The Fugitive could feel members of the crowd looking at him, focusing on him, remembering his face; the other man's rudeness imbedding him in their memories. This wouldn't do. What was the man hurrying for? Why was he in such a rush? The Fugitive narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly.

With a light step, he followed the Doctor. He kept his head down, watching the backs of the man's shoes as he made his focused way through the crowd. He had nothing to do for hours; he would find out what made the doctor rush.