bigapplesauce | The stranger on the doorstep

Current Music: August 28, 2013

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The stranger on the doorstep

This is probably not a bad thing he's doing, Andrew rationalizes. Yes, they twisted his arm a bit with all that stuff about having put together the pieces and worked out that he'd let the Rebels register him. No, he's not impressed by ROMAC's line about 'only' wanting him to prove his loyalty by putting his connections in the other organization to use. He's hardly fit to be up and about yet, let alone tottering out into the world in search of missing persons, so at the very least they're being terribly negligent about their choice of field agents.

Still, the missing person in question is a missing child, and he'd hardly be doing any harm just by checking it out, would he? The name had rung a bell, but it took him a while to remember just where he'd heard about a Melanie formerly of ROMAC...and just where he could expect to find her now. If he trusted ROMAC to be telling him the full story he could simply tell them what Daniel had told him in a dream, but he doesn't and so he didn't. He knows she was taken away from ROMAC under mysterious circumstances and he knows that she was under quarantine before that (it's not entirely clear whether he's meant to believe that was for her benefit of that of others), but he doesn't know why and he's well aware that he doesn't know how she feels about all this. His assignment is to simply find where she's being 'held' and report back, but he's rather more inclined to have a chat with her and/or this Aziraphale person and then either bring her back himself or cover his tracks and do a song and dance to convince ROMAC he gave it the old college try.

It's not so very difficult to locate the relevant apartment within the building, though each person he has to ask about it is a person too many. Luckily he hasn't run into anyone who knows him well enough to make anything of his sudden reappearance around Rebel-Land, but all the same he doesn't care to linger longer than he has to. He spares a quick glance up and down the hallway, then knocks briskly on the door, bracing himself to shoulder his way in should the door actually be opened.

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It's been a little over a month since Aziraphale brought Melanie out of her cell, and she's begun to think that ROMAC is never going to find her, if they're even looking. Maybe they think the Rift took her back. It certainly could have. So between her confidence in her own safety (because even if ROMAC was looking, they're not getting through Aziraphale's wards) and her familiarity with some residents of the building, she doesn't take the unexpected knock as an automatic threat. Instead, she pads right up to the door, though she makes no move to touch the knob. It wouldn't open under her hand, anyway.

"Yes?" she asks, soft and polite.

Bingo. Really, this was just -- easy. Bit of luck meeting Daniel in that dream, of course, but the actual legwork was hardly anything.

"Hullo!" he calls, emboldened by his apparent success. Best make sure, though. "Can you tell me -- is this where, ah..." he'd pretend to stumble over the name if he weren't a little dubious he's got it right anyway, "Aziraphale lives?"

"It is," Melanie confirms. It sounds like the man (presumably - she can't smell anything through the protective barriers) doesn't know Aziraphale very well, if his hesitation over the name is anything to go by. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have business with the angel. "He's not here right now, but he'll be home--"

She pauses a moment, startled by how easily the word fell out of her. Home. The last place to hold that title was the bunker, a home by default. But that's not what living with Aziraphale feels like. This is more like a pre-Breakdown storybook feeling - it's her home not just because it's where she is, but because it's where she ought to be. Maybe it's not her universe, but she still belongs here.

"... Soon," she belatedly finishes, her focus shifting outward, back towards the stranger outside the door. He has a nice accent, at least. Familiar. "You can wait for him out there, if you want, but I'm afraid I can't let you in." That part sounds a bit more scripted. She's not the least bit sorry that all these wards are in place, and if this man knew just what she was, she doubts he'd be begging to share a little flat with her.

Aziraphale, check. Little girl, check. Quarantine...check? Or just parental protectiveness; it'd hardly be unusual for a child to be under instructions not to open the door for strangers. Andrew grins to himself; assuming this is Melanie it's a relief to find her alive and apparently...normal.

Still, he can hardly assume all that just from what he's heard so far. "That's alright, you've got a nice, comfy hallway out here," he says. "But I think I might want to talk to you just as well -- you're Melanie, aren't you?"

Her brow furrows. It's not so unusual for someone to stop by for Aziraphale without knowing much about her - it's happened before, like when she first met Bee. But he'd stumbled over Aziraphale's name, and he's having no such trouble with hers. If he doesn't know the angel that well, who told him about her presence here? Her friends in the building know she's meant to be a secret.

"Who are you?" she asks, suspicion creeping into her tone. "Who told you about me?"

Melanie's a much more human name; would that help as an excuse?

Well, he's going to have to give her at least an inkling of why he's here at some point, and she's obviously bright enough to have already spotted that something's out of the ordinary. "My name is Andrew," he answers. "There are some people you used to know who are worried about you, and I'm here to see whether they're right to be worried."

Oh, no. Oh, no. ROMAC sent him, and now he knows she's here, and he knows Aziraphale is hiding her. He can't be allowed to report back. She can't physically stop him from going anywhere. All she can do is keep him talking until Aziraphale returns, and it won't be easy to do that without giving him more information that she'd rather ROMAC not have.

Andrew's talking as if he's not really part of ROMAC, personally. It might be a lie, though - a trick to make her say more than she should.

But if it's true, there's information he ought to have.

Melanie sits down in front of the door and links her arms around her knees. "They told you they were worried. Did they also tell you they wanted to do experiments on me?" she asks, trying to keep her tone light and conversational. It's hard to completely stomp out the bitter accusation that underlies it all, though. She'd trusted them.

"No," says Andrew, more than a hint of sadness in his voice now. He should have known -- had more or less guessed -- that there was more to it than simple concern over where she'd got to, particularly when they wouldn't tell him just why she'd been under quarantine. But experiments for what? To undo whatever was keeping her isolated from the rest of humanity, or for some darker purpose? "They didn't tell me that. Do you know why they wanted to do that?"

"It doesn't matter," she says without any trace of pity. "I told them not to do it. I told them there was no point, that it could only make things worse. They didn't listen. That's why I left: to keep everyone safe." And she's not going back.

This, too, might be more than she ought to say. But she doesn't think so. They might as well know that she knows what their plans were, if Andrew gets them the information before Aziraphale arrives. They might as well know she wants to be with Aziraphale and not with them.

Not the answer he expected, though she has just answered one of the core questions he came here to ask. Knowing that she chose to leave matters (it matters a lot), but there's still more he wants to know even if he can already see the call he's inclined to make.

"Alright," he says. "I'm not -- I'm not here to make you come back, not if this is where you want to be. I just want to understand what's happening. Why wouldn't everyone be safe?"

He can't make her do anything, and she's not sure how much a promise is worth if he has no choice but to keep it. He doesn't know that, though. He can't know that, because if there's nothing for him to do here, then there's no reason for him to stay. She can't send Aziraphale after him with nothing to go on but a name and an accent. Which means she has to keep him here, keep him talking, for as long as it takes her angel to arrive and fix this.

There's no harm in telling him things that ROMAC already knows.

"Are you familiar with cordyceps?" she asks. "It's a genus of fungi. Have you heard of it?"

He needs to make his decision one way or the other before this Aziraphale person gets home, but the need for alacrity has to be balanced against the need to know the whole story. If she has a good reason for not wanting to go back to ROMAC, she's not going back to ROMAC. Period. Andrew knows too well how difficult it can be to leave their 'care.'

"I have," he replies, curious as to what fungus has to do with anything. It strikes him that she's not really speaking in the manner of a child of the age he was told to expect, and so he has to trust that it's not a non sequitur...but perhaps a metaphor? "Go on."

"In my universe, a new species evolved to infect humans. It spread, quickly, and now there are no normal people left. It turned everyone into hungries. Frigging abortions," she emphasizes, lest Andrew fail to grasp the seriousness of the situation. "I have it, too, and I can carry it inside me without turning into a monster, but no one else in Manhattan would be so lucky. It can't get out, and if ROMAC tries to muck about with it, it will."

That should give him something to chew on. And Aziraphale should be back at any moment. If he just...

... Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Melanie closes her eyes, and sends him a prayer: Hurry back. ROMAC is here.

Aziraphale appears in the hall within seconds, directly behind the tall, narrow man at his door. He reaches out and takes his shoulder, turning him, gently but firmly.

"May I help you," he says coolly.

Not a metaphor. Not the slightest bit a metaphor, and frankly it's more than a little alarming that she's just living in someone's flat if she's really carrying about a strain of mind-controlling fungus capable of overwriting human beings. She's right, she mustn't go back to ROMAC, but here isn't safe, either. The TARDIS -- he'll call up the TARDIS and ask her for help, because if anyone can safely house a highly infectious little girl --

Andrew doesn't hear a thing before a hand appears on his shoulder, and he gives a visible start. "Ah," he says, allowing himself to be turned. He offers the other man the most innocent of smiles. "I take it you're Aziraphale?"

"I am," says Aziraphale with a small nod of the head. "This is my flat you're standing outside, so whatever business you have, I must assume it is with me." A faint smile. "And you are?"

"Andrew," says Andrew, sticking a hand out to shake. And then because he has no particular reason not to share and it might make him seem trustworthy and he's not sure yet how sinister or how far in over his head Aziraphale might be, "Andrew Noble. I was just having a chat with Melanie -- very bright young lady. She's your, ah...daughter?"

Obviously not.

"A pleasure," says Aziraphale rather guardedly, shaking the hand offered. "She is, isn't she? She's - under my protection."

As clear as he can be. He says it with a pointed look.

"Ah-haah." So much for fishing for information. "And is the rest of Manhattan under your protection as well, or are we just hoping that a flat in the middle of the city will do for a quarantined zone?"

Aziraphale narrows his eyes. "I am fully aware of the risk she presents," he says, though it grates on him to refer to her in such a way. "As is she. She is no threat to anyone here. It would be best, I think, for all of us, if you let this matter lie."

There should be no mistaking the cold seriousness in his tone. Whether that will be enough for Mr. Noble he cannot say. To say nothing of whether it will be enough for Melanie.

As far as Andrew knows, Aziraphale's just some human with a funny name, but the evidence is in his favor so far as humanity not having already fallen to an outbreak of cordyceps goes. He sniffs in a deep breath, matching Aziraphale's look with one of deadly seriousness.

"You know who sent me," he says, because if Aziraphale didn't at least have his suspicions he wouldn't be acting this way. "I'm not going to tell them where I found you, not if they're set to experiment on her, but I'm not going to leave her here if I don't think it's everyone's best option."

It's impossible for her to tell how honest Andrew's intentions are, not with nothing to go on but their slightly muffled voices. On the other hand, it doesn't really matter. The best case scenario looks an awful lot like the worst: men from ROMAC steadfastly refusing to believe that she - the sole transplant from her universe and the smartest girl in her whole class, maybe the smartest hungry child in all of England - could possibly have considered more ways to contain what she carries than whatever occurs to them within five minutes of meeting her.

That's bad enough. But his apparent unwillingness to take Aziraphale at his word is one insult too many.

"Of course it's everyone's best option," she says shortly. "Aziraphale can keep me safer than anyone else can. He's been doing it for weeks. And it works because he listens to me instead of treating me like a stupid child who doesn't know what's best."

Edited 2015-04-01 01:23 (UTC)

Aziraphale glances toward the door when Melanie pipes up. Distantly he appreciates her vote of confidence and her trust, but not enough to drop his guard any. He folds his arms, turning back on Andrew and lifting a challenging eyebrow.

"Sounds as if she's made up her mind on the matter," he says airily.

"I don't -- I really don't think you're stupid," protests Andrew in the direction of the door, because she's gone and hurt his feelings with that accusation. "But if you are contagious, a flat in the middle of Manhattan isn't the best place. Sooner or later something will happen, this isn't as secure a building as you think it is."

Looking to Aziraphale, he adds, "I know of somewhere safe -- the safest place there is. How'd you get hold of her, anyway?"

Aziraphale drags his lower lip between his teeth, huffing consternation. This one will simply not give up. Like as not his intentions are good, but a single man cannot represent the whole of ROMAC to either Aziraphale or Melanie's satisfaction, and it's seeming more and more that he will not relent. Even if he is made to leave, it won't be enough - certainly not for Melanie, she'd never be content with this man knowing her location, not when she'd needed to be protected even against Crowley.

Something, then, will have to be done.

He takes off his glasses to buy himself some time, wiping them gingerly on the edge of his shirt. Replacing them, he looks Andrew in the eye and says softly, "I'm very sorry."

He lifts his hand in a small flourish.

The wipe cannot occur all at once: he must be precise, it's not a matter of simply brushing away all memories of the last day or so. He has to remove any knowledge of himself, and almost everything about Melanie. He can't make him forget her entirely, he reasons, for ROMAC would surely know he'd been tampered with - but everything about where she is, that she'd rather be here. When he's finished, as far as Andrew will know, he's searched and found no trace of her.

A temporary fix, perhaps - there's no telling whether he'll simply be able to find them again however he found them this time - but it will have to do for now.

It's unfortunate that he only knows about all this because of ROMAC, because neither they nor the Rebels have the slightest bit of business being the ones to keep Melanie safe. Maybe once he calls the TARDIS she can help him talk sense into Aziraphale, though he's aware he'll already be pushing his luck by springing a rifty in need of sanctuary on her. It's understandable that Aziraphale thinks they can go on this way just because they've got lucky so far, but Andrew's seen just enough to know the situation is untenable.

And hang on, isn't that Andrew's line? "What?" he asks, brow furrowing as his gaze is drawn down to that weird little gesture and -- "No. No no no, don't -- don't do that --"

Trying to keep Aziraphale out is like trying to hold back a flood with bare hands. Andrew's mind scurries to shore up defenses, but it just doesn't stop. There are a few moments of frantic mental activity that manifest in the outer world as a furrowed brow and wide eyes, but then he -- he --

What was he doing, again?

Aziraphale's mouth twitches, startled and distressed by Andrew's apparent comprehension of what is happening to him, but he doesn't falter, and it's too easy to work his way past the admittedly strong defenses the man - not quite man, it seems - has in place. When it's finished he steps back, looking grimly at the now-stranger.

"Excuse me," he says, and walks past him, as though just brushing by in the hall. He rounds a corner and disappears instantly, rematerializing in his flat, where he kneels down beside Melanie and rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Hmm?" Andrew refocuses from where he's been lost in thought -- he'd been sure Melanie was in this building, but he's been up and down it all day with no sign of her and he's beginning to doubt the original reasoning that brought him here. He just hopes he's right to suspect ROMAC's motives for wanting her back; a missing child is an alarming problem to have, to say the least, but they weren't exactly forthcoming about why she'd been under quarantine...or how (and why) she'd managed to disappear.

"Sorry," he says automatically, stepping aside to let the other man by and sniffing in a deep breath that comes back out as a sigh. Nothing for it, really. They won't be happy, but he did know when he set out today that there was a possibility he'd have to fob ROMAC off with a non-answer even if he did find her. A check of his watch confirms that it's quite late enough to call it quits for the day, and he allows himself a tired rub of his eyes before going on his way.

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The stranger on the doorstep

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