Chapter Text
December heralded a lot of things on campus, including dismal english weather, silly posters, and a great number of students finding themselves sartorially inspired to don some rather questionably ugly Christmas jumpers. Several bunches of mistletoe also happened to appear mysteriously overnight and were found hanging from the arches of busy entrance-ways and paths heavy with foot-traffic. Subtlety was not a strong factor among the University’s population.
Twas the season, as some would say, and something was definitely in the air. Rose, who had recently been appointed a student position in the Lost Property Office, noticed an influx of… interesting items.
It was a gradual progression from mildly odd (a jar of different coloured buttons left in the men’s loo) to somewhat odd (springs of varying sizes, found scattered across the front steps of the arts building) to blatantly odd (twenty-five cat collar bells, tied together and left dangling from the open windows of a history lecture room on the fourth floor).
Things escalated from there at a disturbing pace. After a hastily consumed lunch on an otherwise quiet Thursday, Rose looked up from the paper she was writing on her laptop and did a double take.
Incredulously, she asked, “Is that a crossbow?”
"Yeah," said the boy gingerly holding it. He laid it on the counter. "Found it in the bushes outside my dorm. I was, uh, taking a walk this morning."
Rose wondered if ‘taking a walk’ was a euphemism for ‘taking a leak after staying out all night getting pissed’ but decided she’d rather not know.
Later that same afternoon, a confused girl came in carrying a plastic mannequin arm which she had found in the basement of the Physics lab building.
None of these things compared to what arrived just as Rose sat down at the beginning of her shift on Friday, however. An extremely nonplussed Professor stormed into the Lost Property Office and plonked something on the counter that Rose was definitely certain did not belong in the Anthropology Studies lecture hall.
Something that was alive.
Or might have been, anyway.
*
"Well," was all Mrs. Adeola could say. "What is it… we’re dealing with here, exactly?"
Jake, who manned the desk on the days Rose didn’t, shrugged. “Apparently, a tortoise with a BIOHAZARD sticker on its shell.”
"And we’re certain it isn’t… dead?"
"Reckon it’s just sleeping," Rose said thoughtfully. "My little brother has pet tortoises. I think they hibernate in the winter."
Jake eyed the shell with doubt. “D’you think we should try to wake it and give it food? What do tortoises eat?”
"Lettuce?"
Rose reached out to touch the shell of the creature, but Jake batted her hand away.
"Are you crazy? What if it’s actually biohazardous?”
She rolled her eyes and used the ends of her rainbow striped woolly scarf to pick up the inanimate shell. Holding it up to one eye, Rose peered into the hole where a head ought to peek out. There was definitely something inside, something dark and fleshy.
"The occupant is in," she declared.
Mrs. Adeola sighed. “I don’t suppose either of you know anything about turtles?”
"I just came to get my lecture notes," said Jake. "I can’t stay."
"I’m not an expert," said Rose, "But I can do some research."
"Please do, Miss Tyler."
*
A quick Google search revealed that tortoises did indeed hibernate through the cold months, but also that they required very precise conditions in which to survive said hibernation spells. Rose, alarmed by what she found on the internet, immediately set out to find a plastic container and some soil. She was able to procure a sand bucket and a few handfuls of dirt (surreptitiously stolen from potted plants in the administrative offices upstairs) and set her new little friend inside.
"Prolonged temperatures above 10ºC can prove detrimental to your tortoise’s health," Rose read aloud from the web page she had open on her laptop. Oh bloody hell, she thought.
"Are you boiling in there, buddy? What are we going to do about this, hey? Any ideas?" She sighed, and used the end of her braided hair to tickle the motionless shell.
The only thing she could think of was to set the poor thing, bucket et all, onto one of the shelves lining the back of the wall furthest from the doors and turn the thermostat all the way down for the night. Hopefully that would be enough prevent accidental reptile death.
"Should I take you home?" Rose murmured, hesitating and lifting the tortoise out of the bucket once more to ponder her options. "Never research things on the internet. It leads to indecision and paranoia. I s’pose I could put you in the vegetable crisper, but mum might have a coronary when she finds you there in the morning. I suppose I could bribe Tony into saying it’s one of his."
She was still contemplating the pros and cons of shelf vs crisper when her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, loud BANG! The bucket slipped from her hand as she jumped in surprise.
Several things happened at once:
Firstly, the doors to the office burst open and a wild-eyed, wild-haired bloke came running inside, skidding to a stop in front of the counter. He slapped his hands down on the open record logs, eyes darting back and forth- “Hello? Anyone home?”
Secondly, Rose very nearly dropped the tortoise. For amazingly enough, it had chosen this particular moment to poke its head out of it’s shell, startling her as much as the young man’s precipitous entry into the room.
"Jesus, you gave me a fright!" Rose exclaimed, both to the visitor and to the tortoise. Then- "Oi! What do you think you’re doing-!"
She stumbled backwards as a tall, skinny body hoisted itself onto the counter and swung a pair of long, trouser-clad legs over to land with a heavy thump on her side. The log clattered to the floor, spilling pages everywhere. Rose barely had time to register any dismay over this before her invader let loose a loud exclamation of "You!" and charged headlong at her.
Rose backed up, alarmed. “What do you want?”
"ALONSO!" he cried. A manic expression lit up his face as he snatched the tortoise from her.
What the-
Incensed, Rose did what was only logical in the situation. She grabbed the mannequin arm off the top shelf of the cabinet and whacked him in the shoulder with it.
"Ow!" he cried, giving her a wounded, offended look. "What was that for?"
"You’re not allowed back here!"
"That’s no call for violence!"
"It’s trespassing!"
Cradling the little shell to his chest, he said, plaintively, “I only came because someone told me the Lost Property Office had a tortoise and I just knew it would be mine! Alonso! I thought you were gone forever! I left the room for one second and someone kidnapped you! Right out from under my nose!”
This seemed highly unlikely to Rose, remembering the harried state of the Professor who had dropped the tortoise off. She said, firmly, “You’re still not allowed behind the counter!”
He opened his mouth to argue again, but the sight of the open shelving behind Rose caught his attention. His jaw dropped. “My things! All my things! I’ve been looking for my things!”
"Your- hey!"
She was unceremoniously pushed aside and found herself holding, er, Alonso, again, as the bloke began tearing through items on hold, tossing aside purses and keyrings and gloves and proceeding to make a frightful mess.
"Oi!"
Her indignation was completely ignored. He hopped from foot to foot with excitement and crowed, “My 14th century crossbow replica model! My button collection! Blimey, even the springs are here, oh, darn, the fourth one’s missing, but - wow, that’s quite a collection of pants, I’m impressed, who knew people lost so much underwear? - Ooooh! The cat collars! Donna will be so pleased!”
Turning, he flashed a grin at her, all straight teeth and dimples and inexplicably charming hyperactivity. “Ohhhh, oh oh oh, you have no idea how glad I am that all of this has finally turned up again!”
Rose blinked, utterly flummoxed - mostly from the onslaught of words he’d rattled off at her and maybe just a little bit from that smile. He was a fellow student, though she had never seen him before. But that was not surprising, really: she usually avoided crazy people.
"All that stuff’s… yours, then, is it?"
"Uh huh!" He bobbed his head excitedly, ruffling his hair with both hands and pulling more and more objects out of storage and shoving them into his pockets or lobbing them onto the counter.
"Right," said Rose, dodging a polka-dotted rubber duck as it sailed past her head. "You’re mad, you know?"
"People do keep saying that," he muttered, "But in this instance I really fail to see how madness has anything to do with reclaiming my rightful possessions!"
"What’s the crossbow for?" she demanded.
"It’s a replica. I made it for my friend’s history presentation. It’s very historically accurate, minus the poison-tipped bows of course."
"And the cat collars?"
"Charity animal shelter donation. My cousin made them. We hung them up to let the glue on the bells dry, but unfortunately it was a very windy night and they made a lot of noise. Probably what caught people’s attention. Oh well, lesson learnt. Next time: Aunt Sylvia’s washing line."
Was he being serious? She couldn’t tell. “What about the tortoise?”
"Don’t be rude, he’s got a name. Haven’t you, Alonso?"
"Is he your pet?"
"I s’pose you can call him that. I would say companion. The finest of companions, in fact." He turned and stroked the top of Alonso’s little brown head and cooed, "Aren’t you, lovey? Yes you are!"
"There was a sticker, on him, when he was brought in. Said he’s a biohazard."
He laughed, “Was there really? Wonder how that got there?”
"I took it off, he was being unfairly discriminated against for it," said Rose, lifting Alonso up. "He’s been inside his shell the whole time. You’d better feed him, I’ll bet he’s starving by now."
"You’re probably right," he said, peering at the little tortoise in consternation. "It’s what happens when you suffer from stage fright. I’m trying to cure him, but it’s slow going. Doesn’t help that he’s a picky eater."
"Do tortoises get stage fright? What are you doing with him? The Christmas Panto?"
"He’ll be playing one of the wise men, Saturday after next, Drama department, Building A-2, 6PM. Tickets can be reserved by phone or in person. Ask for Sally."
A smile tugged at Rose’s mouth, but she fought it back. “What do you feed him?”
"He likes day old lettuce kept out of the crisper. For a treat I give him some hibiscus petals, he likes those. Sometimes rose hips." As if on cue, Alonso started to nibble on the ends of Rose’s scarf.
She carefully pulled the woolly fringe away from his little mouth. “I was gonna take you home with me. We have lots of lettuce. Mum’s on a diet again this week. To think, you could’ve spent the night in my mum’s refrigerator.”
"Really? You were going to do that?"
"I was considering it when you burst in here." With the air of someone who knew more about tortoises than what they’d learned from five minutes on the internet, she added, "Hibernating tortoises don’t fare well in warm environments for long periods of time."
Alonso’s owner straightened slightly and threw Rose an appraising look over his shoulder. The smile that spread over his face was infectious. “Ah. You’re an expert, I see. Seems like he was in good hands, then.”
To keep up the illusion (because she simply had to, now), she asked, “So, when did Alonso go into hibernation?”
"About two months ago," said his owner, returning to his previous task of shoving random objects into his pockets. They bulged, giving him the air of an overgrown child who had ransacked a candy jar. (Some of it, in fact, probably was candy - someone had turned in a paper bag full of jelly babies last week.)
"He should’ve stayed in hibernation for another two or three months, then," said Rose, brow wrinkling. "Isn’t this bad for him?"
"Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. Alonso is a hardy fellow. And it’s far more dangerous for little tortoises like him to sleep too long than the other way ‘round. It eats up their fat reserves and they die."
"You are rather small," Rose said to Alonso. "But you might grow to be huge. Tony’s tortoise grew to twice it’s size in six months. Is Alonso a baby?"
Her question went unanswered - “Think I’ve got everything!” he said, patting his pockets. “What luck! Must’ve gotten out of the right side of the bed this morning! Perfect. I’ll be on my way then, Alonso needs feeding back at the dorm - Oh. Wait.” He dashed around the counter, scrambled around on the floor picking up the log sheets and various items that were scattered on the ground, and politely put everything back on the counter in a neat pile. “Sorry about that. And thanks! You saved my life!”
With a cheerful nod of his head, he reclaimed Alonso and was out the door, merrily whistling the first two bars of ‘It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas’.
Rose watched him go, bemused by the entire encounter. The doors swung shut and she was left to stare at them in silence.
They suddenly swung open again, making her jump. What now, she wondered.
A nest of messy brown hair poked curiously back inside, both eyebrows raised. He said, gravely, “I forgot to ask.”
"What?"
"What’s your name?"
Huh? “What?”
He repeated the question louder; as though he thought she hadn’t heard him, as if it were an issue of mere volume, “What’s your name?”
"Rose. Rose Tyler."
Well, that was odd. She hadn’t intended to say anything, but her mouth seemed to have operated on it’s own accord.
"Nice to meet you, Rose!" he said with an easy grin, and with one hand bore Alonso aloft in a weird sort of salute before disappearing again.
"Mad," Rose said to herself. "Just absolutely mad."
But she found that she was smiling, and wasn’t that just the strangest thing, too?