granddaughter

Susan had been watching the sleeping figure next to her for some time. It was true what they said about men, wasn't it? Not that she could really blame him. He'd had a long day. Reaching up and smoothing his hair back off of his face, Susan leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his forehead before curling down next to him, tucking her arms against her chest as she watched him through half-lidded eyes, mentally fuming against the gnawing feeling that had returned to her stomach. There was no way he could be a murderer. There was simply no way that someone so gentle, loving, brilliant, and attentive could have done the things that they were accusing this Sylar of.

Was there?

Susan frowned softly as she reached out and touched his injured cheek, sighing softly, "I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you," Susan whispered, tucking herself in next to him, her eyes sliding closed as she tried to block out all of the thoughts swimming in her overactive mind.

The gnawing feeling was still there, though, firmly buried in the pit of her stomach no matter how much she told herself that what everyone was saying couldn't be true. But even some of the things that Rafe himself had said had left Susan wondering. Still, if she was going to let her mind ruin the moment, she shouldn't have even.... No, she would have anyway, even knowing that this thought process would have been inflicted on her afterwards.

It took her almost an hour worth of wrestling with her logic and her heart, trying to reconcile the two...only to fall into a fitful sleep before the problem was anywhere near resolved.

It hurts. The physical heaviness has passed, but the emotional intensity left over from my own memories, Grandfather's memories, and that blasted... It just hurts. I don't know how to feel right now. I feel so disjointed. It's all there, but it doesn't feel real. It feels like I dreamed everything. I dreamed my life? That's a sad thought. I just need something, something other than Grandfather to ground me. I love him, but he's a constant part of the dream. How can I be sure that he isn't just an invented unreality?

I'm scared, more scared than I ever remember being. I can't lose him. He's all that I have left. Mother, Father, the rest of our family, our planet, our people... David, our children, our grandchildren our great-grandchildren. Everything else is gone. It hurts too much to even contemplate losing him as well.

He was crying out last night, calling for people that I don't know. I wanted to help him, but there was only so much I could do when he wanted someone else, wanted to know that they were all right, and kept insisting that something (or someone, I wasn't quite sure) was burning. He asked for Ian and Barbara at one point, wanted to know if they had made it back safely, if that stupid boy (I'm assuming he meant Mr. Chesterton) had been able to work everything properly. I wish I knew.

I hate feeling helpless.

"Owen. Where are you, exactly? Grandfather's sick. The 'good' one. I have no idea what's wrong, and even he doesn't know what it is. And that's not a good sign. I can fly the TARDIS, but unless I have specific coordinates, there will be a lot of leeway in where we land. He's not in any shape to walk. Oh. Hurry. Please."

I'm sorry, Uncle.

But it has to be done, for the good of Torchwood, for the good of the Earth, for the future of the Time Lords. It has to be done.

I'm sorry I couldn't save you.

Susan felt weird going through Owen's things. She had always (well, almost always) respected her friends' privacy, but this was a matter of the utmost urgency. She was sure that he would understand if she had to snag a few things out of his address book in order to serve a greater purpose. And besides, she was making sure to put everything back where she found it. If she missed anything, she could always clean up later. After nearly a half an hour of searching, she finally found what she was looking for. Jotting the address out on a piece of scrap paper, Susan grabbed her coat from where she'd tossed it on a chair and headed out of the building.

Pausing on the landing, Susan took a look around her, glancing down at the address in her hand. In her examinations of the street, however, something else happened to catch her eye. Had that brick always stuck out that far? That couldn't be very good for the structural soundness of the building. Frowning and stepping over to it, Susan knelt down to push it back in, and her hand froze. Hastily brushing off a heavy layer of dirt that had gathered on it, blowing to remove the bits that her hand couldn't get at, coughing and waving her arm to clear the air, Susan squinted at the brick facing. It couldn't be....

No, they definitely were. Gallifreyan symbols. Time. Chaos. Justice. Possibility. Grandfather could have definitely written the symbols, but there was only one person that would know to put them here. "Oh, Owen. You brilliant, brilliant boy," Susan murmured to herself as she put her hand against the brick. Unsurprised by the give that it had, Susan gripped the brick, wiggling it slightly before pulling the it slowly out of its position. Laughing as she spotted the phone, Susan slipped it from its resting place, blowing the dust off of it before flipping it open.

"Please, please, still work," Susan said, pushing the on button and letting out a sigh of relief when it came on, flashing a welcome message that told her practically everything that she needed to know. "And they say things aren't built to last anymore."

"Grandfather!" Susan called, pounding on the door to Adric's flat. She had been trying to get him to open the door for the last five minutes, and she had finally gotten desperate. He had to know what was going on. He could get everyone together a lot easier than she could. He probably knew more people than she could manage. But he wasn't answering the door. Romana was obviously gone, too, or she would have opened it herself. The door was locked solidly closed, so obviously they had gone out. This was not the time for him to be out. This was not.

Letting her head thump heavily against the door as a slight echo of laughter bloomed in the back of her head. Gritting her teeth together, Susan clenched her hands into tight fists, "You're not going to win," Susan said, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm not going to let you."

Wherever this Grandfather was, he was useless right now. Maybe it would be a better idea to try and track down the other. Apparently, he was the much more reliable one in this situation. Plus, he had a TARDIS. Maybe they could get past those odd defenses that way. Maybe. They needed all the ideas that they could manage right now.

I can't get it out of my head no matter how hard I try. All of it is there, lingering in the back of my mind waiting for some opportunity of weakness to assert itself and try to throw me off balance. So many years of pain, so much death. I want it out of my head. Was he honestly trying to make me insane? If this damn drumbeat is stuck, I'm going to kill him. Constant, waxing and waning in volume and intensity. It's not reached the point of unbearable yet, but it's straining my nerves. I want it out. I want it all out. If this keeps up much longer, he's going to get what he wants.

Susan wasn't sure what to believe anymore. There was so much conflicting information, too many things that didn't fit together, and so much that she knew that she didn't know, pieces that were missing and the puzzle couldn't be completed without them. Turning her phone over in her hand, Susan frowned softly. It was just to occupy herself, but the urge to call her Uncle Harry and demand that he explain just what was happening to her was starting to become overwhelming. Of course, she'd probably just end up clinging and crying instead. She needed someone, something solid right now, and everything was just slipping away from her. And the dream that she had had the night before hadn't done her any favors.

"David," Susan whispered the name that she had woken up saying, tears wet in her eyes.

It was enough, the last straw that had made her wonder whether she even wanted to know what was going on with her. Maybe, if she learned how to ignore it, she would be able to live a normal life someday. Whatever this was, whoever's memories or thoughts she was experiencing, they were filled with pain, loss, and loneliness.

Susan wasn't sure she could live like that.