Chapter 10: Date Night

His name was Arthur Robertson, but he went by Art. His dark blond hair was a little messy, but in a charming way. He was pale and slight, but not unpleasantly so. He had a nice smile. He seemed intelligent, and he was funny to boot.

And he was obviously interested in her.

When the Doctor had suggested a night out, Trish hadn't really believed it would happen. He didn't strike her as the partying type - he clearly much preferred running for his life, and he was, in Jessica's words, "shit at dancing." But he surprised all of them by insisting on going, assisted by Amy and Rory's reboarding and excitement to get out and "do something," as Amy pleaded. Trish and Jessica had both suspected ulterior motives, but neither had been able to determine what those motives could possibly be. It was only now, as Trish spotted he and a very mischievous Amelia Pond grinning at her from across the crowded 23rd-century bar and waggling their eyebrows suggestively, that she realized.

Some part of her wanted to be angry, but at that moment Art laid his hand lightly on her arm to catch her attention, and gave her a warm, curious smile. "Everything okay?" he asked, in his strange, vaguely American accent.

And she couldn't be angry.

She smiled back. "Yeah, everything's fine." She turned away from where she'd seen the Doctor and made herself focus on Art. He kept smiling at her, friendly and sweet. Trish had never been nervous talking to men, but back at home she'd never had to pretend to be from a different century entirely in order to keep things relatively normal. So she felt she could be excused from the fact that her palms were a little sweaty. "It just occurred to me that a couple of friends of mine brought us here in order to set me up with someone," she confessed.

Art seemed to find this amusing rather than off-putting, thankfully, and he laughed. "Well, I'm glad they did," he said. He leaned in a little, and smiled conspiratorially at her. "You said you don't really drink. Can I get you a nice dance instead?"

Trish laughed, and accepted the hand he extended to her after discreetly wiping hers on her skirt. "Okay," she agreed. "Let's dance."

They worked their way onto the crowded bar floor, close to the speakers that blasted music Trish had never heard, among such a diverse throng of people that it made her head spin. There were plenty of humans around, or people that looked like humans, but there was an equal amount of obvious aliens. Stranger than the aliens themselves, though, were the humans who treated it as completely normal. Trish couldn't help but notice the tentacle-covered green man at the edge of the dance floor, and had to force herself not to stare, but Art hardly seemed to notice.

He brought her to nearly the center of the floor, just in time for a new song to begin. He was a bit of an awkward dancer, but Trish found it entertaining and charming. She couldn't say that she was much better. Despite the unfamiliar music and the drunken press of bodies all around them, it was fun. It reminded Trish of nights out with Jessica in their early twenties; a comparison which was only reinforced as Jessica suddenly appeared beside her, shouting in her ear and smelling of cheap whiskey.

"I requested Fergalicious!" Jessica yelled, sounding all too pleased with herself. Trish couldn't help but laugh. Luke squeezed into the group, towering over most everyone on the dance floor, and grinning in a way that suggested he'd been part of Jessica's plan.

"This is Art," she told them, putting an arm on his shoulder and pulling him a little closer in. "Art, this is Jessica and Luke."

"Nice to meet you!" Art shouted, shaking each of their hands and smiling. "You guys here to dance?"

"Why the fuck not?" Jessica asked. She grabbed Luke's hands to drag him closer, and Trish almost laughed at the bemused expression on the man's face. "What," Jessica smirked, "you thought I was going to request a song only to not dance to it?"

It felt to Trish like being thrown back into her youth - Jessica screaming the words to her requested song, when it finally came on, with an abandon she only ever showed six drinks in at a too-loud nightclub, Trish following along seamlessly. If she ignored their actual location in time and space it could have been ten years ago. No Kilgrave, no unexpected misfortune, just a night out.

"You like the oldies, huh?" Art teased in a shout as they danced.

The oldies, Trish thought, bewildered. She laughed, more in shock than amusement, but she managed a warm smile nonetheless. "Yeah," she replied. "It's what me and Jess grew up on."

Art grinned. "Hey, I'm cool with that. They're classics for a reason."

The moment the song wrapped up, Jessica and Luke left for the bar, and Trish was alone with Art again. They couldn't exactly have a real conversation, and she was quickly tiring out, but she couldn't deny that she was having fun. Real fun, like she couldn't really remember having up until recently. Real fun with a guy she thought she kind of liked.

Okay, so she wasn't mad at the Doctor at all. Not even a little bit.

At least, not until a familiar pair of cold hands grabbed her arms and dragged her with surprising ease off of the dance floor. The moment they cleared the throng of people, Trish turned to scowl at the Doctor. She stopped in the middle of opening her mouth to demand an explanation as she spotted a familiar curly-haired figure beside him.

"River!" she exclaimed instead. "When did you get here? How did you get here?" She then noticed the Doctor's ruffled hair and harried expression, and paused.

"I picked her up," he explained in a yell, "and while I was gone the Ponds went and got into trouble."

"Oh, God," Trish said. "Where's Je-"

"At the bar," the Doctor interrupted. "Jack and Ianto are…" he squinted, seemingly mentally seeking Jack out, "in the bathroom. Oh." He made a face. Trish might have laughed, if the situation wasn't so obviously serious.

"I'll go interrupt them," River offered. "We'll meet you in the far corner table, sweetie." She vanished into the crowd, and the Doctor's grip went a little too tight on Trish's arms.

He's really worried, she realized with a jolt. "Is everyone okay?"

"For now," the Doctor said, "but not for much longer if we don't hurry."

Trish's heart lurched, and her stomach twisted. "What-"

Before she could finish, another pair of hands - warmer, human ones - pried the Doctor's off of her. "Hey!" Art snapped. "What do you think you're doing? You can't just pull someone wherever you like-"

"You must be the bloke Trish has been flirting with," the Doctor said, without skipping a beat. "Nice to meet you, I'm the Doctor. Can we save the yelling for later, when there's not a bomb ticking in the basement?"

Trish's heart seemed to stop. "A what?"

"I'm going to grab the Ponds," the Doctor continued, turning his full attention back to her again, "you're in charge of Jessica and Luke, yes?"

Helplessly, Trish agreed.

"Great," the Doctor said, "meet us at the corner table," and as quickly as he'd come he was gone.

Art spoke up in a strained voice. "Did he say a bomb?"

Trish closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of frustration. "Yeah," she said, reopening them. "He did. Come on." Before she could wonder if she was being too forward, she took him by the hand and walked him to the bar, where she spotted Jessica and Luke chatting and drinking.

Jessica began to wave at her, but upon fully taking in Trish's expression, stopped and frowned. Luke turned immediately after, a matching look on his face. "The Doctor's landed us in the shitter, hasn't he?" Jessica asked immediately once they were close enough to hear one another, nose wrinkling.

Trish sighed, "he claims it was the Ponds."

Luke's eyes narrowed. "Did he say what happened?"

"No, only that he left to pick River up, and by the time they got back Amy and Rory were in trouble."

Jessica blinked. "River's here?"

Art physically cut through the conversation by waving a hand. "I'm sorry, but what's going on here?"

Trish realized she was still gripping his hand and released it, determined to ignore the blush already rising to her cheeks. He met her eyes, looking horrified and confused and worried, and her stomach clenched unhappily. "I wish I could tell you," she said. "I genuinely have no idea."

"When does the Doctor ever tell us anything?" Jessica grouched. She threw back the last of her drink and slammed the glass on the counter hard enough to crack it. Fortunately, because of the pumping music and buzz of conversation, no one outside their small group seemed to notice, although Trish saw Art go pale out of the corner of her eye.

"We're supposed to meet the others at that table there," Trish said, gesturing. "ASAP." She thought she saw Art give her another strange look, but forced herself to ignore it. "I assume we'll get an explanation then."

Luke set his half-finished drink down much more carefully than Jessica had, and gently took her arm. "We'd better go, then," he said. "I'm looking forward to hearing what the hell this is about."

"I'm not convinced that this is the Ponds' fault," Jessica declared as they started moving. "When have we known Amy or Rory to do something stupid enough that we've had to have a group strategy meeting? This has the Doctor's name written all over it."

Trish realized that she'd gained an extra weight, and glanced down to find Art pulling at her arm, wide-eyed and hunched slightly in on himself. He looked a little sick. She waved Jess and Luke on, and stopped to face him fully. "You don't have to come along," she said, before anything else. "I'm so sorry I dragged you into this." Gently, she took his hand and moved it off of her arm.

"Does this kind of thing happen a lot with you?" he asked. Despite his pallor, she thought she detected some small amount of weak humor. That only made her feel worse.

"These days, yeah," she admitted. "I've sort of had...an abrupt change in lifestyle in the past month." Even before that, her life had been more dangerous than most, but she decided not to mention that. "I had a good time tonight, but obviously if you want to get the hell out I don't blame you. The sooner you leave this place the better, probably, if there's actually...a bomb."

Art's mouth quirked up - a little too terrified to be a real smile, but it was somewhat close. Trish felt his hand close over hers again, hesitant and nervous. "It seems like my best bet might be to stay with you," he said. "If you don't mind."

Trish's heart skipped, and she felt her cheeks go a little warm again despite herself. "Sure," she said. "If you really want to." Art's smile dropped abruptly, but before she could ask him what was wrong, those cold hands reappeared on her shoulders and she jumped. "Jesus, Doctor," she snapped, spinning around. "You can't keep sneaking up on me like that."

"Sorry, sorry," he said, releasing her at once. He looked slightly less distressed, but not enough to be reassuring. "We've got to hurry, though. The sooner we figure out a plan, the safer we'll be." His eyes locked on Art. "Is he coming?"

Art stood just a little bit taller, although Trish spotted telltale sweat on his brow, and looming fear in his eyes. "Yes," he said, convincing enough to ease some of her concerns about him.

"Lovely," the Doctor said, flashing the briefest of smiles. "Now this is a proper date! Come along, you two."

At the table, all of the others had assembled, already bickering amongst themselves. Jack and Ianto were rumpled and obviously displeased and, on Ianto's side, a little embarrassed. Rory looked nervous, and Amy near-murderous. Jessica was still annoyed, and Luke was still concerned. River looked like she was gearing up for a fight.

Trish took the nearest free seat, and Art quickly joined her. The Doctor, however, remained standing, and leaned against the table.

"Who's your friend, Trish?" Jack asked, a familiar wink in his eye.

"This is Art," she introduced. "Art, this is-"

"Stop flirting, Jack," the Doctor interrupted.

"I'm not flirting, Doctor!" Jack said, crossing his arms. "Ianto's right here-"

"You say that like it stops you."

Ianto actually laughed a little at that, laying a soothing hand on Jack's shoulder. "I know he doesn't mean it."

Art made a sort of strangled noise in his throat. "Isn't there a bomb we should be talking about?" he prompted nervously.

Everyone at the table stilled at once. "A bomb?" Jack exclaimed."What the fuck, Doc?"

"It's Amy's fault-"

Amy stood, her chair skidding backwards, and stabbed at the Doctor's chest with a finger, leaning all the way across the table to do so. "Don't you start," she snapped. "How was I supposed to know that a tiny eyebrow movement was a gang signal?"

Rory choked on his water. Jessica joined Amy in standing, her disbelief unable to be contained by a chair. "You're fucking kidding me," she said.

"It was an accident," River soothed, "it's not really anyone's fault. Sit. We're only attracting attention to ourselves standing and yelling like this."

Amy scowled, but collapsed back into her chair. Jessica followed with a pissy sigh. The Doctor, after a glare from his wife, did the same, although he tapped his fingers anxiously on the table.

"How does 'eyebrow movement' lead to 'gang signal' lead to 'bomb'?" Luke puzzled.

Surprisingly, it was Art who spoke up. "The Reddings and the Bricks," he said, as if it was supposed to be obvious. He met Trish's eyes, and the confusion on his face only worsened as he took in her lack of understanding.

"Go on," the Doctor encouraged.

After a brief hesitation, Art nodded and continued his explanation. "There are a few gangs that have been acting up in the past couple of years in this solar system, but the Reddings and the Bricks are the most famous. Or infamous, I guess. They've been known to take, er, extreme action against one another, even in public places."

"I still don't see how eyebrows could have triggered gang activity," Trish admitted.

Art gave her a strange look. "Well, both of the gangs are predominantly Delphon. There was a whole article about it a few months ago, it was going around in every sector this side of the galaxy."

"The Delphon are known for a complex language involving little more than eyebrow movements," River clarified. "It's easy to accidentally say things you don't mean, especially since humans use their eyebrows unconsciously in conversation all the time."

"Great," Jessica said. "Eyebrow language. Because why the hell not."

"It seems likely," the Doctor cut in, "that Amy made an accidental signal identifying herself as a member of an enemy gang, and so an opposing gang member in the bar decided to attack."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Luke asked. "Shouldn't we evacuate the place?"

"Of course, but we can't just let them blow up the bar," the Doctor said. "I don't fancy the idea of having to explain to the owner how we destroyed his business."

Rory groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "None of us are qualified to become part of a bomb squad, Doctor."

"Speak for yourself."

"Can you not just call the police?" Ianto demanded. "Just one time? This was supposed to be a nice night out."

"The only excitement that was supposed to happen was maybe Trish getting laid," Amy piped up. Trish felt Art draw back a little beside her, and she brought a hand up to cover her eyes and hide her flush. "Oh," Amy said, apparently remembering Art's presence, "sorry Trish."

"No one's sleeping with anyone tonight," Jack groused. "Ianto and I were in the bathroom - in the bathroom - when River burst in-"

The Doctor knocked on the table to pull attention back. Trish sighed and allowed her hand to fall back to her side. "While we all love hearing about your and Ianto's sex life, Jack, now's not the time," the Doctor said. "You two can be in charge of finding the owner and informing him of the situation. Ponds - not including you, River - and Luke and Jessica - you lot start getting people out of here with as little panic as possible. Trish and - sorry, what's your name?" The Doctor derailed abruptly, turning all of his attention on Art, who Trish could see cringing back slightly.

"Art," he said, hesitantly.

"Full name?" the Doctor prodded.

"Um...Arthur Robertson."

"That's a fine name. Very traditional. Trish and Robertson, you call the police here, will you? They can be backup." He then grinned, looking to his wife. "River, you're with me."

River smirked back. "It's been a long time since I've disarmed a bomb, but I'm sure it'll come back to me. Like riding a bike."

Art made another weird noise, but as it was lost in a brief pulse of extra-loud music, Trish was pretty sure she was the only one who heard it.

"Meet outside, far from the building, when you're done," the Doctor instructed. "We have about fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen-" Rory spluttered, but the Doctor was already shouting, "Go, go, go!" and they were moving.

At some point in the chaos of movement and terrified complaints, Trish found Art's hand in hers again. She couldn't bring herself to release it until the two of them had escaped through the doors, past the bouncers, and into the chilled night air. Even so, it took her a moment to gather herself enough to force her hand to open, and another moment for Art to get the hint and pull back as well.

The two of them stood, a few feet outside the entrance to the bar, listening to the music pumping from inside and staring at each other in silence.

Art broke away first, looking down to pull something out of his pocket. It looked like a phone, but as he turned it on Trish discovered that it was hardly more than a screen attached to a thin outer frame, the width only slightly larger than the average potato chip. Her own phone, one of the newest Starkphones, suddenly felt much too large where it rested uselessly in her pocket.

As he dialed, Art crossed to a bench on the sidewalk opposite the bar, half-stumbling. Trish could only trail anxiously behind, and perch beside him on the icy metal seat as he made the call.

"I'm at the Renaissance," Art announced only a second after they'd sat. "There's a bomb in the basement. They're, uh, trying to evacuate. I was told fifteen minutes." He paused, and swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am. The Reddings and the Bricks, I think." Then another pause, this one slightly less tense. "Uh, yeah, I am." He cast Trish an embarrassed sort of glance. "Um. Thank you? I'll-yes, I'll stay here. Please hurry." He hung up, the strange screen going dark.

"That didn't sound like your typical emergency call," Trish noted, attempting a smile.

Art ducked his head, ran a hand through his hair. "She recognized my voice," he admitted. "I probably should have expected that. It happens a lot." He shot her another of those embarrassed looks, although this time Trish detected a twinge of suspicion there that she had missed before.

Trish disguised a tiny wince as an unusually harsh cough. "Should I have recognized your voice?" she asked. She hoped that she didn't sound as foolish and out-of-place as she felt. I should have insisted that the Doctor take us to a 21st century bar, she thought frantically. I should have guessed that he was planning to set me up. He told me the first time I really met him that he was going to, dammit.

Art chewed at his lip, and looked away again to quickly shake his head. "Look, Trish. Who the hell are you?" He met her eyes again. Her heart jumped at the open fear on his face. "Who are your friends? You didn't know about the gang stuff that's been going on, which everybody knows about, and you said you were from around here so you should have known. You didn't know who the Delphon were - and don't think I didn't notice you staring at anything non-human in that place." He shook his head again. "The only song you seemed to know was the one your friend requested. And, at risk of sounding conceited, you didn't recognize me."

Trish glanced him over helplessly, as if by doing so she might gain some clue of who he was supposed to be, opening and closing her mouth without any idea of what to say. Was she supposed to just come out with it? I'm sorry about the misunderstanding! My friend the Doctor is an alien time-traveller, so I'm actually from Earth in the 21st century. I was born in the 80s - the 1980s.

"Arthur Robertson, from GPR?" he tried, leaning in and clenching his hands together as if pleading with her. "I know radio is a far less popular medium these days, but I was a reporter for a few years on Electric News before, so at least-"

Trish couldn't take it any longer. She turned to face directly toward the bar, where she could now see people stumbling out, all of them looking confused even as they distanced themselves from the doors. Art cut himself off the moment he noticed her wavering attention, and sighed.

"I do radio, too," she blurted. "I have my own show, back home. Trish Talk."

She didn't know what she'd expected to accomplish. With a hesitant glance, she found Art just staring at her and looking more nervous than before. It probably sounded like a lie, she realized far too late. Goddammit.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I don't know how I keep...Art, I just don't know what I'm even allowed-"

Before she could make any further errors, she spotted a familiar group of figures racing toward the two of them. All too eager to abandon the failing conversation, Trish swallowed her words and stood to greet the others.

Jessica and Amy led the charge, with their respective partners behind them. Jack and Ianto could be seen guiding more people out the front doors with a near-believable calm.

"Any sign of the Doctor or River?" Amy questioned, out of breath.

Trish shook her head. "They're probably still inside."

"They'd better hurry, we only have seven minutes," Jessica snapped. "Shit, fuck-" she shook off the hand Luke set on her arm.

"I'm sure they'll be okay," Rory put in. He sounded a little too freaked out to be convincing, but Trish couldn't say that she didn't appreciate the effort. "I mean," he said, "we all know the Doctor is positively obnoxious about keeping time."

Jessica blew hair out of her face. "Okay, fine, good point."

"River will keep him on track," Amy added. "She won't let him get distracted. She'll probably be the one disarming the bomb, in all honesty."

Trish had to quirk a smile at that. "You're right."

Art's following sigh was loud enough to end their uncertain reassurances. "Trish won't give me a straight answer," he informed them all. "Who are you people?"

"Is now the time?" Jessica snapped.

"Yes!" Art snapped back. "If I don't get an answer now, I'm thinking I never will!"

"He's a reporter," Trish jumped in. Luke nodded understandingly.

"None of you know who I am," Art sighed. And then he grimaced. "That makes me sound so full of myself, I'm sorry."

Amy tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Well, you're right. We don't. Sorry, mister. We're not from around here."

Art squeezed his eyes shut. "Trish told me that you were. You guys aren't even human, are you?" He spun to Jessica, opening his eyes again to stare at her in disbelief. "I saw you crack the counter. I don't think I can even come up with any human-looking species that can do something like that off the top of my head."

"We're all human but the Doctor," Rory soothed. "Some of us are just...gifted."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Luke snarked.

Trish waved them down the moment she spotted the flow of people slowing to a stop. "I think everyone's out. Jack and Ianto are headed over." They moved slowly, their adrenaline obviously running low, but they kept a fairly steady pace.

"They're still inside, aren't they?" Jack yelled as he and Ianto made their tired approach. No one needed to ask who he meant. He didn't even need an answer as he got closer and saw all of their faces. "Great."

"What time is it?" Amy asked.

Trish instinctively pulled her phone free from her pocket, and upon a glance up found everyone but Art doing the same. They had two minutes.

"What is that?" Art breathed. Trish attempted to meet his eyes, but he was occupied with staring at her phone in a mix of horror and absolute confusion.

"Shit," she said, shoving it back in its place, safely out of sight. "Art, I want to explain, but it's complicated, and there are probably rules about what I'm allowed to tell you."

He blinked at her, dumbfounded. "I just want something, Trish. Is that even your real name?"

Trish bit back a groan. "Yeah, yes, it is. Patricia Walker. Trish." She was distracted, then, by a flood of red and blue, and turned to find five different spacecrafts descending on the area around the bar. They made a strange and incredibly alien picture - like police cars, but so sleek and futuristic that it caught at Trish's breath. Wind whipped around her, sending her hair flying. It looked like a movie, she thought dazedly.

"Damn," Jessica said, with a whistle. "Space cops."

"Have you never seen police ships before?" Art demanded. "What is going on?"

As if on cue, the doors to the bar slammed open, and Trish slumped in relief as she spotted two familiar figures saunter out, accompanied by a bulky humanoid creature that River pushed quickly in front of her. Ten different police officers bounded over; three of them took over the handling of the attacker while two others began speaking to the Doctor and River. The remaining five rushed into the building, presumably to make sure it was clear.

Amy moved toward the bar first, Rory jogging behind her to keep up. By the time Trish could force her slightly wobbly legs to move she and Art were at the back of the group. She watched him out of her peripheral vision as they walked, noting with a skip of the heart that he looked a little sick. She expected him to say something, try and question her again now that they were somewhat alone, but he didn't so much as open his mouth.

"Good job, everyone!" she heard the Doctor exclaim from up ahead. She looked up just in time to see him high-fiving anyone who came too close, even those outside their immediate group. He had grime smeared on his face and hands, and what looked like a blossoming black eye. River was even worse for wear - bloody upper lip, just as dirty, and a bruise already forming on her left cheekbone. But she grinned and swaggered and exchanged brief hugs with her parents as if nothing was wrong.

"What happened in there?" Jessica demanded. "You two look like shit."

"Oh, we're fine," River assured, waving her hand dismissively in a move very reminiscent of her husband. She wrapped an arm around his waist, smoothly preventing him from high-fiving yet another confused stranger. "Just a little scuffle with our guy in there. He wasn't too keen on us disabling his bomb." Just behind her, the police were busy handcuffing the bomber and shuttling him off into one of their ships. It might have been a normal crime scene, if not for the alien lifeforms hovering around, and the spaceships instead of cars.

"You could've asked for backup," Luke pointed out. "You know Jessica and I are the best for fights like that."

"It was more fun this way," the Doctor insisted. "A proper date night! Just like old times, eh, River?" She snickered as he pressed his forehead lightly to hers. Trish got the feeling that she should look away, or else be exposed to some PDA that she'd rather not see.

"Next time you want to have a date involving bombs and fist fights, you two go by yourselves," Jack advised. "Most people would rather, you know, go to a nice dinner. Maybe go get coffee. It's a pretty universal theme, regardless of time period or location, that people prefer to not almost get blown-up on a night out."

"You say that like it was on purpose!" the Doctor scoffed, tearing his eyes from River's to make a face at Jack. "We didn't plan on anything happening. I don't plan these kinds of things."

"Look," Trish cut in, "let's just focus on the fact that it all worked out, okay? Nobody died, the guy was caught - the bar didn't even explode! We accomplished all our goals, didn't we?"

Amy and the Doctor exchanged a significant, slightly sad glance, and then both looked back to Trish (their eyes shifting briefly to Art as well). "Nearly," Amy said.

Art, fortunately for Trish's pride, ignored the implications of that, and plowed onward. "Now that we're not about to die, does anyone mind explaining what the hell just happened to me?" His eyes flew wildly to each one of them, but they finally landed on Trish - pleading, uncertain, and, above all, worried.

Trish gave the Doctor a hurried glance, and made a vague, helpless grasping motion with her hands. He tilted his head at her. She thought he might offer some advice, but all he did was make a "go on" spinning gesture with one hand. Useless.

She took a deep breath. Art kept staring at her. Steeling herself, Trish grabbed his shoulders and squeezed them for a second, then released him with a frustrated sigh. "We're sort of...I told you we were from around here, which wasn't actually a lie, I promise. We're from Earth - well, except the Doctor."

Art shook his head, although he didn't break his bewildered eye contact with her. "If you were from Earth you would know something about me, or the Reddings and Bricks, or-"

"We're time travellers," Jessica interrupted. Trish almost jumped as the other woman set a hand on her shoulder.

Art's mouth popped open. Something like pity appeared on his face, glinting in his eye.

"No, seriously," Trish said. Now that it was out there, it was a little easier to get the rest of the words out, although they felt clumsy and unbelievable on her lips. "Jessica, Luke, and I are from 2015." Art blinked at her. "And Ianto and Jack, too."

"Actually, I'm technically from the 51st century," Jack said.

Trish choked on her next words, so it was Luke who spoke first. "You're what?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Jack asked, sounding surprised. "I've been living in the 2000s, but I thought I mentioned-"

"Rory and I are from 2011," Amy cut in. "River was born in the 52nd century, I believe."

Art looked away from all of them, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "I...you can't expect me to believe that."

"You don't have to," the Doctor said, without malice. "You can believe whatever you like, Robertson. But you should remember that the universe is a wide and ridiculous place. Consider the evidence." He smiled. "Very few things are truly impossible." He reached into his pocket, and brought out a sticky note and a pen, on which he scrawled a series of numbers. Trish couldn't hide her shock as he handed the note to her and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "This is the number for the TARDIS phone. He seems like a nice bloke. If you want to keep in touch, you can." He drew back, still smiling. Louder, he said, "Shall we head back to the TARDIS, team?"

Trish only barely avoided crumpling the note as she fought back a wave of stress. "You all go on," she said. "I'll meet you there." Someone, she thought Amy, gently nudged her as the group departed. Jessica caught her eye and nodded once before turning around.

Art cleared his throat. He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his eyes uncomfortably to the ground. "I was having a good time," he admitted, "before the whole...bomb thing."

"Me too." Trish pulled her jacket tighter around her. The crowd of people had begun to disperse, leaving the two of them almost entirely alone in front of the bar, with the exception of the police officers still roaming around. "You seem like a good guy, Art. I'm sorry about all of this." The moment his eyes lifted, Trish found hers dropping, unable to look directly at him.

"Maybe it makes me kind of crazy, but part of me almost believes you," he said.

Trish felt a humorless smile cross her face. She dared a glance up, and found him with a very similar expression. "Any questions about the 21st century I can answer to convince you?" she joked.

He laughed, but it was so quiet it sounded almost like a sigh. "You could have just researched it all."

"That would take a lot of dedication," Trish pointed out.

He shook his head, then paused. "Maybe I do have one question. Can I...can I see your…" he pointed to her pocket, and the square outline her cell made in it.

"Oh! My phone," she said. Hurriedly, she took it out and woke it up in order to pass it over to him. "There's no service," she explained with a dry smile, "because, you know, my carrier doesn't exist anymore."

Art turned it over in his hands like he thought he might break it, with an almost awed expression on his face. "I've never seen one of these outside of a museum," he said.

"Oh, stop, you're making me feel old," Trish replied. He handed it back to her, incredibly gently. Trish wondered how it must look to him - how she must look. He still had that hint of pity in his eye, like he thought she belonged in an asylum. Maybe the only thing to do to change that would be to show him. But she wasn't sure that that was a good idea. Maybe it was better to leave it alone. Walk away.

He gave her a faltering smile. "It was nice to meet you, Trish."

"It was nice to meet you, too," she said. She swallowed hard. Then, after a moment of tense silence, she passed him the note. "It's the number for the Doctor's ship," she told him. "Since, you know, I won't get your call on my ancient phone."

He nodded, after a brief hesitation. "Okay," he said.

"You don't have to call," she assured him, "but if you did I wouldn't mind. If someday in the future you'd be interested in a trip...let me know."

"A trip," he repeated, the beginnings of a genuine smile twitching at his lips.

Trish wondered if the Doctor was always this uncertain when he proposed this kind of thing. He never seemed to be. "Right. Maybe we could swing by 21st century New York. I could give you a tour."

He huffed a faint laugh. "Okay. Maybe I'll take you up on that."

She couldn't tell if he was lying or not. But it was sweet of him to try. And she could pretend, too. She smiled. "See you around."

His tiny smile widened. "See you."

Trish turned, and walked around to the back of the bar, where the TARDIS stood blue and warm by the dumpster. She paused for a moment, half-hoping that she would hear footsteps behind her, or a voice calling for her to wait, but she heard nothing but the wind and the sound of revving engines from the parking lot.

Still, despite her disappointment, she felt that it had been a decent night. She'd had part of a nice date and helped prevent a disaster in the same night - few other women could claim the same.

And she doubted that Amy and the Doctor were done attempting to set her up. The Doctor had promised her a space boyfriend, after all.

This chapter was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it!

As I mentioned previously, I'll be taking a brief hiatus to get my life together and get this story finished. I'm sorry to leave again, but hopefully the advanced notice is more helpful. I appreciate everyone who's been keeping up with this throughout all the ups and downs!

Thank you so much! I hope to see you soon :)