THIRTY YEARS: PART ONE
Pairing: 13th Doctor (Author Created)/Rose Tyler
Synopsis: The Doctor and Rose have been separated after the events in "Doomsday" for Thirty Years (by Rose's calendar) and considerably more time for the Doctor. Now, he has a son in tow, and Rose doesn't yet know the circumstances behind the Doctor's son.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, except for Davin, the Board Members, the Cidovar, the heavies, and Jamie. All other publicly recognizable characters are owned by the BBC, and their subsidiaries and partners. This story is for fun and entertainment and I am making no profit off of this.
A/N: The 13th Doctor is an older version of Alexis Denisof, who played Wesley Wyndham-Price on BTVS and Angel. I pictured Charles O'Shaugnessy's voice (Maxwell Scheffield in The Nanny) for the accent.
CHAPTER ONE
Rose Tyler gazed into her mirror in the Executive Suite at Torchwood. Today was a monumental day in her life, and she wanted to be ready for the change she was about to make. A confident, radiant, yet somewhat nervous face gazed back at her.
Several questions plagued her mind. Was this the right decision? Would she regret it? What would she do if she had made the wrong decision? She knew that when she met with the Board of Directors, all hell would break loose, but thirty years was enough for any person to be in one job.
Rose also knew the true significance behind her decision. She looked at her face, checking that her makeup was in place. Smiling brown eyes, with only a hint of tan eye shadow met her perusal; her cheeks were dusted with pink blush, very artfully applied. Dark pink lips added to the picture, lips which were enhanced by lipstick from New Paris, and just a hint of gloss. She'd given up being a blonde years before; her hair was now a soft brown, which complemented her eyes. It hung a little past her neck, and was cut in the latest style, medium length, and curling underneath. Wrinkles had not crossed her face, at least not completely. The only signs of aging were some lines around her eyes.
Her figure was as shapely as ever. She owed that to several years of cardiovascular workouts, a very healthy diet, and herbal remedies designed to curtail the effects of aging on the body. She still, at her age of fifty, could turn the heads of young men. But despite all of the physical traits, the most significant anti-aging technique she had was in the way she had lived her life.
She lived each day to the fullest, as though it could be her last. If there were any decisions to be made, she didn't put them off, preferring to attack all aspects of her life with a lust for whatever adventures she could find in each day. It was this craving to know, to grow, to BE, that enabled her, not only to build the London charter of Torchwood in the universe she now lived in, but also to take Torchwood to the United States, Canada, and the rest of the globe. Rose had also, under her adoptive father Pete's direction, expanded the functions of Torchwood. Not only did it protect the Earth from harmful aliens, but it became second to none in matters of trade.
Under several treaties granting clemency to aliens who wanted nothing more than to transact peaceful business ventures with Earth, she had turned Torchwood from a multi-million dollar business into a multi-trillion dollar conglomerate. Upon Pete's death five years ago, Rose had taken over the reigns as Director and had helped bring the Earth into its most prosperous and utopian age thus far.
On the personal front, Rose enjoyed her single life, choosing not to marry, but still dating several eligible men. She did, however, hold them at arms length, preferring to attend to her career rather than affairs of the heart. When pressed by any of her would-be boyfriends, Rose gave the most convenient answer; that she wanted to develop her life as a business woman, and didn't, at the moment, want to commit herself to a romantic entanglement. In this quiet moment of introspection, Rose admitted to herself that while that explanation kept her dates at bay, it wasn't the real reason she'd held herself apart from them.
She thought about her young life, how, at the age of nineteen, she'd linked herself to an alien and changed forevermore. From the moment she'd met the Doctor, grabbed his hand, and started running for her life, things had never been the same. Rose thought about the last tender moment his tenth incarnation and she had shared, before she was sucked into the void, and ripped apart from him forever. She'd told him how she loved him, but she had never gotten a chance to hear it from him. Still, as sad and lonely as she had been in the first few months and years after their separation, the Doctor had bade her to have a fantastic life, and she had, in honor of their love. She'd thought of him every day, but she'd also thrown herself into becoming Earth's best defender, like he would have wanted.
Rose was instrumental in teaching her younger brother things the Doctor had taught her, though she had never told her brother about the only true love of her life. He had grown up to defend the Earth in a different way, not with weapons but with legalities, not as a warrior on the front lines, but as a warrior with some of the most iron-clad treaties with aliens Earth had ever seen.
Yes, she had decided, Jamie would make a fine director. She thought about the Doctor again, wondering if she would recognize him if he were ever to return. Would he have the same eyes, the same hair, the same goofy smile as his tenth incarnation? Would he, maybe, resemble the first one she'd traveled with, all steely determination in his steel blue-grey eyes? Or would he be completely different? Would he now look at her only with fondness, or would he have the same passion for her he'd had when they were together? Her eyes grew moist as she supposed that he would have moved on by now, and forgotten about her. He probably would have put the last tender moment that they'd shared before their separation to the back of his mind.
She shook off her sad feelings and checked her business attire, taking in her short (though not too short) skirt, jacket, white blouse, and high heeled shoes. Her briefcase hung at her side with all the signed documents that she'd need in it.
"Sis? You in there?" Rose heard a voice call. She emerged from the bathroom and saw the smiling face of her younger brother, James Peter Tyler. At age twenty-nine, James was the spitting image of her adoptive father, though his voice reminded her of their mother's. James was named after James MacCrimmon, also called "Jamie", who had been a companion the Doctor had told Rose and her mother Jackie about (plus Jackie always liked the name James), and her father, Pete.
"You ready for the meeting?" Jamie asked, offering his arm. Rose linked her arm with his, looking at her brother and smiling back. James regarded her seriously. "Are you absolutely sure you're ready for this? I mean, it's a big change, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Rose said. "But I have to do this."
"Okay," Jamie told her. "I guess you know what you're doing. You always do."
"So do you, little brother," Rose commented. They walked into the board room at the top of the Torchwood building, ready to face Rose's destiny.
888
In a huge room with an ever-expanding palette of clothing, a lone figure stood, selecting and holding up several clothing choices in front of a mirror. He threw some choices down on a massive king sized bed totally, lost as to what he should wear. His eyes spied a pair of black pants and, trying them on, he nodded his approval.
"You're not seriously thinking of wearing black again, are you?" The figure heard a voice complaining. The voice was an octave above his own, with a hint of a Scottish accent. "I mean, maybe navy would be a better choice this time?"
"But she always loved black," the figure protested in a crisp southern British tone. "Besides, it matches my hair and my eyes. Although…the navy is not a BAD choice, I suppose."
"Whatever floats your boat," the man with the slight Scotts accent said, shrugging. "I'll let you know when we've landed." He left the other to his thoughts.
The first figure nodded, getting back to the business at hand. His eyes raked over his chest, which had become more muscular, not like a body builder's, but more sinewy, like a dancer. Black hair, about neck length, though spiked on top, was reflected in the mirror. It was slightly graying at his temples. His eyes were neither blue nor brown, but grey this time, with thin lines of aging creeping on either side of them. He sighed as he thought I can't make up my mind…happens with age, I guess. Aloud, he said as he didn't take his eyes off the mirror, "Any ideas, old girl?"
A white shirt, resembling a ruffled blouse, materialized in front of him. He frowned his disapproval. "Too stuffy," he commented.
Another one materialized, more casual, with question marks on the collar. "Way too casual," he remarked. This remark got a rumbling protest. "What?" he asked, a look of innocence marking his heart-shaped face.
You are way too difficult to please, he heard a voice say inside his head. "And you love every minute of it," he rejoined, smirking. The hanger he was holding in his hand started to get warmer. He yelped, dropping it on the bed. "Spoil sport," he murmured.
He selected another shirt, this one a navy one, almost like a polo shirt. He held it across his chest, and tried it on. "This could be a good one," he admitted, "at least for the moment."
Now who's being too casual? The voice in his head chided.
You know I gave up costumes and wearing the same attire all the time awhile ago, he telegraphed back. Seriously, though, what do you think?
A suede jacket in a soft camel brown color materialized. Always have to have the last word, do we? He thought. He paused, studying his figure, adding some black sneakers to his ensemble.
His brow creased with worry as he wondered if this was a good idea. He'd managed to do something he never thought he'd do, but what if she had forgotten him? Well, he admitted to himself somewhat arrogantly, not so much forgotten him, but what if she were married, with kids tucked away somewhere?
He sighed, telling himself that he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Besides, he was too old to run from a challenge; that was for sure. He emerged into a control room a few moments later, where the younger man was checking an instrument panel. The younger man looked up, smiling his approval.
"What, no pinstripes?" he joked, the mirth reflected in his brown eyes.
"Not for this body," the older man trickled back. "Besides, they suit you more."
The younger man checked his pinstriped outfit. As he did, the older man was reminded of a time when he had worn a similar one. The suit seemed to fit the younger man's personality so well. "Are you sure you wanna do this? I mean, by her calendar, it has been thirty years. It might be a drop in the bucket for you, but for her…"
"I have to know, one way or the other," the older man said softly. "And it's not exactly a drop in the bucket for me, either. You know significantly more time has passed for us."
"You could always check via the time telly," the younger man advised. "That would be a much more convenient way."
"And less fun," the older man chided. "Where's your spirit of adventure? I raised you better than that!"
"What if she…doesn't accept you? Or this?" the younger man asked, a sad expression crossing his face.
"Then, we go on, as before," the older man answered, looking off into the view screen. He saw the Earth of the future, the year 2037 reflected on the screen, and the words "universe 11002" beside them. As the younger man checked all the dials and buttons, releasing the door controls, he said to the older man, "well, good luck. You sure you don't want me along?"
The older man shook his head. "Not yet. If this is a worst-case scenario, I don't want you to be hurt."
"Father…" the younger man protested. The look of determination in older man's grey eyes gave no room for debate. The younger man's shoulders slumped in resignation. "Okay, I'll be here for you. The monitors have detected her on the top floor of this building here." The younger man indicated a silver tower, the words Torchwood Tower etched upon it. The older man frowned his disapproval. When had Torchwood gotten this powerful? Who was instrumental in letting them get so far? His son looked at his back stiffening. "What's wrong?" The younger man asked. His father waved him off, grinning.
"Nothing," the older man said. "I'll let you know how everything went as soon as I can." The doors parted and he left. The younger man stared after his father. In the language his father had taught him, he said, "May the light of Rassilon prevail, Doctor."
The Doctor walked across the street to the building, sighing. Why was it humans always ignored good advice time and time again and interfered in affairs they knew nothing about? I must do something about Torchwood, he thought. His attention was diverted as his eyes lighted on a man who was walking to the parking garage. The Doctor spied a blaster in the man's hand. He decided to follow the man with the blaster, and be ready.
888
"With all due respect, Ms. Tyler, you can't be serious!" One of the Board members at Torchwood was shouting. A hand touched his shoulder, tightening its grip in an effort to calm him down.
The owner of the hand, a woman who was Rose's junior by ten years, said, "Ms. Tyler, understand we hold any decisions you make in the highest regard. What my colleague is saying is that you have all the knowledge and all the experience. Where are we going to find anyone with your expertise?"
Rose motioned for her brother to stand. Jamie dutifully stood up, saying, "I would be more than proud to take the reins, as it were."
"Of course, we accept Mr. Tyler's appointment to the Board, but with all due respect, Ms. Tyler, he hasn't as much experience in the field as you have had," another member with an American accent said.
"My mind is made up," Rose said quietly. "Effective immediately, I hereby resign as Torchwood's managing director, and appoint my brother, James Peter Tyler, in my stead. Treat him with the same courtesies you have shown me." She smirked, adding, "And as for experience in the field, show him whatever ropes you can."
"Ms. Tyler, are you sure we can't change your mind?" another member, an African British man, entreated.
Rose shook her head. "What will you do with your life?" the younger female member asked.
"I have plans, Emma," Rose answered the younger female, with full conviction in her voice.
All of the members of the board rose, and another member, an older woman, looked at Rose, her eyes misting somewhat. "We wish you all the best," she said honestly.
"Thanks," Rose said, leaving, her head held high. "Kick some alien ass, if you must," she whispered to Jamie. Jamie nodded.
Rose walked to the elevators, wiping at some tears threatening to fall.
She walked to the parking area, where her latest car, a blue Toyota Lexus TC3, waited patiently. "Hello, Alfred," Rose greeted her chauffeur. He lowered his commlinked wrist which had the London Gazette emblazoned on its tiny screen. Rose backed up a little, saying, "you're not Alfred." She saw the body of her chauffeur on the ground. Before she could react, she felt the cold metal of a blaster in her back.
"Ms. Tyler," a man in a chauffeur's outfit said, "it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."