This fic is going to have some different imagery. The prompt basically stated that ten was a creature that would shred all who touched it, his skin as sharp as needles. He drove himself mad from wanting affection and a real relationship, his destructive nature finally getting the better of him. I just wanted to warn you about that before you started.
Enjoy the story!
There he was again.
His tall frame seemed to float down the London streets, barely visible in the thick fog rolling between the buildings. His caramel colored coat swung like a banner at his every movement, his impossibly dark eyes searching for something he would never find.
Rose Tyler trailed a block behind him, her jaw clenched tightly. She knew who he was, oh yes. She knew what he was.
His hair bristled, a thousand needle-sharp points standing bolt upright atop his head. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, his breaths fogging up the air. He looked nearly normal, though the odd sway and bounce of his walk made him look just out of place enough to give off a weird vibe.
Not a single soul was in sight other than him.
Rose tightened her death grip on her gun, feeling the cool metal against her fingers. She quickened her step. Cold sweat dripped down her back. She took a deep breath, the cold air biting into her uncovered skin. The hand that wasn't holding anything shook profusely. She blamed the cold.
She was feet away from him now, and he hadn't yet turned around. She could see his shoulders rise and fall with his every breath.
She wanted nothing more than to make it stop.
He froze suddenly, catching her off-guard, his head jerking upright. His hands flew to his sides in a defensive stance. She fought not to cry out as he turned to face her.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Inhumanly.
He looked almost like a little lost puppy, but a glint in his eyes told her that this wasn't the case. Not this time.
She cocked the gun and pressed it against her cheek, prompting a sigh from the creature.
"Go ahead and shoot." He growled, his teeth wickedly sharp. "Just end it already." Fear rooted her to the spot, her finger toying with the trigger, but not pulling it. He blew out a breath from between his teeth. "Knew it."
"You're not in a position to be making demands, bastard." She snapped. He raised his eyebrows.
"Really?" He snarled. "I've got a gun pointed at my chest, and you're telling me what I can and can't do?" He took a step forward, drawing himself up to his full height. She staggered backward. He barked out a laugh, the sound chilling her to the bone. "You're the same as all the others. You threaten me with paper defenses, but you'll die all the same. You picked a bad night to try and do me in." His voice was acidic in nature, oozing into her head and making her feel anger she had never experienced before.
"I bet you don't even remember their names." The creature took another lumbering step forward. She could see dried blood coating its fingers.
"Don't you accuse me of forgetting!" She watched him closely, not letting the gun fall from her hands. "I remember all that die at my hands." Her heart pounded as he stepped forward once more, his steely eyes peering down at her in fury.
She took a few shaky steps backward. His gaze stayed trained on her the whole time, as if daring her to make a move, silently mocking her cowardice.
She wanted to bolt right then and there. This- This monster could have killed her at any point of their interaction, but it hadn't yet. She gripped that thought like a lifeline.
Remember why you took this case!
A tiny voice piped up in the back of her head.
A cool breeze blew through her hair and she loosened her grip on the trigger.
"Tell me about Martha." She ordered. He visibly shrank, his shoulders falling slack. His fierce gaze faltered. The only sound was the wind howling in the deserted street. "Tell me, damn it!" She bit, fighting not to let her voice crack. "Tell me about my best friend!"
Anger flared in his eyes.
"Martha Jones didn't die!" He spat her name like it was poison in his mouth. "She was the only friend I had." He continued creeping closer as he spoke, allowing her to see all the cuts and slashes in his rumpled pinstriped suit. All the dried stains of blood clinging to his sleeves.
"Don't you dare call her your friend!" She barked.
"She was all that I had!" He pointed a finger at her. She inhaled sharply, knowing how deadly just one touch could be. He suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing. A growl of frustration tore from his lips.
He jerked his hand back, forcing it back into his pocket. The sound of fabric tearing accompanied the action. "I didn't want to hurt her." He nearly whimpered. "She understood. I made it clear that I didn't want her to touch me. So," He swallowed hard. "So she never did."
This wasn't what she was expecting. She didn't want to lower her guard, but he seemed- regretful. Scared even, but more than that- alone. She didn't want to ask, but the words seemed to be coming by themselves.
"What happened?"
"We were at a marketplace." He laughed bitterly again. "Usually try and avoid that kind of thing. I learned that the hard way." His eyes fell closed, another harsh breath hissing through his teeth. "It was going well. I was having a good time. She was too. I let my guard down."
When his eyes opened again, they were soulless. "She forgot my warmings. She tried to hold my hand." He visibly shuddered. "I-I," His voice broke. "I tightened my grip as a reflex. Her hand seemed right. And then, there was blood everywhere."
"And then you ran, didn't you?" He nodded.
"Her blood coated my hand. I could hear her screams over the noise of the crowd. I still do, sometimes."
"We managed to get to her before she bled out." His eyes flew open wide. Fear glinted in his brown irises.
"Did she-" Rose shook her head.
"She's still alive." She confirmed. He let out a long sigh. "She told me about you. She said that you wanted to stop being alone, but you didn't tell her what you were. You didn't tell her that if she touched you, she would be torn apart- literally." She locked eyes with the beast. "Now, what of Donna Noble?"
He was upon her before she could even cry out. Blood dripped from where his hand connected with her arm, his breathing rough and ragged. His face was mere inches from hers, his hot breath ghosting against her cheek.
He dug his hand deep into her shoulder, nearly connecting with bone. She could hear her muscles squelching as blood ran from her arm.
She pushed the gun against his chest.
"Off. Now." She commanded. He stared down at it with a dull interest.
"Never mention her name again, got that?" He rasped. He twisted her arm tightly, his needle-sharp grip ripping through her skin. She cried out in pain. He pulled her hair and drew her face close to his. "Don't you EVER ask me about Donna Noble. Don't you even breathe her name again. You don't deserve to." Spittle flew from his lips and struck her cheek. "HEAR ME?"
She nodded, and he let go, shoving her to the cold concrete. Warm blood pooled around her. All she could see was his lanky frame stalking away down the alleyway, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets like before.
"Wait." She croaked, trying to rise to her feet. He scowled down at her. His teeth gleamed like daggers. Blood dripped from his needle-sharp claws.
"Just close your eyes." He advised. "It'll be over sooner."
"Meet me tomorrow. Blue box chippy." She wheezed, gripping her shoulder as she staggered upright. "Four o' clock. Be there."
"You can't control me." His foot connected with her ribcage. She yelped in pain. "You can't even talk to me. YOU DON'T KNOW WHO I AM." He was shouting again, his shape actually fluctuating in the fog, blurring around the edges and becoming impossibly large. His eyes seemed to glow yellow. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH."
She fumbled for her walkie-talkie, jamming down the button, her fingers slick with her own blood.
"Badwolf reporting." She clutched it to her ear, hoping against all hopes that someone would answer.
"This is the impossible girl, report, Badwolf." Tears started to fall from her eyes.
"Mission partial failure. He was hostile. He attacked." Her friend's official tone instantly fell, and she could see her clutching the case file in her mind's eye.
"Shit, Rose." Clara's voice wavered. "How bad is the injury?" Rose grunted in pain.
"He tackled me. Everything burns. Losing blood fast." Her breathing was labored and loud. "He left."
"We're sending Martha. Hang tight." Ugly yellow spots danced across her vision.
"Clara?"
"What?" Her eyes followed his thin form as he continued walking.
"He wasn't hostile until I mentioned Donna. He just snapped." Clara didn't respond outright. The words had to sink in.
"And then he attacked?"
"Yeah." Her words came out as a wheeze. "Yeah, he kicked me a few times, too."
"Jesus," Clara mumbled.
"But, I did get information from him." He was nearly gone, his silhouette cloudy in the fog. "He didn't mean to hurt Martha. And he-" She took a deep breath. "He might meet me tomorrow. Blue box chippy at four."
"There's no way you're going to see him again, got that? Not alone."
"Clara, he'll attack again if I don't try and stop him. He didn't maul me outright. I've got a chance."
"It's too risky." Rose managed to lean against one of the buildings stretching around her. She could hear the siren of the Torchwood van ringing through the street and sighed in relief.
"She's here." She clicked off the walkie-talkie, silencing Clara's protests. She began to limp in the direction of the noise, holding one hand over her eyes when the headlights appeared down the street.
The van screeched to a halt in front of her, Martha leaping out before the vehicle had fully stopped. She practically collapsed into Martha's arms, the other woman quickly becoming covered in her coppery blood.
Rose, however, hardly noticed.
Because she could still see him lurking in the shadows, his wild hair blowing in the breeze. His icy gaze stayed trained on her, his lips quirked upward into a sick smile.
"C'mon. Let's get you fixed up." And then, he was gone.
He watched the van peal down the street, the bloodied human who had seemed to know so much about who he was disappearing around a corner. He could still hear her voice ringing in his ears, repeating the same phrase over and over again.
Be there.
He shook his head like an animal to try and banish the thought to a far corner of his mind, but it just got louder.
Four o' clock.
He looked down at his bloody hands and wiped them on his coat, leaving twin red smears down his sides. Why didn't he end her?
It wasn't like her throat wasn't exposed, one quick bite or touch would have done it, blood gurgling up from her throat and cascading down her chin. He growled in frustration, shoving one hand through his messy hair.
Her brown eyes had connected with something in him, and even though he didn't like it, he knew he'd end up at the chippy at four.
To discuss what, he didn't know.
Probably the humans who had died because he didn't tell them what he was until it was too late. Probably to discuss his best friend who had died in his arms.
He slumped next to a rubbish bin and put his head in his hands, drawing his knees up to his chest. His converses skidded on the cracked concrete.
Tomorrow.
He decided.
She dies tomorrow.