The Doctor's Reluctant Companion [Tenth Doctor]

Help Me to Help You

I was walking along the sidewalk of my hometown. Well, shuffling was more like it. I didn't want to go home. Home didn't really agree with me most of the time, and I didn't agree with it. Most of the time, I spent the afternoons holed up in my room, separated from my busy parents and siblings. Usually that was fine by me, but lately it had turned into loneliness, and remedying the habit was proving troublesome. Aiming a halfhearted kick at a small stone on the sidewalk, I wished I could be interesting enough to be noticed by people other than my few friends.

I suppose I should probably introduce myself. Cassie Holt, sixteen, sophomore at one of the worst Catholic high schools the United States has to offer. It's chock-full of rich, snobby students and homophobic teachers, and only a few certain people escape that generalization—like my friends and one or two teachers.

As I was squeezing through a crowd, a song I didn't like began playing through my earbuds—some gibberish about doing a time warp again. Irritably, I stabbed my finger down on the skip icon on my phone's screen and hummed in satisfaction when Linkin Park's "Don't Stay" began playing.

That's when I noticed him. A tall, lean man, walking in the opposite direction, wading through the crowd just as I was. Normally, I wouldn't have noticed him at all—spiky brown hair, tan trenchcoat and a brown suit, inscrutable dark eyes never still—but my gaze seemed drawn to him.

What was wrong with me? He certainly wasn't my age. Maybe it was the way he didn't fit in with the crowd. He seemed aloof, separated from the rest of the world, arched brows furrowed in concentration as he delicately squeezed past a pair of elderly men.

I focused on my phone screen to deter any further staring. But before I could do anything, a slim hand closed viselike around my upper arm, twisting me around so I was forced to walk the other way.

"Get off!" I cried, attempting to writhe away from my captor. The man in the trenchcoat stared down at me, pressing a finger to his thin lips.

"Please, don't make a fuss," the man whispered, low voice an out-of-place British accent. "Listen to me."

"Let go of me!" I hissed back, trying to twist my way free.

In answer, he tightened his already rigid grip—damn, this guy was strong—and flashed an innocent smile at an older woman staring suspiciously at us. "Listen. Just keep walking, don't look alarmed. I'm the Doctor, and I need your help. Well... you need mine as well. But it's mostly mutual. Come on, they may be watching."

"Doctor who?" I demanded, interpreting his words with difficulty over Mike Shinoda's vocalizing in my ears. "Who may be watching?"

"I'll explain in a bit. Take those things out, would you?" The Doctor gestured indignantly towards my earbuds, as if he had realized I had the sound cranked up.

"You're crushing my arm," I complained, wondering what would happen if I ran away when he released me.

"All right, all right. Do not run away. If you do, they might just strike early." The Doctor slowly let go of my arm, eyes darting around as if he was being followed.

It was as if he knew what would exactly hook my attention. His words intrigued and slightly terrified me. I quickly yanked my earbuds from my ears, draping them around my neck.

The Doctor peeked around a corner, then beckoned to me. My mind still raced, thinking of every possible way to escape.

"Come on," he sighed impatiently. "Stop thinking about running away. I won't hurt you."

"How did you—"

"I'm not blind. Let's go before they find us."

I planted my feet, setting my jaw defiantly. "I am not moving an inch until you tell me what's going on, you British bastard!"