Time Doors part 2

[did_good]

She’s not in sight of Owen and Jack when the air raid siren goes off. It’s a familiar sound now, they’ve heard it each night and always decided to stay in the house that they’ve taken over. It’s not safe but there’s less of a chance of being caught out if they don’t spend time in large groups. Especially for Tosh, who recognises the sound from another time in her life as well, that time Jack and she found themselves in wartime Cardiff.

The similarities have been bothering her ever since their arrival. She’s taken to wearing scarves to hide her hair in the hope no one will look too closely at her face. At least Japan hasn’t officially joined the war yet, she has that relief, but there’s not a lot of goodwill about toward people of her race.

It’s early for the sirens to start, she thinks, pulling her notebook close to her chest and trying to head back toward their house. That isn’t the way the crowd is heading, though, and soon enough she’s swept up on the way to an air raid shelter. Down the dozens and dozens of steps to tunnels of the London Underground, Tosh is trapped exactly where she doesn’t want to be.

Things seem fine at first. It’s not the first time a lone person has found themselves out of their neighbourhood and in an unusual shelter. Tosh tries to keep to herself, tries to see if Jack or Owen are here as well, if being out at the market meant they’ve all been swept down here. It’s exactly that behaviour that raises the hackles of some of the women in the shelter. Busybodies, Tosh would call them another time, but today they have the bored and agitated masses at their disposal. It’s not long before they’ve made a wall of people she can’t pass, surrounding her and calling her every epithet they can think of.

“It’s not like that. I’m from London too.” It’s not a lie, she is from London. She wants to mention her grandfather at Bletchley Park but she can’t do that and even if she did they wouldn’t know it. That’s the point of a secret facility. “I’m not a spy, I’m from London.”

She flinches when a woman hefts an empty bottle as if to throw it, wondering how it’s all come down to this and if perhaps down the tracks is her best method of escape.

Comments

[beat_death]

Owen is completely sick of this. It was one thing to be sent to an island, or to some isolated shit-hole of a city, but being stuck where they are now is beyond the pale. There's a lot of technology that Owen doesn't miss much-- he's never been a big fan of television, for starters-- but the prospect of being stuck on rations for years, of having to perpetually work at blending in seems exhausting.

Christ, he'll be lucky if he even makes it to the next millennium. He'll be in his eighties when that comes around, if they're stuck where they are that long.

Owen's trying to find a way to get a ration of meat without a ration book when the siren goes off. It's become a normal thing now, the sirens, and before he knows it, he's with the rest of the crowd, being herded down to a shelter. He's lost sight of Tosh and Jack. That is, until he hears the slur, sees the woman with the bottle.

"You might want to rethink that, sweetheart," Owen says, and he grabs her arm, fingers wrapping around her wrist as he stops her from doing whatever it was she had her mind set on doing.

[lacrimae_rerum]

Jack does miss technology, and the work of trying to blend in - that's damn old.

Of course, he's got less issue here than back 'home', or any time that Owen or Tosh have ever known him. Somewhere around the second world war, maybe a little after, seems to be about the time Jack ran out of steam with the trying. Not that he was ever very good at it, mind you. Still, it's hard and he'd sympathize if Owen ever decides to open his mouth about it.

He steps up about the time Owen's moving for the woman. He comes from a different direction, steps between her and the woman and then leans forward to twist the bottle out of her hand, but smiles.

"She's British," he says, smiling, easily but not pleasantly. He's kind of at the end of his rope, and worn out. "Just like she told you. So, why don't you go try fighting with someone who isn't on your side?"

[did_good]

There’s a grumbling from the crowd that’s gathered, but most of them fade away at the first sign of real resistance. It doesn’t mean the woman gives up easily, muttering angrily as she jerks her hand away and heads back to people who will support her opinions. Tosh sags in relief, her smile for Owen and Jack brittle and stiff. “Thank god.”

She knows that tonight isn’t going to be easy, not now that so many people are riled up and looking at her with suspicion. “I don’t suppose they’d let us leave during an air-raid?”

[beat_death]

Owen's trying to keep his eyes on the more hostile looking members of the crowd in his peripheral vision, even as he turns back to Jack and Tosh.

"It's probably not too bright an idea though, if it makes you feel better," Owen says, because even if he felt up enough on history to remember what supposedly happens on this date, he'd be cautious about leaving. Maybe it hasn't seemed like it thus far, but this could still be an alternate version of the 1940s, and history could happen differently.

[lacrimae_rerum]

"We really shouldn't be leaving, right now," Jack agreed, watching the crowd more directly. "We can try to find a quiet corner to hang out in, but I'd rather take my chances with bigoted idiots than bombs." His reasoning was the same as Owens; he didn't know if this was the same reality he knew. Even if he had, he wouldn't have wanted to risk it. They were changing it just by being there. How they'd change it in a way that would lead to bombs falling, he wasn't so sure about, but he wasn't up to taking that particular risk with Owen and Tosh's safety.

He put his hand on Tosh's elbow to steer her a little further away from the crowd, and moved away himself.

[did_good]

"You're right," she says with a sigh, knowing that they are. It's madness to try and be out there with bombs falling on the city, even if this isn't quite their world after all. They've all seen the evidence of what this nightly shelling is doing to the buildings and roads, taking the chance they wouldn't be hit would be a particularly dangerous form of roulette. "Maybe no one else will bother us."

Tosh thinks the last is too much to hope for, even as they settle in a corner as far away from everyone as they can manage. The looks are still coming their way with unguarded hostility and it worries her. "Thank you. For being there."

[beat_death]

"We're not about to let you get your head smashed in by racists, Tosh," Owen says, though he knows it's a bit of a stretch to call people who've only been influenced by propaganda 'racist'. It's screwed up, but it's the way society was back then. Or is. Shit. There's no telling how long they'll have to deal with any of this.

[lacrimae_rerum]

Jack made a low noise at the back of his throat, in agreement with Owen in more than one way. "Or be people being influenced by absolute bullshit." His voice was quiet, low, but not quite murmured. He was still standing upright, hands in his pockets and staring down the crowd. "You're safe with us, either way."

And with Owen and Jack? Well, safe might be a stretch, but there was a lot of love and determination working for her, anyway, if not always a lot of intelligence and competence.

[did_good]

"Thank you," she says again even though she's repeating herself. There's nothing else to say but to give her thanks. It's not the fault of these people, she tries to tell herself, but it's hard when the hatred and suspicious looks are turned toward her. "Did you find anything in the markets before the sirens sounded?"