Peter hung up as she answered, motioned for her to put it on speaker. A soft voice echoed through the room.

“Hello?” It was the girl.

Shay took a deep breath, “Clarissa?” She asked, “I’m Shay, I’m here with my friend Peter.”

“Are you from the police?”

“We are.” Peter piped in. “We’re looking for your brother.”

There was a silence on the other side.

“You know where he is, don’t you, Clarissa?” She rubbed her eyes, already tired. She could tell this was going to be a long, hard conversation.

More silence.

“Clarissa, this is a phone call.” She tried not to sound too cynical. “We need you to say something.”

“We want to help you.” Peter cut in, glaring at her. “But we need you to work with us.”

They could hear a muted conversation, a man’s voice rumbling in the background.

“Clarissa?”

“You’re not going to arrest us?”

“I promise I won’t.” Shay glanced at Peter, “We can just meet somewhere, just talk. I can buy you a coffee.”

There was a chuckle. Improvement. “Why not a drink?”

“Because presumably, you’re still driving.” She rolled her eyes.

“Will Peter be there?”

“Probably.” He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Shay’s not allowed to go alone.”

She poked him in the ribs.

“You didn’t promise.” She seemed to be steeling herself. “Peter didn’t promise he wouldn’t…”

She chuckled. “She’s smart.” She whispered, turning away from the microphone.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I won’t arrest you if you come talk to us.”

“And if he does try anything, I will punch him in the face.”

(She would. I’ve seen her take a swing at him more than once. She doesn’t try to be gentle, either, though she does give him enough time to dodge.)

(I’ve never seen him take a swing at her, and I doubt I ever will.)

Clarissa laughed, “Okay, then. We can meet.”

“Where are you right now?” Peter poked her, and she cringed when she realised what he meant. “I mean, whereabouts do you want to meet? Where are you comfortable?”

There was a long silence. Just as Shay moved over to check if the connection was still there, Clarissa spoke. “Can I call you later?”

She glanced at Peter, decided for them both. “Call within the hour and you might convince me to make it dinner.”

“All right.” She sounded less suspicious now, at least. “Thank you, Doctor.”

She hung up, leaving Shay to stare at the screen. Peter reached over to shut down the call.

“You all right?”

“I introduced myself as Shay.” She frowned deeply.

“That you did.” He waited, patient.

She met his eyes, the are you daft shining heavily in them. “She called me Doctor.”

“Oh,” Eyes wide, understanding dawning. “Her mum called you Doctor. Davies introduced you.”

She hummed, “Maybe we should hold off informing the family.”

He nodded, “After all, we can’t know for certain, and we wouldn’t want to give false hope, now, would we?”

“That would be the absolute worst to do in this situation.” She smiled, grateful. “Try the social services again?”

He sighed.

Eventually, Clarissa settled on a coffee place in North-London, out of the way from any main roads and obviously chosen because it wasn’t anywhere near her escape route. They met her at ten the next morning, sat at a table in a corner, away from the others.

She frowned as they sat down at her table. “Are you Mr Carlyle and the Doctor?”

Peter pulled out his ID, but Shay just nodded. “Call me Shay.”

Peter offered one of his magical disarming smile. “She’s a bit salty she’s not a time traveller.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” She pushed him, he humoured her and moved with it.

(It’s a thing they do, almost purposely, when they meet new people; an effort to be kind, to humanize the mystic presence that is the dynamic duo of mystery, dispel the fog of rumours and legends surrounding them. Peter makes fun of her, she doesn’t mind, everyone laughs.)

As everyone, Clarissa chuckled.

“Order anything you want.” Shay opened up the menu. “I have a business expense budget, if I don’t hit my target, they cut my funds.”

“She’s not kidding.” He glanced at the card, “Get a steak.”

Clarissa seemed hesitant, Peter reported.

(Probably because she thought it was coming out of Police funds; in fact, the they ready to cut all funding for fancy lunches was Carlyle. Apparently, he was trying to achieve something with this, though I never figured out what.)

They ordered. No one got steak. There was a long, barely comfortable pause as they waited, filled with stares and measuring-up and a silent battle of wills about who would pounce first.

Shay bit first, just as Peter cut into his chicken. A glint in her eyes, she leaned forward, hands steepled above her plate.

“So where’s Chase?”

Clarissa, to her credit, only paused for a very brief moment. “He’s safe.”

“I know.” She stared her down. “I trust you.” Her face contradicted her words, as it often does.

Peter popped a piece of chicken in his mouth, leaned back. Watched.

“Where is Chase?” Her head tilted just a tiny bit, an increment. Nothing in her expression changed.

Clarissa blinked. “He’s with my dad. Somewhere safe.”

“Tell me about him.” She narrowed her eyes. “Your father. Prove to me he’s safe.”

Clarissa thought for a moment, a smile slowly growing on her face. “I only reconnected with him a few years ago. Mum always told me he was a dick, but… he’s nice.” She shrugged, “He’s made mistakes, but he’s gotten better.” She seemed to relax, talking about him. “He’s been… very kind.”

“Unlike your stepdad?”

Peter had expected the stunned silence, had placed a mental bet on it. He’d expected the way her eyes widened, the shock that always came when Shay asked something, matter of fact, voice still kind, and dug her fingers deeply into an open wound.

He’d half-expected the colour draining from her face, the ashen look of recognition, even.

What he hadn’t expected was the tears.

From either side.