Chapter Text
‘Grandfather?’ The sing-song voice called through the labyrinthian stacks of books and papers. ‘Are you in here?’
The owner of the voice, a lithe girl with cropped dark hair threaded her way towards the incongruously ornate desk located roughly in the middle of the room where an old man sat hunched over a book that was nearly as ancient as he was. The silvery white hair skimmed his shoulders was not unkempt; to the casual observer his study might appear to be a mess - he had a system he insisted - but he was quite fastidious about his own appearance.
‘There you are.’ The girl sighed with mock exasperation as she approached him before breaking out into a broad grin.
‘I don’t know why I asked, you’re always here.’ She added with a small laugh, before leaning down to kiss her grandfather on the cheek. Straightening up again she picked up and examined the top-most book from one of the many piles on his desk. They were new since her last visit. It was a modest stack, for him, of just seven books, all about someone called Harry Potter. They showed some signs of wear and each had little scraps of paper tucked between pages at various intervals.
‘What are these? A biography?’
Her grandfather hunched a bit more, his typical reaction when asked a troublesome question, such as: when was the last time you ate? When was the last time you slept anywhere but in this ratty old chair? He was reluctant to divulge the origin of much of the reading matter in his study. Many, these included, had been obtained via methods of the Council would mostly strongly disapprove. But his friend, the dashing, devil-may-care self-styled Corsair practically made it his life’s work to ignore the Council and had very few qualms about bending its rules to breaking point. He knew his friend was always glad of new material especially when it originated from an otherwise unremarkable blue-green planet.
‘No, novels. Fiction.’ He replied tersely, hoping it would be enough to end that particular line of enquiry; Susan’s personal reading tastes ran more to histories though she had a brilliant scientific mind and her parents foresaw a bright future ahead of her.
‘I see. I won’t ask where they came from then.’
She hadn’t visited him for a few months while she had been preparing for the Rite of Passage. It seemed like there were a great deal many more books than the last time she had been there, far more besides the new ones on his desk.
‘I don’t know how you manage to fit all of this in here.’ She remarked, gesturing towards the books that surrounded them. She only received a grunt in response. Best not to enquire then, she thought. Best she didn’t know.
‘Anyway… The Rite was today.’
Her grandfather turned to face her, frowning, annoyed with himself for having forgotten her birthday, but glad that the Council had seen fit to double the age at which Gallifrey’s youth were presented to the Untempered Schism. Eight years old was far too young.
‘So, what was your impression of it Susan?’ he asked looking at her closely, his eyes narrowed.
Susan’s brows drew together as she considered his question. She pursed her lips as she tried to put her immediate reaction into words. It had been a strange thing looking into the Schism.
Beforehand she’d been very nervous, but once it was her turn she had felt strangely calm. She had seen and heard so much; it had seemed like she had gazed into it for eons when in reality it could only have been a minute or so. All she was left with now was a vague feeling.
‘Blue’ she replied finally. ‘A deep blue, but not like the blue or the sea or sky.’
Her grandfather smiled thinly and nodded. He had seen something blue himself and then something else. Something that had made him run.
Perhaps it had been the voice urging him to do so. It had called him a clever boy, and to an eight year old the library was where the clever boys ought to be.
And so, he hid himself amongst the shelves and stacks. He devoted his life to research, travelling across time and space in safety by means of his beloved books. To do so any other way instilled him with a feeling of dread. Though he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep hiding forever. No matter how much he tried to avoid it he knew he was doomed to run yet further still.
‘Grandfather?’ her voice called him back.
‘Eh, what?’
‘I asked, what did you see?’
‘Oh, nothing of any great importance.’
‘Shall we go then? Off to the museum, you did promise after all?’
He heaved a deep sigh, he had promised and sometimes you had to run, not away but towards. He picked up his cap and placed it on his head. Susan stopped him and adjusted it to a jaunty angle and then looped her arm in his and together they wound their circuitous way through the forest of books, as they passed one short pile she grabbed a long, colourful scarf that was laying on it and wrapped it around her neck, laughing as she gave the end a flick.