Yes, I know i should be updating The Stark Twins, and i swear I'm writing it! But i also swear, Im gonna miss eleven so much i have to write a fanfic with him in it. This is eleven/Rose, or will be soon.

This an AU where Rose fell into the void because Pete never came for her, but then pretty much the same of everything else comes and happens, just without Rose, and the Tenth Doctor Duplicate was left in the care of Jackie Tyler. Rose didn't age or die in the void, though because there was still part of the time vortex in her (The Bad Wolf) and kept her safe until she was suddenly spat out of the void and tda!

Enjoy!

The night was quiet. The more well-to-do residents of the area would have called it peaceful, welcome, blissful, about-time. But the others, the more hardened, unsheltered, down-on-their-luck people—they knew it was not so. They heard the quiet, but didn't feel as though the usual, routine noisemakers were sleeping—it was like they were hiding. Cowering in fear of...what? No rats scurried in the dark corners, no drunken tune lamented about beautiful, haughty girls. The trash refused to skitter and whisper on the rough gravel streets, and even the wind was quiet.

Like it was holding its breath.

Then, the feeling swept over the area—affecting everything within a ten-mile radius. It made emotions go haywire, magnifying any and all feelings tenfold. All televisions spat static at the viewers, who all either screamed with rage or sobbed with despair. Artists, slowly and meticulously painting their hopeful masterpieces, suddenly were gripped with an urge to scribble it over, obliterate it furiously with a blind rage of hopelessness. Those sleeping were abruptly and totally plagued with nightmares. It was paranoia, distress—something and anything that made all those fearful, angry, burning thoughts explode inside you and wreak havoc on your mind, your instinct, your decisions, attacking every moment you might have ever second guessed yourself.

Then, within one dark, deserted alley, something began to glow.

A jagged line—a crack—began to worm it's way across a dingy brick wall, bringing a distant thundering and foreboding. Blinding light seeped out as though the sun itself was trying to squeeze through the tiny, long opening.

Reality began to shake. Everything began to tremble with fear and anguish as the crack, the awful rift yawned wide like the huge, gaping mouth of hell—

Suddenly, a shriek was heard—a sharp, short, high noise that pierced the darkness like a pin. It was nearly lost in the wild thundering, but then a small, dark shape was flung out of the crack, ripping through something much stranger than brick. The shape hit the wet, grimy ground just in time for the gash to snap shut, falling in on itself with a bang that send some sort of shockwave booming around it. Quicker than the forked lightening that flashed in the distance, the televisions suddenly regained their clarity as the viewers were abruptly motivated to recompose themselves, never to speak of such a hysterical episode to anyone. The artists gawked dumbly at the mess that was now their life's work, wondering why such mood swings had occurred. The hellish scenarios raging in the subconscious of the slumbering quickly melted back into dreams.

Everything was suddenly and inexplicably normal again—yet, no one knew what had ever been wrong.

Once again, it was quiet—except, of course, for weak, muffled sobs that came from the small shape that had escaped whatever lay on the other side of that rift. The sounds were ones of both physical and emotion agony, of palpable fear, of utter confusion and delirious bewilderment. It shifted convulsively, shaking and shivering in the cold, silent night.

All alone.

And within this tortured, agonized mind, only one single memory could form—only a few seconds in the whole of a life.

Oh, and it burned.

—•—•—

"HANG ON!"

She's being pulled towards something so strongly—her feet have long since left the ground, and she's grasping a single lever in the attempt to resist. She can only try to breathe through the agony of being pulled like taffy and try to anchor herself to this voice that screamed for her to hang on.

And she was hanging on by her fingertips.

To her horror, it wasn't just a mindless pull, but a calculated drag, like a man taking a draw from a cigar. It wasn't just pulling, it wanted her; it was concentrated on her!

With one last wrench, one last sucking pull, she fell.

"NO!" The scream was torn from him.

She cried in horror. It seemed to be slow motion as she slowly fell to hell, and she could see every tear on HIS face. His wild brown hair was even more tousled by the roar of the hurricane, his big brown eyes were wide and scared, and she knew that she loved him with everything she had. "ROSE!" He was screaming. "NO! ROSE!"

She locked eyes with him as she was close, too close—

Then, her mind is wiped blank and she remembers...

...nothing.

—•—•—

His friend smiled so cheerfully Jack thought it was offensive.

"Why are you so happy?" He snarked at Gwen, who raised her eyebrows in return.

"Oy!" She snorted. "It's not my fault you don't have a girlfriend...or boyfriend, for that matter."

Jack shrugged as they patrolled the streets of Cardiff, searching half-heartedly for any signs of life that may have been spit to accompany the massive rift energy readings that had been detected half an hour earlier. "And it's not my fault that those words imply commitment."

They fell silent by some unspoken agreement as they journeyed on. It was eerily dark—nothing that bothered the two seasoned fighters, of course, but spooky all the same. The alley they ghosted along was slick with cold rain, and dense grains of fog clung to the few stuttering street lamps that provided only small, weak puddles of flickering grayish light in the thick night. Miscellaneous debris was lumped in corners and sides, skittering and tossing in the hellishly frigid wind chill. The two Torchwood Agents stiffened as they advanced, prepared for the worst.

Suddenly, the noise came that sent the two's ears pricking and spines stiffening. A small whimper, or cry, the shifting scrape of skin on pavement, merely ten feet ahead. By some unsaid plan, Jack's eyes strained for the source of the sound while Gwen kept her focus broad, aware for any who might attack in the midst of a planted distraction. Meanwhile, Jack crept closer, gliding soundlessly towards the noise. The sound had come from the darkness, smack between two weak lamp lights, positioned right where the weak colorlessness overlapped and threw the space under a shadowy cloak. Five feet away...three feet...one foot...this close, he could see the form fidgeting weakly, seeing as it's sputtering survival instinct would be trying to spurn enough energy and will to flee.

As this thought rang in his head, his foot lashed out in a vicious kick, designed to throw the creature into the light for a clear assessment—Jack jumped a mile in the air when he heard not a guttural, animalistic wail, but a shriek, a sob of pain...oh, God, this was a human being! The form jerked and was flung sideways, falling into the electric's dim relief—

Jack froze.

It couldn't be—it could not be! The figure was hunched in the fetal position, spasming with heart broken sobs and hiccups, but Jack could make out tangled, dirty blond hair in the colorless light, he could see familiar brown eyes staring up at him, uncomprehending and terrified—

Agent Gwen Cooper had seen many things in her life through Torchwood, and if there was one constant in the life she'd chosen, it was Jack. He was a fact, a solid reality for them to anchor to when things were a bit too...out there. And she'd seen Jack in countless battles, countless struggles, countless heartbreak. When he'd faced a fully-fledged Weevil, he'd stood still and strong, his weapon aimed. Hell, when he'd faced any fully fledged demon from the underworld, rift, or variation thereupon he'd faced it without fear, his hands always, reliably steady.

So one might understand the gravity of the situation:

With a bone-jumping clatter, Captain Jack Harkness's gun slipped from his numb fingers and hit the ground. He fell to his knees, unable to restrain himself, spurred on by disbelief, the impossibility, and grabbed the shoulders of the figure, who cried out in shock, but Jack stared into the wonderfully, horribly familiar brown eyes and choked out:

"Rose?!"

Review, PLEASE! should I continue?