Disclaimer: I do not own the Doctor, Rose Tyler, or Ace, or the TARDIS – if I did, I wouldn't have killed 7 with a hospital. That all belongs to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended, no profit made.
"So… what is this place again?" Rose asks curiously as she leans against the metal railing surrounding the TARDIS's central console, addressing the owner of the pair of stripped trouser-clad legs that are disappearing underneath said console. He's assured her repeatedly that her jeans and hoodie won't be out of place at their next destination, but other than that, he's been frustratingly spare with the details. He's been promising a purely recreational trip for some time now – no killer aliens, no mysteries, no dead bodies. She was particularly adamant about the dead bodies thing when the topic came up a few weeks (or maybe a month or so) ago – even innocently dead bodies would be inviting trouble, where the Doctor is concerned. He protested that he didn't mean to land in all of those problems, he's just traveling, these things just happen. Rose stood firm by her demands, and now they are going to have a nice, simple trip to a nice, simple planet where the inhabitants aren't going to try to eat them or shoot them or hypnotize them or anything else. Fantastic.
"A small little planet called 'Merrlius', you'll love it, fantastic place, it's said the sunsets manage to produce every color in the spectrum every night, brilliant light shows and not a bit of it artificially made. We've landed two hours before today's sunset – just enough time to find a good seat. Just… hang on a moment and let me fix this short… there." The Doctor, his hair and coat rumpled from digging around under the console, pulls himself up from the metal grill floor and triumphantly stabs at a button on the console. In response, a previously darkened board lights up, and he beams like a kid at Christmas. Rose has to smile back – there's no way anyone can just ignore such bright flashes of joy. Besides, he's her Doctor, and when he's happy, everything's just that much better. Then, rousing with a sudden burst of energy, he whirls to the other side of the console to the pile of supplies he left there before starting the landing sequence.
"I haven't been here in ages… well, when I say ages, I mean centuries." He pauses, thinking, squinting at nothing at particular while he works out what he actually does mean. "Well… A century. Well…" He rambles on, but Rose is impatient to see the new world he has landed them on, and bounces off down the connecting walk to the door. "You'll just love it, Rose. The sea air, the lanara gyrfalcons coasting on the rising thermals…"
"My mum's cooking…" Rose chimes in, with a faintly smug edge, as she peers out the door. She knows he isn't fond of her mum. They're not actively antagonistic, thank goodness (now, anyway), but he quite obviously isn't fond. He can just deal, though. Sure, her mum can be a bit overbearing, but she's her mum, so Rose is always glad to be home (when she hasn't been tricked into going by overprotective Time Lords, of course). She thinks it's rather funny, the way the Doctor always whines and moans and pouts like a little boy being forced to go see the headmaster.
"Your mum's… what? No. No, that can't be right." The Doctor, startled out of his ramble, stares dumbly at her back for a moment before charging down the walk after her, his long brown coat flapping behind in his wake. "Not that I would agree with that statement in the first place, but what would your mum be doing on Mer…?" Then she pulls the door open a little further, and he can see what she's already discovered.
The view from outside the TARDIS is the distinctly un-exotic alleyway being the Powell Estates. It sounds like London as well – cars and buses and bells in the distance. It definitely smells like the alley they usually land in, and like garbage pick-up had better be soon because something is definitely due to go out there. They have come back home.
The Doctor's first reaction is stubborn, outright refusal to believe the TARDIS has brought them here on purpose, while Rose follows in his wake, trying to keep up with his million-mile-an-hour rant on why, exactly, they cannot be in London in the year 2005, and must instead be, at least on some level, on Merrlius in the year 5346 (by the revised calendar). Furiously he checks the coordinates – they are definitely still set for somewhere other than Earth, Rose can tell that by now. Stymied, the Doctor begins checking every dial, every gauge, every lever, trying to find the one missing piece that once found will solve this mystery. Moreover, the whole time, without missing a beat, he throws out theories as to why, exactly, they can see London outside the TARDIS without London actually being outside the TARDIS, because it can't be, really. Sometimes the Doctor's diatribe is so convincing Rose has to go back to check outside the door to make sure that yes, it is indeed the old alleyway.
"Doctor, can't we just go out there? I mean… it does look like home." She asks once, tired of watching him pace and fret, but she receives such a long and convoluted answer that sums up to 'no, because I do not know what is going on now do try to be helpful' that she doesn't ask again. He seems to be convinced it's all some elaborate illusion designed to tempt them out of the TARDIS (though what could be tempting about that particular alleyway, he rambles, dodging Rose's swat). If they do leave the safety of the TARDIS, it will be very very dangerous and she should be pleased he isn't charging into the unknown for once, right? She rolls her eyes at that argument, with very little visible (or audible) effect on his determination to sort out the cause of this mystery. He continues to work feverishly, though to Rose's inexpert eyes it looks very much like fluttering. She's never seen him look quite so flustered.
Then he stops. Just freezes. He stops so suddenly that it is almost a physical shock to Rose, who had resorted to perching on the metal railing, her chin in her hands as she was watching him circle.
"What?" She asks, concerned. When that gets no answer, she asks again. "Doctor, what is it?" She's suddenly more than a little nervous. He looks so focused, and so utterly bewildered – she's found she doesn't like it when he looks confused, not like that. Bad things tend to happen when he starts looking like that.
"Someone's called for the TARDIS. Like a… emergency beacon of some kind." The Doctor answers, slowly, almost hesitant.
"Isn't that like those… what did you call them… mauve alerts?" She asks. She (sort-of) understands those, they've dealt with those before.
"No." Rose slips off the railings quietly and hurries over to where he's standing. He looks like someone's sucker-punched him, his eyes dark and cold and infinitely sad.
"Doctor?" She asks, as she wraps both her hands around his free one, chaffing it a little to warm it.
"Someone has actually called for the TARDIS. This TARDIS, specifically. Someone has the codes to call this TARDIS specifically, and the TARDIS responded to it without even checking with me first. As if she knew who was calling. Or it was an override." He looks down at her, and his brown eyes are ancient. "Rose… no one should be able to do that anymore. Only Gallifrey…" He chokes on the words, and doesn't continue. He doesn't need to. She knows enough of the story by now to know that Gallifrey won't be calling, not ever again.
It doesn't take much convincing after that for them to both end up in the Tyler family flat, with Rose making tea since her mum is still out, probably shopping somewhere considering the hour. They are most definitely in London, even if they don't know why they are here. While Rose knocks around the kitchen, the Doctor starts idly flipping through the channels on the telly to search for clues. It worked a few times before now – got to love some of these 'news' programs with their anything-goes style. They get it right more often than not. After two inane game shows, a talk show with some boy band he knows will never make it, and three cooking shows centering on various uninspiring dishes, he gives up. He feels, with some irritation, that if someone is going to be so rude as to drag them completely off course for an unexplained emergency, they should have the common decency of sending a little follow-up message telling them what's going on. Better yet, meeting them once they landed, that would have been nice. Actually, not being called at all would have been nice. He's not at all happy about this development. Angry, even. He has never enjoyed being called to heel like some sort of wayward pet. At least when it was Gallifrey doing it, he knew what he was dealing with and how to act accordingly. That, however, isn't an option anymore. That said… who could have sent that signal anyway? The TARDIS doesn't know, or won't say. Idly he twirls a stray pen between his fingers, thinking; only marginally acknowledging Rose when she comes in with the tea. He's worried, he's desperately worried, but he can't tell her that. Not only is it unfair to her, he really doesn't want to hear what Jackie will make of this. Nothing flattering, he's sure. They've gotten on a bit better since his regeneration (he wonders if it's the face, or if being rude counters her more effectively than trying to pacify her), but there are limits, surely.
He just wishes he knew who sent that signal.
