was beginning to think that perhaps she should have. But she hadn't heard about any shobogan activity in the Citadel recently - was it being covered up? Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding. Perhaps if she…
She didn’t finish that thought. No, she highly doubted Rassilon would let the man go if she just asked him nicely. Not with the elections coming up in the next couple of weeks, to coincide with the recent graduation ceremonies. He had spent more time than usual in the Panopticon, and given so many speeches that Roda no longer bothered to tune into them. And even if he was inclined to listen to her, she doubted he would do her a favour quite as big as this without significant proof, which she wouldn't be able to give without admitting her involvement. Call her cowardly, but she didn't see that admittance going well at all...
“Why bring your child, then?” The thought nagged at her, as Roda watched Tillie play as though she was any other Time Tot. What separated shobogans from Time Lords, really, but for a symbiote that could have been given to any of them. But for the grace of science, Roda was a Time Lord, and they were shobogans. And yet she had been raised to think of them as the enemy. Tillie was just like any other Tot in the kindergarten. “If you thought you had to come armed, why bring her?”
Bren laughed humourlessly. “She snuck along. Hid in our transport. S’why we came here, to Mey-” he cut off, and pursed his lips. “Well, to you I guess. 'Cause we couldn't let her get hurt.”
“Doesn’t matter if any of us get captured or killed,” said Odell, holding onto her daughter tight. “But not my Tillie. They won't have my Tillie. I thought maybe if we came here, your father could hide us until the Castellan gave up the hunt, then help us get out. And if he had connections in the Council, maybe he could find out if Mal was still…”
Odell looked away, clearly upset. Roda wanted to reach out to her and comfort her, but she didn't know if she would just be pushed away, or make the pain worse. Instead - feeling as though she had to do something to make this right - she slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out the by-now crushed bar she had stolen away from the Academy canteen some time ago and had found in her trousers that morning. It wasn’t the tastiest thing in the world, and she had probably sat on it at some point in the day. She reckoned it had been there for weeks if not longer (honestly, she was just surprised that Peri hadn't thrown it out) but they were designed to last for long school trips that the older students went on. It would still be good to eat. Tearing it open with her teeth she pulled herself to her feet and held out the sticky, half-wrapped package to Tillie.
"Here. I know it doesn't... fix things. But it tastes of berries."
The child glanced at her mother for permission, eyes wide with wonder, and then stuffed half of the bar into her mouth in one go when her Odell nodded at her. Crumbs went everywhere and it wasn’t long until the bar was devoured and Odell’s sleeves were a mess of sticky smudges as she dabbed at her child’s face.
Bren watched her with a new expression on his face, his opinion slowly changing. He leaned casually against the wall, sizing Roda up with newfound interest.
“You are Meyer’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Why would I lie about that?” Roda asked quietly, disbelievingly.
“Because Time Lords always lie?”
“I don’t,” Roda argued. “At least, y'know," she tried to smile, "not about something like this. So that’s one of us, at least.”
"One in a million."
Roda sighed, but there wasn't a good comeback to that. “What are you going to do about your… prison break?”
Odell’s face fell again. Her voice was almost a whisper. “If he is alive, s'not much we can do now. Castellan’s going to be turning the whole Citadel upside down looking for us.”
“You can stay here,” Roda said, earnestly. It was - and she knew it - the very least that she could do, but her hands were tied. As the ward of the President, she had nowhere better to offer them and she wasn't stupid enough not to know that getting caught would be a diplomatic issue on a colossal scale that would... well, be an absolute headache, at the very least. But she was also only one person. She might have been largely powerless, but she would never forgive herself if she didn't do something. “I’ll - I’ll bring you more food, whatever you need. If Castellan Temia tries to force his way in here, I’ll just tell him it’s my inheritance."
Bren grinned wickedly. "You think you can tell off the Castellan? Now that I wish I could see."
"I have... connections," she said, vaguely, before hurrying on. Best not to let them ask what connections and let slip who had raised her. Somehow, it felt as though mentioning Rassilon’s name was about the worst thing that she could do. And it wasn’t as though she could ask him a favour, anyway. Not without giving away the fact that she was harbouring fugitives in the Library, apparently just like her father had done. Apparently, suggested a little voice, just as my father had gotten himself killed. "But anyway, when the alarm dies down, you can-”
“We blew our chance soon as we set the alarms off. They’ll up security. If my brother in law isn’t already dead, there’s no way in Skaro we’re getting him out now.”
“I could…” Roda trailed off. “I mean, I could ask questions.” She knew how weak the offer was as soon as Odell pulled another face at her, and held up her hands apologetically.
“You don’t have to help us.”
What went unspoken between them was the fact that she probably couldn’t. Neither was ready to say it out loud.
“I do, though!” argued Roda, eyes flashing. “If - if my father would have… even if he didn’t, you’ve done nothing to hurt me. Why would I hurt you?”
“Because you’re a Time Lord?" As Sax reappeared, skimming through a book he had chosen from the Library seemingly at random, Roda felt her frustration grow again. Oh, she might have decided that she liked Odell and Bren and Tillie, but Sax was still an asshole. And his blind hatred of her was beginning to get more than a little tiring. "Because you can?”
“Oh, shut up Sax.” Putting Tilly on the ground to keep playing Odell stood up, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at her husband. She was a small, round-faced woman and seemed to be half his height, with cropped brown hair and a crooked nose. Sax, despite his age, could have overpowered them all, Roda guessed. But it didn’t matter at all to Odell, who glared up at him as though she had the power of the heart of a TARDIS behind her. Sax raised an eyebrow, but bit his tongue. “The child says we can stay here.”
“I’m coming on three hundred…” Roda pouted despite herself, muttering under her breath so that no one could (hopefully) hear her.
“And if she changes her mind?” snapped Sax, gesticulating at Roda with the book. The Time Lady tipped her head, but could only make out the author and not the title. Some Gallifreyan scholar, if she remembered correctly. It had been in her syllabus a few decades back. Not irreplaceable, then, if he damaged it waving it around like an idiot. “What then?”
“Then we cross that bridge when we come to it,” argued Odell. “But I trust her, and Tillie trusts her.”
“Tillie trusts everyone.”
“Not true,” piped up Bren, moving to stand beside Roda as he did so. “She bit Z’man last week because he woke her up too early.” His hand ghosted down to take Roda’s, and she found herself squeezing his fingers, and shooting him a sideways smile. He isn't bad looking, said a cheeky little voice at the back of her mind. She blushed, but he smiled back. “And I trust her, too. She said she’d try and find out what happened to Mal.”
Sax snorted derisively. “She’s either lying, or stupid.”
"Probably stupid," said Roda, self-deprecatingly.
“But she means well,” said Odell. Roda wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or not. “That has to count for something.”
“I still don’t like her.”
“Fine,” snapped Odell, tweaking her husband on the nose. Sax recoiled with surprise, but shut his mouth. “But you like me, and you like Bren. And I say she’s not going to turn us in, and that you should shut your damn mouth and accept some help for once in your life.”
From the quiet chuckle from Bren standing beside her, still holding her hand, Roda could tell it wasn’t the first time that they’d argued like this. Hopefully, they would make it out of the Citadel alive like she’d said, and it wouldn’t be the last time they argued. Roda couldn’t do much… but she could do something.
“Look,” she said, cutting into the middle of a sentence that seemed to have deviated from the task at hand into petty comments about unbrushed hair and goodness only knew what else. Both shobogans stared at her as though they'd completely forgotten she or Bren was there. “Clearly I have… no idea what life is like for your people. But if my father thought you deserved his help, then so do I. Let me do something to make up for the rest of my people.”
Sax glowered at her for a long time. Roda held his gaze, feeling her resolve waver as her mind still rushed with unanswered questions and utterly destroyed ideologies. But she didn't dare look away, didn't dare give him any reason to think that she wasn't sincere. Two hundred and forty two years of lies…
Eventually he seemed to come to some sort of decision and tore his eyes away from Roda, turning to press a kiss to his wife’s cheek. Odell ran a hand through Sax’s hair, resting her forehead against his in a gesture so like the way that she and Peri shared affection that Roda couldn’t help but smile. And then they pulled apart, and Sax gave her an angry, but defeated, half-grin.
“Fine. But only because Odell’s the one who really wears the trousers.”
“Good,” Roda smiled, genuinely, “and I promise, I’ll do what-”
“I still don’t trust you. And I don’t want your help finding my brother,” Sax interrupted. “But if we can stay here, then you have my… thanks.”
It was a start. Even if Sax would probably have had more fun pulling his own fingernails out than admitting he was grateful for a Time Lord. If everything that they had said was true, then Roda couldn’t find it in herself to blame them. And however long they had to stay here, she would make sure that they were safe as best as she could. Maybe, just maybe, she would finally get some answers.