Author's Note: The idea for this fic came from a post on tumblr about Rose meeting the Tenth Doctor first instead of the Ninth, and my own curiosity as to what Ten would be like pre-Rose, since his existence in canon is pretty heavily influenced by Rose. The Ten in this fic is a much darker, much more broken version. I really hope you all enjoy it and understand that I'm still very much experimenting with this version of Ten, and any criticism would be invaluable. Thank you, and enjoy! (:
Disclaimer: All recognized characters belong to the BBC and all recognized lines of dialogue belong to the ever-brilliant Russel T Davies.
Endless Possibilities
Chapter One
When five o'clock finally rolled around, Rose couldn't get out of there fast enough. She grabbed her purse, clocked out, and was racing out the door when of course, the guard stopped her. It was her turn to give Wilson the lottery money.
Going down into the cellar where they stored the mannequins was something no one ever wanted to do, but it sort of thrilled her. When every single day was the same and the world was just a boring cycle of endless nothing, how amazing would it be if the mannequins came to life?
Yeah, not so amazing when it's actually happening. At first she thought it was her eyes playing tricks on her, but no, the dummies were most certainly alive, and coming at her with a frightening determination.
"This isn't funny!" she exclaimed, cursing her luck because, why did she ever wish for this to happen? As she was backed into a corner by live shop window dummies (probably just a bunch of students playing a prank...she was so going to get Wilson for this), she longed for a bit of normalcy.
The dummy closest to her raised its hand. This is it, she thought, this is how I'm gonna die. She closed her eyes, accepting her fate, when suddenly she felt a hand close around hers and she gasped at the sudden contact of cool skin, her eyes shooting open.
Beside her stood a tall man in a pinstripe suit and a brown trench coat, with hair that was sticking up all over the place. His brown eyes shone with determination behind sleek black glasses as he tightened his grip on her hand and said just one word: "Run!"
The plastic hand missed her by inches, and she was off, running after this stranger. She thought vaguely of someone in her youth telling her not to run off with strangers. They probably were never being chased by live shop window dummies.
They burst through a door and finally reached the lift, but it seemed like they weren't quick enough. The man fought with an arm and finally popped it clean off. She felt her mouth drop open in shock. "You pulled his arm off!" she exclaimed.
The man tossed it back to her without even a glance in her direction. "Plastic," he said, as if that would explain everything.
She caught it deftly. "Very clever, nice trick," she said, waving it at him. "So who were they then, students? Is this a student thing or what?"
Now the man actually looked at her, taking his glasses off and pocketing them. "What makes you think they were students?" he asked.
Something about his piercing gaze made her feel so small, insignificant, dumb. Suddenly, every thought she had sounded completely laughable. Why would they be students? "I dunno," she mumbled.
"You're the one who said it," he countered.
"T-To get that many people dressin' up, bein' silly," she rambled, "they'd have to be students."
The man snorted derisively. "They're not students."
"Well, whoever they are, once Wilson finds them, he's gonna call the police."
"Whoever Wilson is, I can guarantee you that he's dead." He said this as if it were something you did everyday, talk about electricians being killed by living mannequins.
"What!" she cried, following him out as the lift opened. "That's sick, that's-"
"Could you just shut up, and mind your eyes," he snapped, moving her out of his way and pulling a silver instrument from his inside coat pocket.
Whoever this guy thought he was, Rose was having none of it. A look that a moment ago left her intimidated to the point of speechlessness now just filled her with inexplicable anger. "Someone's died, this isn't a joke!" He didn't respond, just walked toward the door. "Who are you, who's that lot down there, what's going-"
She followed him down a corridor, and he turned around, now pointing some kind of beeping gizmo at her. "This doesn't concern you, so why don't you just go home, live your stupid boring life, and leave the Doctor to save you yet again!" he nearly growled at her, and with a swish of his coat, he was gone.
Deciding to heed his advice, Rose ran as fast as she could out of the building, and didn't stop running until she was across the street and around the corner, allowing herself to turn around once she put a bit of distance between herself and the building. The moment she did, the whole street shook as the building exploded.
And she couldn't help but wonder what happened to the mysterious Doctor.
The next morning, she sat at the table in the tiny flat she shared with her mum, looking into the depths of her mug of tea as Jackie rambled on about compensation. Her head was reeling from what had happened, and what it all meant. Who could she tell? Who would ever believe her that she'd been attacked by mannequins in a shop that was now just a pile of rubble?
A noise coming from the door interrupted her thoughts and she groaned, taking a sip of tea before standing up. "I thought I told you to nail that cat flap down!" she called to her mother.
"I did!" Jackie called back.
Rose rolled her eyes. "No, you thought about it, but..." she trailed off, seeing four nails lying on the floor in front of the door. Checking to make sure her mum was properly occupied before kneeling down and tentatively poking the cat flap. The air was still for a moment, before the flap moved, and she opened it all the way: there, just outside, was the same man from yesterday, his eyebrows raised, wearing an expression that clearly said not you again.
Quickly, she stood up and opened the door. "What are you doing here?" he asked, standing up straight.
"I live here," she replied.
He rolled his eyes. "Well yes, obviously," he said, and she noticed he still had that uncanny ability to make her feel worthless with just a few words and a look. "But why are you here?"
It was her turn to roll her eyes. "I live here," she repeated slowly, as if talking to a child. "And I'm only at home because someone blew up my job!"
"Oh yes, sorry," he snapped. "So sorry that I inconvenienced you by saving your life!"
"I've had enough of this, get in here," she said sharply, pulling him into the flat and shutting the door, ignoring his protests. "You're gonna explain everything."
He laughed as he sat down. "To explain everything to you would take a better man than me, and, well," he paused, straightening his tie, "I am rather brilliant."
"And you're gonna cut that attitude," she said, pointing a threatening hand at him as she started pacing. "So what were those things, really-"
She stopped abruptly as the Doctor pressed a finger to his lips. In the silence, they heard rustling behind the couch. "Have you got a cat?" he whispered.
Rose shook her head, paralyzed with fear. Slowly, the Doctor shifted and turned around, looking at the space between the wall and the couch. Suddenly, he was launched backwards and into the glass coffee table, shattering it to pieces. The plastic hand (which she had told Mickey to get rid of last night) was gripping his neck, choking him.
Panicking, she tried to pull it off of him, and with three or four good yanks, she finally removed it, only to have it turn and grip her face. "Get it off me, get it off!" she screamed.
She heard a strange mechanical sound and the hand let go of her, becoming still and falling to the ground. The Doctor grabbed it before she could, and with a murmur about "useless humans," he was out the door again.
"Oh no you don't." Rose grabbed her jacket and was following him in a flash, chasing him down the stairs. "You can't just go swannin' off!" she called after him, catching up with him quickly.
"And I suppose the great Rose Tyler is going to tell me what to do," he countered.
"That thing was alive, it tried to kill me!" she exclaimed, quickening her pace to keep up with him.
"And yours is the most important life on this planet, now is it?" he asked condescendingly.
"You can't just take off, it's not fair!"
"Oh, yes I can."
They were outside now, and she walked alongside him. "Fine," she said. "I'll go to the police. I'll tell them you're the one who blew up Henrik's." She paused dramatically. "Unless you tell me what's going on."
"Was that supposed to sound tough or something?" he asked, laughing. "Am I supposed to feel threatened?"
"Maybe," she replied.
He just shook his head. "Doesn't work," he said simply.
She sighed, realizing defeat, and jogged a bit so she wouldn't lose him. "But who are you?" she asked for the umpteenth time.
"The Doctor."
"Yeah, but Doctor who?"
"Just the Doctor."
"The Doctor?"
"Are you deaf or something?"
He was starting to get infuriating, but her need for answers outweighed her urge to slap him in the face. "Come on then, tell me," she pushed, reaching for his arm but he moved away from her, glaring at her hand. "I've seen enough."
His laugh now was full of disgust and disbelief. "You think you've seen enough?" he asked. "One afternoon in a basement with a bunch of autons and Rose Tyler thinks she's a world traveler."
"Are you the police?" she asked, ignoring his insult.
He laughed again. "The police," he repeated disdainfully. "If any of them were half as clever as me, your world wouldn't be in such disrepair."
"But why do the plastic things keep coming after me?"
"And what makes you so special?" he countered. "The whole world does not revolve around you. You were an accident, one I don't plan on making again."
"It tried to kill me!"
"It was after me, not you."
"Oh, so now the whole world revolves around you?" she asked, turning his question back on him.
"Finally, she understands," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Last night, it was after me and you got in the way. This morning, I was after it and again, you got in the way. Now, if you would kindly get out of the way and stop asking stupid questions, maybe I could save your ungrateful planet and you can go back to your life of work and telly and chips and toast, blissfully unaware of the war that rages in the rest of the universe."
"Well what do living mannequins have to do with wars and world savin'?" she asked, taking the arm out of his hand so that maybe he would finally listen. She held back the satisfied smirk as he stopped and turned to her. "Just tell me, Doctor. Who are you?"
He was silent, staring at the arm for a moment before looking back to her. She was taken aback by what she saw in those brown eyes: instead of the general look of disgust he'd been wearing since they met, the Doctor's eyes were full of anger and remorse and sadness, and he just looked tired. He looked so tired, and so old, like he was about to just throw up his hands and leave her to deal with the living plastic.
She took a step closer to him. In that moment, she realized there was so much more to this mysterious Doctor than she'd initially realized. If he really was saving the world, it was so that a little bit of the remorse that lined his brow could be erased, a little bit of the weight his shoulders suddenly seemed heavy with would be lifted.
With just one look, she went from fury with this man to deep, inexplicable pity. She repeated the question. "Who are you?"
He sighed, and reached out for the plastic arm. "I'm no one," he said, but it wasn't like before, like he was trying to get rid of her. It was a warning. "I'm just passing through. Now forget about me." She was so mesmerized by how low his voice had gotten, how so incredibly different he was from just a few moments ago, that she just let him take the arm. "Go home."
Before she could say anything, he was walking away, and there was nothing she could do. But if she never saw him again, she knew that that look on his face would stay with her forever. Resigned, she took one last look at him pulling a key out of his pocket and unlocking the door to a blue wooden box and stepping into it, shoved her hands in her pockets and turned around, heading home.
That was when she heard it. It was a kind of whirring noise, and it chilled her to the bone, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. A breeze picked up and whipped her hair about and she turned around, running to the spot where she'd just left the Doctor. Except there was no sign of him or the blue box.
Sudden determination gripped her and she took off running back to the estates, to Mickey's flat. She was not giving up on this Doctor, she would find him again, whatever it took.