Some of you wanted a follow-up to "I Don't Want to Be Your Friend", so here it is. This time I was inspired by Night Ranger's "Call My Name" and the episodes Human Nature/The Family of Blood. This takes place the day before Human Nature starts, however. Still not sure about the second half; let me know what needs fixing and I'll fix it.
Also, if any later dialogue seems familiar, it's because it was taken from The Day of the Doctor.
"Call My Name"
I hear your voice; it was the sound of the city.
I hear you call my name.
And I hear that now you spend your life feeling pity,
But who am I to blame?
John Smith stirred restlessly in his sleep. He was trapped in his fantasy world again, where he was some sort of adventurer called the Doctor who traveled in a mysterious blue box. Sometimes his maid, Martha, was there; sometimes it was unspeakable horrors. But tonight, his dream was about a girl named Rose.
Funny, she showed up quite frequently in his dreams. And, oh, the things his dream self wanted to do to her . . . thinking about it when he was awake made him uncomfortable. He was in his thirties, at least, while she looked no more than twenty.
But in this dream, all he could do was watch in horror as she was torn from him. Even as she fell, her name tore from his lips, rendering his throat hoarse with his screams.
"ROOOOSSEEE! NOOOOO!"
Then the scene shifted, and he was standing with her on rocky ground while strange-looking birds flew in the sky. Turning his head to look at her, he asked, "How long are you gonna stay with me?"
He smiled as she replied, "Forever." His hand squeezed hers in silent confirmation, and their gazes returned to the sky. . . .
He was standing facing Rose on a beach. The wind whipped at her hair, tears stained her cheeks. "Am I ever going to see you again?"
"You can't."
"What are you going to do?"
"I've got the TARDIS. Same old life. Last of the Time Lords."
"On your own?"
He nodded. She paused, looked away. Then she faced him again and choked out, "I . . . I love you."
He smiled sadly. "Quite right, too. And I suppose . . . if it's my last chance to say it . . . Rose Tyler—"
She was gone before he could finish the sentence. He was alone in his TARDIS, mouth poised to say the letter I. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he bowed his head.
His dream shifted again. Now he was with Martha walking down a medieval street when a noise made him turn around. He saw a familiar face, a flash of blonde hair, and he stepped forward, her name slipping from his lips: "Rose . . ."
Why did she keep showing up in his dreams? What was she to this Doctor? Was she just a companion, or something more, like a lover?
"I am the Bad Wolf." Rose was standing before him, eyes glowing gold. "I create myself. I take the words. I scatter them through time and space—a message to lead myself here."
"Mr. Smith?"
Martha's voice dragged him (metaphorically) kicking and screaming out of his dream. His eyes snapped open and blinked a couple of times to focus his vision. "What is it, Ms. Jones?"
She jumped. "I didn't mean to startle you, Mr. Smith."
"You didn't," he told her, wishing he could finish his dream of this pink-and-yellow girl that haunted his thoughts day and night. "Carry on."
"It's just, you're needed. Downstairs, I mean."
He nodded, gracefully rose to his feet. "Thank you, Ms. Jones."
Martha hesitated, looked like she was going to say something, then thought better of it and turned to leave.
When she was gone, John thought he heard a female voice whisper, "Doctor . . ."
He whirled around, saw nothing, and hurried to the window.
His heart sank to his stomach when he didn't see anyone, and he realized some part of him had wanted her to be there.
He turned his head, hoping another viewing angle would help, and thought he saw a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye.
John drew back, shook his head. Now he was hearing things, seeing glimpses of people who existed only in his dreams.
Maybe he was going mad.
Or he already had. After all, he sometimes dreamed he had two hearts.
-oOo-
Rose Tyler materialized outside the grounds of an old school, gold swirling around her before it was absorbed back into her body. She knew how that her appearances in her home universe weren't due to the Dimension Cannon they were working on in Torchwood. No, it was Bad Wolf. The Doctor had said he'd taken it all out of her. Obviously he hadn't, not if these jumps were anything to go by.
So where was she now? Judging by the clothes passerby were wearing, it was pre-World War I. It was definitely a school—she could tell as much from all the young boys running around following orders from a stern-looking balding man with a mustache. A newspaper could tell her the exact date, and Rose silently noted to find one as soon as possible.
Really, all she knew for certain was that the Doctor had to be nearby. If she could find Martha, then she could find the Doctor.
Of course, knowing her Time Lord, trouble couldn't be far behind.
A small smile appeared at the thought. He'd never been one to run from danger, though he claimed that trouble came looking for him and not the other way around.
Well, if she was going to be here for a while (and she planned on it), she was definitely going to have to find new clothes. That would be fun. Then she could start searching for the Doctor and Martha.
Yet for some reason her eyes were drawn to a single window on the second floor. Rose moved closer, saw that it was open and a familiar figure was standing there.
"Doctor." The name left her lips automatically, more of a whisper than anything else—one that carried on the sudden gentle breeze—but the man inside the room hurried to the window, looked out.
Rose ducked around the corner before he could catch a good look, her golden hair fanning out behind her before she disappeared from his view.
Well, at least she knew he was here. Right now, her main focus was on finding clothes more suited to this time period. Then she could find a way of sneaking into the school.
After a little looking around first. At least she was free to go wandering off this time. Besides, old habits die hard.
She could always keep an eye out for possible trouble while out on the town. Her own feelings for the Doctor combined with Bad Wolf's need to protect him made her a formidable enemy when crossed. The Dalek Emperor had found that out the hard way.
Might as well get a move on, then, Rose told herself even as she turned down the path that led to the nearest village.
-oOo-
John was relieved when the break for lunch came. His teaching skills this morning had been considerably off—and he suspected he knew the reason why. He was distracted, couldn't stop reliving that flash of golden hair he'd seen ducking around the corner of the school, couldn't stop thinking about the blonde-haired girl in his dreams. Last night hadn't been the only time he'd dreamed of her, his Rose. Some of his dreams starring her had been particularly vivid, left him aching for her when he woke.
But they were only dreams, yes? So why did he keep dreaming of a girl he'd never met as if he did know her, intimately?
Maybe writing in his journal would help. He'd started keeping a journal of impossible things where he wrote down what he remembered from his dreams, where he was the Doctor. Rose had already been featured in his journal, as had an assortment of other people: Mickey the idiot, Captain Jack, some bloke named Adam, a feisty redhead called Donna. Strange, strange creatures showed up, too: Daleks; Cybermen; Zygons; Auton; Carrionites; Slitheen; the "Last Human," also known as Cassandra; vampires; werewolves; the Beast, Satan, the Devil; Ood . . . How had the Doctor been able to see all this and not go completely insane?
In a way, maybe he had. He kept going from one adventure to the next, kept running, because he dared not look back.
Before he knew what he was doing he'd written a full two pages in his journal: his latest dreams about Rose, about seeing the glimpse of gold out his window.
He knew he had heard someone call his name . . .
When the lunch hour was over and he was done teaching for the day, John decided to take a walk into town, see what was happening there.
And maybe run into a certain blonde, a voice inside his head said.
Aw, shut up, he snapped back.
Yet when he did arrive, he found he couldn't stop searching for a flash of blonde hair.
Hang on. Right now, he did see a familiar figure. Her blonde hair was done up and she was wearing a dress, period clothing, but even so . . .
"Rose?" he called out, half hoping half knowing it was her.
But before he could get a closer look, a group of people passed in front of him. When they were clear, Rose—if that had been Rose—was gone.
John felt like there was an ache in the right side of his chest; if he'd had a second heart, that was where it would break. His single heart, as it was, had already sunk to his stomach.
No. Not again! I can't lose her again!
John couldn't believe he'd been here for two months without seeing her, and now she was popping up everywhere he looked.
His legs were moving before his brain registered the movement, heading toward where he'd last seen her. He glanced right, left, but she was nowhere to be found. She'd just . . . vanished.
NO!
When he stopped, later, to think about it, he couldn't help wondering why it was so important for him to find her. After all, she didn't really exist . . . right?
-oOo-
Rose materialized outside the school again, nerves jangling. That had been close. It had taken her a while to figure out how to use Bad Wolf's powers, but even now it was difficult calling on them at will. The teleportation was useful, though she hated being able to see every single person's timeline—watching how their lives ended. If this was what the Doctor saw all the time, how did he stand it? That first time she'd looked into the heart of TARDIS . . . no wonder she'd almost died. It had been too much for her human brain to handle.
At least, this time, it was a small amount of the Time Vortex and she could call on and release it (sort of) at will.
Before the Doctor had found her, she'd found a paper that told her the date: November 9, 1913. So she knew when she was, but she didn't quite know where she was. All she knew was that it was England. (Would it kill the Doctor to go to America? That one time in Utah didn't count; they had been underground the whole time.)
Rose instantly made a run for cover when she spotted Martha Jones exiting the school. She looked on curiously as Martha glanced around before heading off into a patch of woodland.
Could that be where they'd parked the TARDIS?
Rose's feet were following Martha before Rose herself had made the decision. The Doctor's newest companion didn't seem to suspect she was being watched, for which Rose was grateful. Martha stopped when she came across a large, old shed. Rose padded after her, slipped inside, and quickly ducked into a hiding place as Martha went into the TARDIS. Somehow, she definitely didn't think Martha would appreciate her showing up in their lives again, especially since she'd faded away before the Doctor had a second chance to finish what they'd started on BadWolfBay. So she waited until Martha left, then used her TARDIS key to enter the timeship.
Rose could tell the old girl was powered down—not off completely, but running on emergency power—but she headed for the console monitor. If she could call up what Martha had been watching . . . A-ha!
The Doctor's face filled the screen, and Rose smiled. It faded as she listened to the recorded message.
So, the Doctor had made himself human to hide from the Family and now the Time Lord part of him was hidden inside a fob watch. Okay. That explained the period clothing, at least, and why Martha had gone alone to the TARDIS.
But what was the reason for Rose being here? Unless . . . No. Surely the universe wouldn't . . . On second thought, yes it would. She'd already saved the Doctor from the false god and Nestene Consciousness, so why not the Family of Blood?
Even though the TARDIS had been the one place she'd always felt safe, Rose was suddenly uneasy—and she couldn't shake the feeling. She had to get back to the school. Now.
Not caring if Martha or anyone else saw her, Rose exited the TARDIS and shed and booked it in the direction of the school. It was almost dark by now—Had the day really gone by that fast?—and in midstride she dissolved into a stream of gold, materializing inside a room that looked as though it belonged to one of the teachers.
Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when the door opened and the Doctor—no, he wasn't the Doctor, he was John Smith—entered, closing the door behind him. His back was to her, but he suddenly stiffened. "Who's there?"
"No one." The words slipped out in a low, sultry tone that took even her by surprise. He whirled around, eyes wide, mouth gaping open. Her own eyes flared gold as she added, "It's just a Wolf."
Your silhouette always appears in my window.
I close my eyes and hear
The applause of a thousand different strangers,
And everyone seems sincere.
He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. "No. You're not real. You can't be." Yet somewhere inside his head he was hearing the sincere applause of so many different strangers.
Soft lips brushed against his for the briefest of moments, their touch feather-light, and then pulled back. A faint whimper escaped at the loss even as he reached out a hand, took a step forward, searching for her.
He only encountered air.
No . . . Please, no. Don't do this to me.
His eyes opened.
She was gone.
If she'd ever been there at all.
Or did you notice? Was it you that I hear?
I hear you call my name. . . .
"Over here, Doctor."
His head snapped 'round at the voice, saw the blonde woman (Rose, some part of his mind whispered) was sitting on his bed. She flashed him a smile, patted the space next to her. He took an involuntary step back: It wouldn't be proper; he was in his thirties, a good ten years older than she was . . . but there were his dreams, the Doctor's fantasies about this particular human woman.
Her smile had faded, and she was looking at him with an emotion he couldn't place. She said, "Stuck between a girl and a box. Story of your life, eh, Doctor?"
"Who are you? And why do you keep calling me 'Doctor'?"
She smiled, faintly. "Normally you'd call me Rose Tyler, but in this form I'm known as"—her eyes glinted gold—"Bad Wolf."
The words rang in his head, reminding him of something that slipped out of his reach whenever he tried recalling it. He took a step back, a myriad of emotions flitting over his face.
"What's the matter, Doctor? Scared of the big Bad Wolf?"
"Stop calling me that! I'm not the Doctor, I'm John Smith!"
"You were the Doctor," she corrected. "You became human in order to hide." She grinned wolfishly. "You also never answered my question. Are you scared?"
He closed his eyes, fought to control his racing heart. Was he scared? Yes, but not of her: He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something coming. No, he couldn't be scared of her—Rose, Bad Wolf, whoever she was—not really. Not when looking at her stirred something deep in the back of his mind, sent his heart beating slightly faster than normal. And her voice . . . it reached inside, under his skin, twisted him around.
Surely this couldn't be real. He had to be dreaming.
Rustling fabric reached his ears, and moments later he could sense her standing in front of him. She was so, so warm . . .
"No . . ." The word slipped out, softly, and he wasn't sure if he was answering her question or protesting against what was about to happen.
If anybody came in . . .
Had he locked the door? He'd thought he had.
"Dance with me," she breathed, her voice a caress, breath warm on his ear, and he wasn't sure who was speaking—Rose or Bad Wolf.
Not that he really believed it was her, but . . .
He swallowed, opened his eyes, gave her the slightest of nods.
She kissed him then, tenderly, softly, even as her hands were sliding off his jacket, his shirt, undoing the ridiculous bow tie around his neck. His own hands were busy, pulling at where her dress was done up in the back. It slid from her, pooled on the floor at her feet.
After that, it was a blur: Skin on skin, the taste of her, moans, pleas, voices crying out—he wasn't sure which was his and which was hers anymore—and then he was inside her, and—Oh, gods, please let this be real—
When she went over, he followed her.
He laid beside her for some time, toying with her strands of golden hair, inhaling her scent—one that spoke of time and stars and chips—but eventually he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
When he snapped awake the next morning, she was gone—as if she'd never been there at all.
For a moment, he thought he heard a now-familiar voice whisper, "Doctor." Then it, too, faded away.
I hear your voice; it was the sound of the city.
I hear you call my name.
I hear you call my name.