Chapter Text
"'It was most suggestive,' said Holmes, 'It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important,'" Ollie whispered to himself, his eyes skimming lines, words bouncing off the pages of a book that he'd read countless times. "Try telling that to my anxiety, Mr. Holmes"
Ollie had a habit of commenting aloud at books he's grown fond of. He was given many glances and strange looks when in public, but he didn't care, because stopping would mean compromising his enjoyment.
The city around him was loud. He was surrounded by skyscrapers, cars beeping, and people who walked so close to him he felt like his skin was rubbing off. He was uncomfortable, and his hands cramped as he held up the hardcover of the novel he was reading.
He really shouldn't have been reading; he knew that. He was walking down the street on his way to the bus stop, and at any moment he could have tripped, run into traffic, or a telephone pole, really any number of dangerous things, but Ollie didn't care.
He much preferred the company of fictional characters to music, or his own thoughts, and he thought maybe if he could get sucked far enough away he wouldn't have to think about work.
Ollie closed his book and adjusted his jacket. It wasn't particularly cold, but he enjoyed wearing his jacket regardless- it made him feel like a real detective, and was a sort of shield from the rest of his life.
"Alright, so, the case," he told himself. He had given up with trying to forget about it. He couldn't exactly make himself stop thinking; which was frankly quite an annoying thing about brains- the more you try to ignore something the more likely it is to stay at the forefront.
"Your theories are: The husband, twins, poison particles. Don't falter from them until they've been proven wrong. Your input is as helpful to the team as anyone else's," and then, since he didn't believe that in the slightest, "They wouldn't have hired you as an intern if they didn't see your potential."
He tried to hold that little bit of information close, but crippling self doubt is something that is hard to stay away from, and so the feeling of acceptance quickly fleeted, and was replaced by a fire of anxiety in his belly. It was stoked with every breath, like a black hole trying to consume him from the inside.
"Or you could just stay quiet until someone notices." Ollie muttered, absolutely defeated in the four seconds he had tried to stay confident in himself. He still didn't know exactly why he had chosen law enforcement, it's not exactly the best career for somebody who has trouble handling stress.
He lifted his eyes to the street in front of him, gripping his book so hard to his chest that his knuckles turned white. He looked at his surroundings, hoping to find a secluded place where he could panic in private, but his vision was too hazy, and he felt like he was going to faint any minute.
He turned down a more or less private alleyway instead, and leaned against the wall, catching his breath.
They're going to hate me, they're going to kick me out. I'm never going to amount to anything. I know thats what they're all thinking, everytime I walk into the room they stare at me like I'm an imbecile. They hate me, they don't want me.
Ollie's mind raced fast, faster than he could comprehend. All of those words of self doubt crippled him, he couldn't walk, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe. He was going to die.
He sat, hood pulled over his head, eyes trained to the ground.
The air around him was blowing hard. Every noise that was made sounded like screaming and wheezing in his ears. He was sweating, shaking, gasping for air. He clenched and unclenched his shaky fists as fear and dread overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing more than to feel safe.
"Calm down, Ollie, fucking calm down," He whispered, words punctuated by gasps.
He looked around for anything that he could ground himself with, maybe a rock or— or something similar. What he found was an old London-style police phone box that had somehow appeared next to him.
Well, probably not appeared. He didn't remember it being there when he walked into the alley, but he was also in a very iffy state at that point.
Ollie stumbled towards the doors of the box, his balance severely impaired. He went from wall to wall, taking a moment to breathe between each step. If the box was anything like it looked, it would be a small enclosed space for him to hide himself away in.
He frantically pushed open the door, eyes fixed to the chipping blue paint. As he shut the door he faced it, and leant his head against the frosted windows.
All the noise ceased immediately. He savored the feeling of cool metal and glass against his clammy skin. He felt like he had spent days on the surface of the sun and was just transported to Jupiter.
The chill snapped him back to life. His hands still shook and his breathing was still ragged, but now he was safe.
The air around him felt strange. Almost like, he could sense... that the space he was in was bigger than he thought. Like if he were to lean against the wall that he /knew/ was behind him, he'd fall over backwards. Like how it feels when you roll over to the very edge of your bed and you /know/ that if you move you'll fall off, and you don't even have to look.
It was unnerving, to say the least. Because he was positive that he had stepped inside a wooden box that was about five foot by five foot wide.
He had seen it with his own eyes, hadn't he? He was in a small enclosed space, by himself, completely alone.
"Oi!"
Or not.
"Shit!" Ollie startled, jumping and turning around to face the voice. "Sorry, oh my God I'm so sorry,"
So, he was definitely not in a small enclosed space then. No, it was way bigger than that. About 200 times bigger if Ollie's calculations were correct.
"How the hell did you get in here?" The man asked, his accent most definitely not American. It sounded scottish— rough and angry.
"I— uh— don't know. It just sort of happened" Ollie stuttered, his hands fidgeting wildly in front of his chest, poised defensively, and his shoulders slunk in on themselves.
He looked around the room they stood in, past the man's shoulders. He supposed he could escape if something were to happen, considering the round architecture. The room was simply a risen platform encircling a sort of six sided control panel, encircled by more risen platforms with bookshelves on them. There was a doorway, presumably leading outside, on the wall opposite Ollie.
"It can't have 'just happened' , you need a key to get in here," the man snapped.
There was a whirring noise that emanated from the center control panel.
"Oh so it was you ," he said, turning around to face the center of the room, his hands twirling about as if to more vividly express his upset.
"Sorry, who are you talking to?" Ollie asked, understandably confused.
He ignored Ollie. "No. No. Absolutely not, I am not letting this happen."
There was another whirring sound, but it sounded more aggressive than the last, somehow.
The man sighed. "Out." He said.
"I, um, okay, then" ollie turned around and pushed against the door. It didn't open.
He sighed louder this time. "I can't believe you."
another whir sounded in response. The mysterious man turned back to Ollie. "Ok, well, since she's decided to lock you in here, I suppose I have no choice but to babysit you."
"She?" Ollie asked.
"Yes, she ,"
"Oh, so you're one of those men that has an unhealthy attachment to machinery." Ollie said matter-of-factly, his eyes fixed on the man's shoulders.
" no— she's— she's sentient. She's a living being, not a machine " The man snapped, directly facing Ollie, his eyebrows making his face look angrier than it probably was.
Ollie dared to make eye contact for a miniscule second. He felt his heart rise into his throat.
"that's completely normal," he squeaked "I don't know why I said something so stupid as to assume she's not sentient, there are plenty of sentient machines that I've seen, or met, or I don't know what you'd say in that situation—"
He stopped his rambling mid sentence as he realized his words were becoming pointless
"Anyway, I'm gonna go—" he motioned towards the wall opposite to him-- the one with the doorway-- and started walking across the room. "— over here, and I'm gonna finish having my panic attack in peace."
He didn't wait to see if the man was okay with this, he just scampered across the platform and through the open doorway, before collapsing against the wall.
Suddenly, he felt exhaustion catch up to him; it weighed on his body like a nice weighted blanket. He closed his eyes. His head felt light and floaty. He drifted, barely able to stay afloat in his consciousness. He forced himself to walk -- stumble-- down the hallway in front of him, and searched helplessly for a room he could escape to.
He did, eventually, come across a room. Well, more specifically, he came across a door, to what he assumed was a room.
The door was big and solid, made of wood. It had a piece of paper taped on it at eye level, with two names scribbled on it in ballpoint pen.
"Amy" and "Rory" and then below it, "go away, Doctor"
"Doctor"? Were there doctors on board?
He pushed away that thought, and his curiosity about Amy and Rory, and he pushed open the door. It was a lot lighter than it looked.
The room was decently sized. It was designed sort of like the other room they were in earlier— with a platform and steps. Only this time, the platform only reached Ollie's mid-shins, and it was situated on one side of the room against the wall.
On it stood a bunk bed, and behind it, a big window. Like, massive window, so huge it took up most of the wall. Outside, Ollie could see a galaxy. He supposed it was some sort of futuristic window projection technology.
There were knickknacks placed caringly around the space. A couple of which were a pair of paper dolls; one was a small girl with red hair, adorned in a red raincoat; the other, a tall man with floppy hair and a raggedy blue shirt.
The bed sheets were the same blue as the doors to the box Ollie mistakenly walked through, the same ones which currently locked him on this , Vehicle???
The top bunk looked hardly used, the bed was made and there were barely any wrinkles. The bottom one, however, looked heavily lived in. He would've believed it if he found out someone slept in it the night before.
It held a cozy looking knitted blanket lay sprawled out messily, along with a couple very fluffy pillows. Ollie decided he didn't want to sleep there. Maybe some things were just meant to be left as they were. Maybe the people who slept in it were going to return soon.
Ollie walked over to the dresser. There were a lot of clothes inside the drawers; presumably from both a man and a woman— probably Amy and Rory. Ollie wondered what had happened to them, and why they left all their belongings here in this room.
He searched for any extra blankets, to no avail. He did grab a clean shirt, though, it was much too big for him. It looked comfortable though— it was a nice maroon, easy on the eyes, and was soft and light.
Ollie opened the closet, and found a wedding dress stashed inside. So Amy and Rory must have been a couple?
There were also extra knitted blankets on the shelf. Ollie picked up a mustard yellow one. It was chunky, and heavy; perfect. A weighted blanket was just what he needed to regulate his nervous system.
He climbed up to the top bunk with his blanket, kicked off his shoes, and layed down. He thought vaguely of his internship as he drifted, and decided he'd worry about it later. He felt safe here, in this room. He thought it strange, how safe he felt, since he had never been in this room before now. It was strange, but not strange enough for ollie to pay any mind.
Maybe, that was a good thing. Maybe he needed a place where he felt safe.