AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first fanfic, so please be nice. XD My updates might be a bit sporadic, I've got quite a bit going on, including writing music for my Trock band 'Next Stop: Everywhere' Please R&R!
Per usual, I do not own any of the BBC's characters or Doctor Who in general (unfortunately).
The waves washed into Bad Wolf Bay, crashing in swirls of aqumarine and foam. The sun rose, reflecting off the water, creating a shifting surface of gold.
Rose sat on the wet sand, staring out at the water. Over. Done. The end. Finite. The words meant little to the traveller from Gallifrey, but seemed to encompass her human limits. Their shared limits, she reminded herself as the human Doctor- her Doctor- sank down next to her, hand conveniently placed only inches from hers. Time crept by. Suddenly, a noise pierced the gentle sloshing of the ocean. Vwooorp. Vwooorp.
Rose was on her feet in seconds, racing toward the source of the noise. Unfinished? Were there still empty pages left in this chapter? The blue box towered over the flat expanse of the beach. Out of place and yet somehow... right. The door seemed to open in slow motion, revealing the face lit by the stars it'd seen. Rose stopped suddenly; emotions tumultuous and contradicting. She hesitantly reached toward his cheek, praying it was real. He frowned slightly, "Rose, I-" He was cut off as Rose threw her arms around his neck.
The metacrisis Doctor approached them, his expression unreadable as he watched Rose.
When Rose finally released him, Ten couldn't meet her eyes. "I have to go, Rose. I need him to come with me," Then said, with a nod to the metacrisis Doctor.
Rose's eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped to a dangerous level, "That's the way it always is with you, isn't it? You string along the people who care about you, until you decide they're too human. Well, you can tell me you don't really want to go all you want, Doctor. But I know the truth, I always have." Ten backed up involuntarily, eyes wide, mouth taut. He couldn't form words. Rose, apathetic to the Doctor's pain, stalked away toward the waterline.
Ten stood still, remembering other companions who and grown further and further away, until they disappeared. He couldn't bring himself to remember the others. Especially the plight of his granddaughter, whose face had faded from his memory. The metacrisis seemed to sense his nostalgia. "Why, exactly, do you need me?"
Ten blinked, silently steering himself back to the present. "The daleks are overwhelming a pioneer planet crucial to history. I recovered an old subatomic particle transporter-it should send them halfway across the galaxy. There is a however, a slight problem: it requires DNA from two time lords as confimation."
"But... I'm you," the metacrisis replied in confusion.
"Oh, yes, but not completely," the Tenth Doctor said with a hint of excitement.
The metacrisis considered the probabilities carefully. This would likely be the only adventure in time he'd ever make, possessing no means of space/time travel.
He didn't even have to answer, the Doctor had already programmed the coordinates into the TARDIS computer. He looked toward the waterline. Rose had gone. "It's a time machine, idiot," he muttered to himself. Waves crashed and the TARDIS groaned, entering the swirling vortex of time.
Fire covered the control room, eating away at the towers of novels stacked around an armchair. The Eighth Doctor raced back and forth, trying desperately to keep his old ship in flight. Alarms broke through the chaos-warnings for an emergency landing. The TARDIS groaned and creaked as it tore itself out of the time vortex. Smoke billowed from the broken windows. The door, every intact, opened easily. The Doctor stumbled out into a nondescript alley. It was pitch black, even the moon was hidden by clouds. "Seems I've created a small power outage," the Doctor said to himself absentmindedly as he attempted to inspect the TARDIS. The door was sealed shut. "Oh, old girl. Oh my dear I am so sorry. Even you can't fix such extensive damage." He sighed.
The glare of headlights suddenly shone through the dark. The car screeched to a halt at the end of the alley. Four figures dressed in all black exited and cautiously approached the alien and his box. Eight observed them with feigned nonchalance. He approached slowly, hands resting against his sides.
An African American man of average height and build stepped forward, "This is Earth, July 5, 2008; and we are Torchwood."