Summary: AU, post-GITF. Rose is back in London, and she plans to make the best of it. But what made the Doctor act so strangely? What did he see in that girl from the fireplace? And what is the song that keeps playing in the back of her mind?

Notes-slash-apologies:

This story was inspired by a challenge by one JCL TennantPiper over on 'A Teaspoon and an Open Mind', which was, essentially, to put Reinette on the TARDIS and have her be very mean to Rose and the Doctor too besotted to notice. Notice I say "inspired by" and not "a response to". This is because the challenge struck me in an entirely different (and, I believe, unintended) way. That is, instead of an opportunity to vent fangirl-rage on Reinette (not that there's necessairily anything wrong with that), I saw a very interesting question: what the heck would have gotten into the Doctor? (An excellent question, I'd argue.)

There are many excellent reasons why I should not be writing this fic. Here are only a few:

-I never actually saw JCL TennantPiper's challenge; all I've seen are the responses.

-I'm pretty sure this isn't exactly what she was looking for. The focus is completely different, for one thing, and that's just the beginning, 'cos I'm afraid I'm too old to do a pure hate-fic anymore. (And despite initial appearances, this is NOT in any way a Reinette hate-fic. I don't even know the girl. I assure you, she barely appears at all...)

-Most glaringly, I've never even bloody seen 'The Girl in the Fireplace'. I've been trying my damnedest not to get spoiled for series 2, 'cos I live in America and may yet get to see it some day.

Only logical conclusion: I am completely insane. I am out of my bloody mind.

Fortunately, I came to terms with that a long, long time ago.

Therefore, I ask you to accept this fic with the above considerations in mind, and apologise fervently for any (inevitable) lapses in characterization/Brit-speak/continuity/plot. On the other hand, you have been warned, so any undue haranguing for said lapses will be met with a "Yeaaah... got that wrong. Sorry. Go play in traffic somewhere, would you?"

Thank you. Now, our feature presentation.

(-)

But they just can't kill the beast

Rose Tyler flopped down on the rickety cheap hotel bed with a sigh. She could try to call him again... but if he hadn't answered before, why should he start now?

Oh, no. Now he's got 'is rich little French floozy, what does he care if he gets the time a little wrong? Only a little bit off... only a small problem... Like the fact that 'alf the city's searchin' for me! Son of a bitch!

She moaned and threw her head into the pillow. I don't mean that. Yeah I do. What the hell HAPPENED to him?!

"As if a silly little thing like you matters to him now he has me here... You thought you had a hold over him, didn't you? You thought you had power. Well, you were wrong. Go back to your grungy little city where you belong."

And then-- "I want to go home. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of her, and I'm sick of you being like this, an' I want to go home."

"Well. If you're sure."

And here she was. Here she bloody was. Okay! Maybe she'd asked for it. But she hadn't expected him to actually-- she hadn't thought he-- she'd thought he knew her BETTER than that!

She'd thought he was better than that.

Oh, maybe she was just jealous. Except that French tramp WAS a bitch. That was way beyond dispute. She'd seemed okay at first, but the second she stepped on the TARDIS--

"Rose, Rose, I did it! Fantastic idea, Mickey-- let me introduce you all--"

--That peroxide comment, and the ice cream incident... No, she was a bitch.

And she was the only one who could see it. Damn it.

So now I'm stuck in 2005, an' I've gotta hide until-- when was the last time I was home? March? How the hell am I gonna get a job? Can I use my real name? How can I hide from everybody I know?

Damn it, I'm gonna have to move to Cardiff or somefin', aren't I? No, that wouldn't be far enough-- maybe the States? New York. Don't think nobody notices ANYBODY in New York. Hang on, do they have any jobs there that aren't Broadway or prostitution? There's got to be. Starbucks, they're all coffee fiends, aren't they? I could be a coffee girl. Don't they have a fancy word for it an' all? I thought I heard-- yeah. Barista or somefin'. That is the lamest thing I've ever heard. It's coffee!

Wait. I don't think I can use my passport. Damn it.

She hit her pillow, viciously, which at least fluffed it up a bit. Son of a bitch. All his fault. If he's just gonna dump me for his French bitch girlfriend, he could've at LEAST put me down in the right TIME!

Why didn't he even put me down in the right time?! It's wrong, it's all wrong, I'll swear that it's wrong...

I'll swear that it's wrong. She was certain of it, suddenly. It's wrong...

But what can I do about it? Even if he was here, he wouldn't listen to me. Hasn't been for weeks. Dunno if he ever really did before that, either.

But it's wrong...

She moaned and turned over in a huff, huddling up in a ball. I'll drive myself crazy. I can't think about this anymore tonight. I've gotta get some sleep...

She turned her thoughts forcefully away from him and settled into uneasy dreams.

...Wrong, all wrong, she'd swear that it's wrong...

Ballroom, grand cotillion, and she's standing on the sidelines, like she always, always has. They don't want her here. Never have. Never will. She's the harbringer of disaster, isn't she? Something that never should have been, a scandal, a disgrace, a cataclysm. But so damnably useful at times it had to drive them crazy.

Didn't mean they'd listen to her, though.

"Why don't you loosen up?" says the one she used to know, offering her a glass of punch. "It's a party."

"The world is burning," she answers. "This isn't the time."

"So melodramatic. So the Daleks got a planet."

"Five planets."

"Five planets. None of them were advanced. And it's not like it's anything new. Daleks destroy things all the time; why do we suddenly care now? It always works itself out."

Works itself out. Oh, yeah, right. All that work she's put in, just so idiots like this can stand back and think it's magic. Damnnation.

But that is the goal, isn't it? To make the world safe so future generations can't even understand that the danger was real. That's the goal, always has been, and that's all right.

But the danger is here now, and it might not be avertable--

--Reinette across the ballroom as the music changes, a strange smile on her face--

--lightning in the sky--

--Lightning in the sky, cutting violently between the clouds like a thrown knife, flashes of sickly brilliance in the night. Running back toward the city, throat closed with dread, she'd made a mistake--

Some way to ford the river, she should have realized-- maybe try to wade across, she should have known--

Another flash of lightning, and those weren't logs in the river. Those weren't logs.

Another flash of lightning, and she'd gotten across the river somehow, and she was even wetter than before, and she could hear the screaming now, and flashes that weren't lightning, that were people becoming dead--

--stabbing at them with hideously primitive knives, or sometimes guns, or sometimes just their fists, all equally hopeless, but it was all they had left--

--how could she have thought they'd be so foolish-- how could she have thought that was their only weapon--

--wading back across the river, a dead hand brushing across her leg--

"It's the only way," he says, tears in his eyes, clutching his bleeding child to his chest. The trigger in his hand.

"It's not a way. It won't solve anything!"

"No. It won't. I'm not looking for solutions. Siria died right in front of-- I'm not looking for solutions. I'm looking for all we have left. I'm looking for anything that can be salvaged. I'd rather die quick then by their hand. I'd rather this city go up than them take it. I'd rather take a few of them with me than die without fighting back... it's all that's left."

--the city in flames--

--alone in a box with no way out and the smell of blood and the crying of children and the dull buzz of electric lights and she's screaming in the next room and there's nothing she can do about it and she was screaming too when they put that needle in her veins and nobody's coming to rescue her 'cos she's the rescuer and even if they realized, it's too late it's always too late she's always two minutes too late these days and all the cities she's seen burn--

--fire, searing to her bones--

--in the next cell, she's still screaming--

"HOW COULD YOU HAVE DONE THIS TO ME?!"

Rose bolted out of bed, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Slow down-- slow down--

She put a hand to her chest. Her heart was beating so loudly she thought it might deafen her. What the hell?

"Lady? You all right?" Someone was pounding at the door. It was hard to hear over her heartbeat and the music someone was playing next door.

"Yeah, nightmare," she called, throat sore. "Sorry."

"God Almighty. Thought you were bein' killed. She's all right!"

Rose took another deep breath. Her heart was getting better, but that music-- "Can you get someone to turn that down?"

"Turn what down?"

"That music."

"...What music?"

Rose shook her head, trying not to panic. "Can't you hear it? Some idiot next door--"

"Trust me, lady, only noise in here is you. Keep it down, would you? We're tryin' to get some sleep."

"What, in this place?"

"Point is, shut up!"

She shook her head and focused on her breathing. That music... it wasn't going away. If it wasn't the guy next door...

Come to think of it... if she concentrated on it... there was something about it that was a little... familiar. She couldn't put her finger on it, though.

Somewhere it was coming from...

Haunting as hell, but she couldn't recognise it at all...

It's wrong. It's all wrong. I'll swear that it's wrong.

But what can I do about it now?

She took a deep breath and lay back down. Tomorrow. She'd get a job, and she'd call him again, and she'd get a new motel room...

Oh, child... she thought vaguely, already drifting off again. You think you can end this so easily...?

(-)