Fight or Flight ( Doctor Who Fanfiction )

Paris.

Five Months After.

I hadn't been out of my bed in almost a week since we arrived in Paris. In all that time, I might have eaten one full meal. I didn't know what my parents thought or where they were, and I did not want to.

The door behind me opened, and I didn't move from where I was curled up on my side.

"Miss King?"

I didn't know that name, but I vaguely recognized the voice. It was our elderly house manager, who looked after the rest of the staff. I might have met her before when we were in Paris, but I'd forgotten everyone's names. She had been visiting me, imploring me to eat. I hadn't said a word to her.

"I know you don't want me disturbing you, Omara," she said gently. "But there's someone here to see you."

There was no one who I wanted to see. Unless my father had ordered me to appear, nothing could move me from this bed.

"It seems he's come quite a long way. A Rory Williams?"

My stomach dropped. I was sitting starkly upright before I'd even remembered who that was.

"I'll put him in the downstairs parlor."

I was just about myself enough to be annoyed at her for bringing him in when I would have sent him away. But he was here now.

I slowly lifted myself off the mattress and staggered over to the vanity by the window. I couldn't see anything more than a black silhouette of myself in the mirror, but nothing could persuade me to turn on a light. It seemed fitting somehow, anyway. I claw-clipped my hair, and removed my old nightwear in favor of a shirt and slacks (black on principle), and made my way downstairs slowly, ignoring the sideways stares I received from the staff.

I stood at the top of a spiral staircase into the parlor for a moment, staring down at him: he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, dripping wet, looking around. A small, skinny boy, with a mop of light brown hair slicked to his forehead. And those eyes, always so kind.

"Why are you here," I asked, and part of me realized it was the first time I'd spoken in a week.

He jumped and looked up at me. "I'm worried about you. We all are."

I started walking down the staircase, and only spoke again when I was on the last step. "I don't see why. I heard you all made a fine little team without me."

"Come on, Omara."

I stood still at the bottom of the case, arms folded. A deadpan stare was all I had the energy for.

"You didn't have any right."

"No, we didn't. And if you want to throw me out and never speak to any of us ever again, I'll understand. But I just wanted to... to..."

"What? What did you just want to do?" I demanded.

"Apologize. We hurt you... I  hurt you. I know what we did was wrong. Amy knows it too, she's just so bad at admitting it. We were terrible friends to you, Omara."

Outside, thunder cracked. Rain sheeted against the side of the penthouse.

"You know, everyone always preferred Rue to me," I said coldly. "I always knew it. And do you know what? I didn't even mind all that much, because how could I fault anyone for liking her more when I did too? But with you all, I thought - I thought that there was a place for me."

"There - there is. There is a place for you, Omara. You were never second to her, not to us. And if you come back, we will prove it to you. Look, we can never, ever make up for what we did. But we love you, and we don't - I don't want to lose you too."

My cold demeanor was unwavering, but I gave him a curt nod. "I'll think about it. Anything else?"

"How are you?"

I raised my eyebrows, well aware of how ill I looked. "Never better."

"Have you been sleeping?"

I just stared at him.

"I haven't either," he continued. "It's kind of hard to do anything lately."

I nodded, and slowly looked him over. "You're a long way from Leadworth. Isn't today a school day?"

"I cut class."

"You? "

"Me. I saw in the paper your parents were spotted in Paris. I knew it was a long-shot since you're not always with them, but it was my best chance to talk to you."

I nodded slowly. "Do you want some tea?"

"That sounds nice."

"Tea," I said flatly to a person who was passing through. "And some towels."

The man nodded and scurried off.

I sat down on the sofa slowly and Rory followed hesitantly.

"How's Melody?"

He shook his head. "She's a mess. We all are. But I think she's holding it together the best."

We sank into silence after this.

"What have you been doing?" He asked finally.

"Nothing," I answered, and I think he understood that I meant it in the most literal sense.

A couple of people brought in supplies for tea and cakes, and someone else brought a few towels and Rory thanked them all profusely.

He dried out his hair and made himself a cup of tea, all while I looked at my hands in my lap quietly. Rory had never felt the need to fill silence with a bunch of empty words. He was always willing to sit with silence, something I'd never been very good at. He wasn't unlike Rue in that sense.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way, Rory."

He went still. "I know."

"I never expected to be happy. It was fine. But now she's gone, and - " I put a hand over my mouth, but managed to gain control again. "Now it doesn't mean anything."

"Hey." I looked up, and he seemed like he was trying desperately to find the right words. "You mean something, Omara."

I looked at the tea spread out on the table.

"Do you want a cup?" He asked.

"Not really."

"Can I make you one anyway?"

I sat there for a moment, staring into space, and finally nodded.