Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.
Warnings: PG-13

Story Summary... The Tardis can't keep a secret, Sarah Jane can't keep her mouth shut, Martha can't believe she's traveling through time and space again, and the Doctor still can't land his ship accurately. All of which adds up to Rose desperately wanting to talk to her mother, except there's this small matter of being held prisoner….Part Three of the Crossroads series.

Chapter One: Trust the Tardis...Rose is feeling out of sorts, and no one thinks to ask the Tardis why.

A/N: Apologies for the wait...postings should occur twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Trust the Tardis

"This," said the Doctor, holding up the instrument in question, "is a sonic screwdriver."

"I know," said Rose patiently. She watched as the Doctor lowered the sonic screwdriver back down to her arm, which glowed bright red and was smoking faintly. It didn't hurt, however, which was the important thing – at least, important as far as Rose was concerned – and whatever the Doctor was doing with his precious screwdriver tickled just a bit. Rose squirmed as she sat opposite the Doctor on the apple grass in the TARDIS garden. After two years of traveling with him, she was more of an equal than she'd been in the very early days – but even so, there were times he'd still get rather uppity. Like now.

"It can be used to do all sorts of useful things, such as open doors, uncork champagne, weld metals together, or take them back apart again. One could use it to provide light, amplify sound, and in a pinch, put up shelving."

"Fascinating."

It was fascinating, in a way, watching the screwdriver do its work on her arm, slowly growing less red, slowly regaining feeling (bit of pain, at first, then the tickling, then like new). Sometimes it frightened Rose, how much she didn't actually know, even if she knew a lot. She knew about half the settings on the screwdriver off the top of her head. She knew maybe a quarter of the settings on the cellular modifier. She knew all twenty settings of the highly-advanced watch she wore on her wrist (which also told basic vital signs, weather, and the current rugby scores). She could even navigate the TARDIS on short hops, as long as they didn't involve the Time Vortex.

There were other things Rose had learned. The Doctor snored when he slept. His feet were ice-cold. He was an extremely good kisser, more so when he was touching her bare skin, even more so when they were both lying down. Even Time Lords don't have endless stamina, much to her disappointment (and relief, sometimes, it must be said). As much as he liked her in bed, he liked her out of it, too, possibly more. In bed, afterwards, when they were lying in each other's arms, he had a smile on his face, even in sleep. (That was another thing – he always slept afterwards, even if it was only five minutes, and he was possessive enough to hold her the entire time.) But the only time Rose ever saw the manic grin that made her hearts melt was when they were on a planet running for their lives. Those were the days when Rose wondered if the Doctor saw her less as the adventure and more the calm after the storm.

("That's what you are, Rosie," Jack would have said, "you're the Calm in the Eye of the Oncoming Storm.")

She didn't feel calm. She'd been promised Will Shakespeare for two years running, and every time they landed in Elizabethan England, the Doctor found another excuse not to leave the TARDIS. This time, the rain was so thick that the roads had turned to deep puddles of mud, and the Doctor had misplaced his galoshes. The ridiculous excuse annoyed Rose, which led to a tussle, which resulted in her slipping the screwdriver out of his pocket. She might have convinced him to go without the blasted galoshes too, if the screwdriver hadn't blasted backwards, burning her arm to a crisp and throwing her back against the jump seat.

The Doctor continued his lecture, enjoying himself immensely. "But one of the few things one should never do with a sonic screwdriver, Rose, is use it to threaten its owner with disembowelment. It can backfire quite rapidly."

"I noticed," said Rose dryly. "Lesson learned. May I get up now?"

"I'm not done cauterizing your arm. Did I mention it also performs basic skin repair? Lucky your burns weren't any more severe, I would have had to take you to the medical bay."

"And you do so like to play doctor," sighed Rose. "Ow, that pinches."

"You nearly lost your entire arm, of course it pinches. Sit still. Now, Rose, repeat after me. I will not use the Doctor's screwdriver against him."

"I will not use the Doctor's screwdriver against him."

"Good girl."

"But you deserved it."

"Do you really want to drown in mud?"

"You promised me Will Shakespeare. And it doesn't matter, does it, because now you're going to say we should wait until my arm's fully healed."

"Which it is." The Doctor pocketed the screwdriver and flashed her a grin. Rose immediately brightened and clutched at his sleeve.

"You're done?"

"One last kiss—" He leaned over and dropped a kiss on her nose. "All better, good as new, up you get. Stop lazing about – the play starts in an hour, and if you have any hope of standing next to the stage we had to leave five minutes ago." He popped up and offered her his hands to help her to her feet.

"Stand? Are you too cheap to – oh." Rose tumbled back to the ground. "My head's gone whirly."

The Doctor was on his knees in a flash. "Rose – breathe, love. You got up too fast."

"No, I—" The nausea rolled through her like a wave, and she held her breath and pursed her lips together tightly. She felt the Doctor reach for her hand. Rose was suddenly conscious of how clammy she felt, how very not well, and quickly laid down on her side. The grass pressed against her cheek, just a bit rough and scratchy, but she didn't care, clinging to the discomfort on her face because at least it wasn't her stomach.

"Rose? Rose!" The Doctor fumbled for the superwatch strapped to her wrist; Rose knew he looked for her blood pressure and temperature.

It was habit by now for them to touch the other's cheek, as a way of asking permission before opening the telepathic link between them. Rose had initiated it two years before, when they'd discovered that the crossroads had given her this telepathic ability, and they very rarely went without the ritual – in fact, it had only been twice they'd ignored it. The first time had been when the Deathsmiths had captured them, and the Doctor had let Rose see through his eyes. The second was only a few months before, when Rose was trapped by the Sontarans, and needed to show the Doctor where she was being held.

It was a simple request Rose had at the moment. So simple he wouldn't think of it on his own. She felt horrible opening the link without going through the proper (if self-proscribed) ritual, but she could think of nothing else to do. At the moment, she couldn't open her mouth without the possibility of being sick. Just as she pushed the outer reaches of her silvery-turquoise thoughts towards his own purple mind, she felt the ground beneath her cheek vibrate as the Doctor leapt to his feet.

"Crackers!" he shouted, and ran out of the garden.

Rose stayed very still in the grass, wondering. Their thoughts hadn't actually touched, so either she had thought about crackers harder than she'd intended, or the Doctor was becoming more – well, not observant, but at least intuitive. Rose shivered, just a bit, and felt the ground beneath her growing steadily warmer.

The Doctor was back in minutes. "Cracker?" he offered, settling the cracker in her hand, and she began to nibble carefully, swallowing it in bits. "Rose?"

"Hello," she whispered, opening her eyes a little, and was glad her head didn't spin. The Doctor was flat on his stomach, his chin resting on the backs of his hands. He watched her with eagle eyes, and broke into a grin.

"Hello. Had me worried there."

"Me too. How—" She stopped for a moment as another wave of nausea rolled, and then took another bite, chewing slowly. She wiggled the cracker at him.

"Oh," said the Doctor, looking a bit surprised himself. "The TARDIS told me."

"The TARDIS?"

"Shouted it, really. The kitchen was right across the corridor, she must have moved it closer." He frowned. "Is it me, or is the ground warmer?"

"I shivered," explained Rose.

"She made the ground warmer too?" The Doctor pushed himself up to his knees. "I knew she liked you, but she must be quite worried to go to this much trouble. Rose—"

Rose sighed. "No Will Shakespeare."

"Not today. As soon as you can stand, we're going to the medical bay, which, if I am not very much mistaken, I suspect we will find across the corridor to replace the kitchen."

"Good TARDIS," said Rose, patting the grass. "Very sweet of you, but don't kill my apple grass just to keep me warm."

"She'll take very good care of your apple grass. I wonder if you caught a cold on Tythonus?"

"I didn't feel sick until I tried to stand."

"And now?"

"I want to finish my cracker."

"Stop talking then, and finish your cracker."

"Stop asking me questions, and I'll stop talking and finish my—" Another wave of nausea hit, and Rose quickly took another bite, trying not to watch the Doctor's half worried, half triumphant expression.

"Story," she mumbled through bites, and he rocked back a little.

"Ah, story. Once, there was a handsome and dashing young Time Lord who was cruelly imprisoned on a desperately backward and mundane planet called Earth."

Rose snickered.

"Hush and chew. Now, this was before the noble young Time Lord had heard of the dastardly group known as Torchwood—"

Rose managed a hiss, and he grinned.

"But instead had joined his valiant forces with the exalted denizens of U.N.I.T. Lovely group of people, really. And this would be the story of how the Time Lord saved the London Underground—"

"Heard it."

"Have not."

"Have too. Yetis. Brain drain. Jamie and Victoria."

"Oh." The Doctor frowned. "Vampires on the moon?"

"Heard it."

"10 Downing Street?"

"Was there."

"Loch Ness Monster?"

"Sarah Jane wants to tell me."

"Every time you and Sarah Jane meet, you end up laughing at me."

"That's because you're funny."

"Are you done with your cracker yet?"

"Yes."

"Can you stand up?"

"Maybe."

He sighed, and slid an arm under her shoulders. "Never mind – I'll carry you. Stronger than I look, you know."

The Doctor was right – the medical bay was across the corridor from the garden, though it usually was several hundred meters away. Even so, it felt too far to Rose, who didn't like being carried by anyone, even the Doctor. Especially the Doctor – he was liable to forget he was carrying her, and knock her head into a doorframe. This time, however, he managed to get her into the medical bay unscathed. The Doctor set Rose down on a cot and brushed the hair back from her face, smiling tenderly at her. She tried to smile back, but he had already turned away to collect the syringe.

"The number of blood samples you take from me, I'd think you were the vampire on the moon," she grumbled.

"Blood tells," said the Doctor, strapping the elastic on her arm. "And I haven't taken any blood from you in a year, at least. Look away, Rose."

She closed her eyes and grimaced. "Horrible process, highly advanced species, and you can't find a better way to collect blood. I hate needles."

"Tell me about that Elizabethan gown in the Wardrobe."

It was distraction, pure and simple, and Rose knew it. But considering he was wielding a needle and had every intention of using it, she didn't care. "Oh, lovely, all gold and shimmery, with red piping down the seams and blue flowers all stitched in. And green, and there's a bit of filmy white down the front where the skirt splits open, like you can see the petticoats, and you should see the petticoats, they're even more gorgeous, green and amber and—"

She heard the elastic snap. "All done."

Rose exhaled. "Good, I was about to run out of dress."

The Doctor took the vial of blood and began setting up a slide. "Not with that dress. You've talked it up so often that if you ever do wear it, I'm sure to be disappointed. Could you read off your vitals for me?"

Rose pressed the face on her watch. "Heart rate, 164. Blood pressure, 180 over 95—"

He frowned. "Bit high, even for you."

"Not so much. Oh, temperature – 25."

He glanced up from the slide. "That is high, you're usually steady at 22."

Rose looked up from her watch, her nose crinkling in confusion. "I don't feel as though I'm running a temperature. Certainly not three entire degrees! Apart from the dizziness, I feel fine. Perfectly well. Let's-go-see-a-play well, as a matter of fact." She swung her legs off the cot, but just before she could jump off, the TARDIS gave a little rock, and Rose fell back.

"Careful!" snapped the Doctor, more to the ship than to Rose. He glanced at her, lying wide-eyed on the cot. "All right?"

"What did she do that for?" asked Rose, hurt. "She was so good to me earlier."

"She doesn't want you leaving either. Sit tight and let me look at this slide."

Rose watched the Doctor pull out his glasses and peer through the microscope, the frown forming on his lips. She nibbled on another cracker while she waited – for all that she'd felt sick before, she was suddenly ravenously hungry now. Perhaps dinner would be in order when he was done. Surely if she couldn't see Shakespeare, he'd at least let her out to find somewhere to eat? There were chip shops in 16th century England, weren't there?

"Doctor, are there chip shops?"

"Hmm?"

"Chip shops. Or even a pub would do. I'm hungry."

"Rose, you nearly fainted in the garden, I think now is not the best time to consider your next meal."

"But I'm hungry, and I can't survive on crackers. Do they have hamburgers and chips in the 16th century?"

The Doctor didn't answer – his face rapidly drained of color, much like her own must have done before, Rose thought. His mouth dropped open, and he looked up from the microscope at her, and then back down again.

"Doctor?"

"Rose."

"What is it?"

"Rose." He seemed incapable of saying much else.

"Oh no – the nanogenes – it's not being reversed—" But Rose's words trailed off as she looked into the crevices of the medical bay. "The nanogenes – they didn't come out."

"No, they didn't," said the Doctor. Rose wondered if he was in shock.

"That means – I'm not sick. They would have fixed me, if I'd been sick."

"Right you are."

"So if I'm not sick – what am I?"

The Doctor swallowed. "Pregnant."