Author's note: Here's a little Eleven to brighten your day! Please review and tell me what you thought! :)
…
When he wasn't leading the Ponds somewhere or following River somewhere else, the Doctor liked to remember.
And, him being the Doctor as he was, the man with the universe at his fingertips, remembering wasn't simply the recalling of weak memories lost to the abyss that was his Time Lord brain.
No. To him, remembering was an action. A mission. A journey.
And so, as mentioned earlier, when the Doctor was through dealing with the Ponds and Williamses and Songs of the hour, when he was alone and feeling it, when he was remembering—
Well, that was when he was at his most foolish.
He was fully aware of this fact as he put in the TARDIS coordinates once again. As he pulled the lever relieving the hand brake and activating the temporal stabilisers, he cursed the fact that he didn't have anyone there by his side to act as a buffer between him and his foolish whims.
Let it go, Let it go, Let it go…
He didn't.
…
"Maybe you should call the police," Shareen said concernedly as she folded a shirt that one of the customers had simply left crumpled in a ball on the shelf, "I mean, there must be some kind of complaint you can lodge or something."
"Yeah, like they'd listen," Rose scoffed, "One earful of my accent and I'll be sent on my way. They'd probably hand me some kind of fine for disturbing the peace while they're at it, too."
Shareen turned around and took in her friend fully. They were both the same age; she'd turned eighteen just last month and Rose the month before. Even so, Rose was definitely the more grown-up one of the two. Braver, too.
Someone who'd make it out of the Estate one day, Shareen knew.
"I dunno what to tell you, love," Shareen said apologetically, "Could be you're just being paranoid."
Rose shook her head adamantly. "It's not just me, I'm sure of it. Me and Keish were out the other night and she saw him, too. Lurking out in the shadows. Watching me," she dropped her voice lower and Shareen saw some of her usual brazen attitude waver, "I'm scared, Shareen."
Shareen took the other girl by the shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "You shouldn't be," she told her earnestly, "You're Rose Tyler. Whoever this bloke thinks he is, I know you can take 'im. Probably give him a right good slap too. Which you should, mind."
Rose gave a half-hearted smile at this. "Ta," she said.
Shareen gave her another once over before letting go of her shoulders. "You want me to walk you home tonight?" she asked her, already knowing what Rose's answer would be.
"Nah, s'fine," Rose told her, putting on that bravado she usually did when faced with something that scared her nearly to death, "It's only a few blocks. I'll survive."
Nonetheless, Shareen did walk her the few steps it took to head to the door of the massive clothing outlet, Henrik's, where they both worked. As the lights in the large store were switched off, (It was Sandra's turn to do it tonight) the familiar, eerie darkness stole over the two girls. That darkness continued outside in the cool London air and Rose felt a small shiver of apprehension run up her spine at having to brave it alone.
Shareen put a hand on her shoulder again. "You sure?" she inquired.
Rose nodded, pulling her hoodie closer around her. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Don't worry."
Shareen was still a bit doubtful as to whether she should leave her friend alone, but at the same time her own flat was beckoning to her from the opposite way. The cold was making that siren call all the more enticing.
"Call me when you get home, Rose," she finally told her.
Rose gave a single nod and the two friends parted ways.
As she walked, Rose felt the hairs on the back of her neck prick every so often, gathering the acute sensation that someone was watching her intently. Whenever it happened, however, Rose would force down the feeling of turning and running for the nearest populated area.
She wouldn't give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing that she was scared of him.
She managed to get within a single block of the Estate before she heard it. The distinct sound of footsteps. And they were following her.
It sounded as though the person behind her was deliberately stomping. Deliberately making himself heard. Something about the action seemed to trigger her fight or flight response and she was abruptly overwhelmed with an unfamiliar wave of adrenaline. Her senses sharpened instantly, and for a moment she just stopped and listened.
Hold on.
That was more than just one pair of footsteps…
And just like that, she was legging it.
Were her thoughts as clear as her sight- or sound-receptors at the moment, were her body telling her anything other than Flee! Flee! Flee!,she might have realised that the smarter direction for her to be headed was the other way. Back to the shops, back to the people— but all she winded up thinking instead was that she needed to get home.
Home was safe. She'd be safe at home. She'd be able to slam the door of their flat in these people's faces…
She ran and ran and ran and the only sound she heard was the frantic beating of her heart in her ears and the frantic pounding of her feet on the pavement and oh God she needed to get away before—before—
And Rose didn't even realise that she was passing the last remnant of her salvation, the dingy pub on the corner, until it was too late.
Because that had been exactly the moment that they'd been waiting for. As the darkness spread wide around her (the city council still hadn't gone about fixing the lights on their street as they'd said they would a year ago), she felt someone seizing her by the arms and throwing her into an even darker alleyway.
She grunted as she hit a wall behind her. She saw the glint of a knife in the moonlight. She was cornered; three dark figures moving in on her. She could see it in the set of their muscles: they were going to do something horrible to her.
"Oh, she's a runner, ain't she?" one of them jeered, "Wonder if that kind of energy carries over into other activities!"
The other two laughed at this. Horrible, malevolent laughs.
Rose jutted her chin out proudly. "Fuck off!" she spat at the three of them.
"Feisty too!" another one crowed. This one moved in even closer, pressed himself up against her, festering breath causing her nostrils to flare. She felt cold steel against her cheek for a moment, then hot liquid signalling that the evil character had broken skin. "She'll have to be broken in, it seems," the man murmured.
Rose couldn't stop the whimper that escaped her lips as the blade once again glinted in the moonlight and her attacker prepared for the blow.
The blow that never came.
"Let her go," someone said from within the shadows.
In pure surprise, all four people turned around to stare at the newcomer.
If the situation had been any less dire, Rose would probably have laughed out loud at the appearance of her saviour. Even in the darkness, she could make out how gangly he was. And was that a—bowtie?
But as he stepped towards the three men, his unassuming appearance did nothing to impair the pure, unrefined power that radiated from him. Also, he was quite obviously really, really pissed-off.
When no one in the small alleyway made a move, the figure took another step. "I said," and as he spoke, the menacing calm in his voice caused Rose to shy away a little. He took a step closer with each word he spoke. "Let. Her. Go."
"You don't scare us, mate!" one of them shouted at him, pulling Rose clear of the thug that had pressed himself up against her and into the figure's line of sight. She felt the steel of another blade pressing against her throat, "'Cause see, there's only really two choices for you to choose from right now. One, you sod off, we have our fun and you can come and find her later, or two, we kill the girl in front of you and then we kill you too!" He gave a superior bark of laughter, "So what'll it be, Bowtie?"
The figure was quiet for a few seconds and the tension in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Finally, the man let out a hard breath.
"You brought this on yourself," he said quietly.
The next instance was a blur. There was a green light and a whirring sound and people falling unconscious and a cry of "Rose!" and a tug on her arm and the next thing she knew, she was staring at a full frontal view of the mysterious stranger's back and three great, hulking shadows laying, unmoving in front of her.
The stranger made a move to pocket something in his jacket before turning—and pulling her into the tightest embrace she'd ever received.
What the hell? She thought as she felt his arms tighten around for another moment before pulling back.
He didn't remove his hands from her waist as he looked her up and down. Now that she had a closer view, Rose could see that her saviour had deep brown eyes (at least that's what they looked like in the dark), dark, floppy hair and a strong jaw-line. She had to admit that she found him quite handsome.
"Are you alright?" he asked her seriously.
Before she could answer, he'd lifted his hand to her cheek and started eyeing the cut that she'd received earlier.
"Of course you're not," he murmured, eyes turning stormy again, "Of course you're not alright." He pulled away and took a few steps backwards, rubbing at the back of his neck. "And I am so sorry, Rose. I really am. I was trying to keep my distance and you ran off and I thought it was because of me and I didn't even realise what was happening until I saw those thugs—" Rose saw his jaw clench and unclench in quick succession. He moved forward again and Rose jumped slightly at his swift movements. Then he grabbed hold of her hands, looking into her eyes earnestly. "I am so, so sorry."
Rose looked at him in confusion, not quite knowing what the appropriate reaction would be to what he was saying and doing. She decided to extricate her hands from his grasp for starters, putting some much-needed distance between them.
For a moment, the man seemed confused, hurt even, by her behaviour. Rose could easily see the moment some realisation dawned on him, however, and the overt horror that overtook his face after.
"I'm sorry but—who exactly are you?" she asked him.
And that sealed it.
"Oops," the man said quite anti-climactically, looking all the more dismayed as he started inching away from her, "Oh—no. This is very, very bad. Things going boom! bad and I should leave—I should really, really leave before I—Right, um, yes—I should—"
"Oi! Not so fast."
He was almost gone, practically sprinting away from her, but her words caused him to turn the slightest inch back.
She took his hesitation as an opportunity to move in on him. She took about three paces, just about an arm's length away from him, taking a moment to enjoy the dread and curiosity her actions managed to evoke in his eyes.
Then she proceeded to slap him. Hard.
"OW!" he protested, bringing his hand to his cheek and fixing her with a comically shocked expression, "What was that for?"
"That," Rose said sternly, "was for stalking me."
Then she was moving again. It happened so fast that the Doctor didn't even have time to protest. Not that he really would have.
One moment, Rose was standing an arm's length away from him. The next, she'd grabbed him by the suspenders, kissing him full on the mouth.
"And that," Rose said as she let go of him, a small remnant of that brilliant smile of hers making an appearance, "Is for saving me."
She turned on her heel and walked away from him. Back to her home, back to her friends and family, on to a brighter future. A future that he would soon be featuring in, as well.
And in the alleyway still staring after her, the Doctor stood, reminded of just how foolish and brilliant an activity remembering was.