Alison screamed, as she was dragged into a tunnel of swirling gold light. As she felt the energies ripping across and through her. As she felt herself tugged and pulled, heard some deep rumbling off in the distance.

And then…

Someone caught her. Hands wrapped round her, protecting her as she fell. Hands Alison couldn't see. The energies stopped burning. The rumbling grew louder and louder, flooding Alison's ears. But… somehow… she knew she was safe.

Couldn't hear. Couldn't see. Didn't know what was happening.

Just felt herself falling…

Falling…

Until…

Alison stumbled. Caught herself. Then looked around herself, a bit… confused.

Outside. She was standing outside. Whatever tunnel or rift opening spot she'd fallen through was gone forever. No sign it'd ever existed. No invisible people holding onto her. Not even any real sign she'd traveled through time. She was just… standing outside, on a sunny day, in the middle of a cluster of buildings. Different place, sure, but… well… people were still wearing jeans and tee shirts, buildings still looked pretty normal, and, at a glance, everything still appeared essentially…

Alison spun around, as the air opened up, beside her.

And a body flew out.

The body was charred. Mangled and burned, its face in a silent scream. The next victim of Professor Feldman's experiments… and this was the result.

Alison stumbled back, her mouth open, trying to stop her hands from shaking.

(She thought she was going to be sick.)

No. Pull yourself together, Alison. This is what Torchwood deals with. She shoved all her fears and worries and discomforts to the back of her mind, and took out her iPhone. Selected Jack's number, and rang him.

Nothing.

She looked down at the phone.

No reception. No signal.

"So I really did travel through time," she muttered.

A group of army men burst out of nowhere, all armed and looking as if they'd been ready and waiting for her to turn up, here.

Those scientists with the DeLorean — they'd said something about a carrier signal and anticipating a response. Like they were trying to check in with people, back here, to make sure…

Alison's eyes went wide.

As she turned, and ran for her life.

"Definitely alive, sir," said Sergeant Benton. "First one we've seen like it. No burns. No disfiguration. Not a scratch on her."

The white-haired gentleman in the velvet opera cape looked up from the gadget he'd been tinkering with. Eyebrows raised.

"But that's not possible," he muttered.

Brigadier Lethbridge-Stuart absorbed this. "Any idea where she's from, or why she's here?" he asked.

"Sorry, sir," Benton said, a little embarrassed. "But she ran off before we could ask any questions. We tried to follow, but… I'm afraid she managed to give us the slip."

"Ran off?" the Brigadier snapped.

"Yes, well, of course she ran off, Brigadier!" the older gentleman replied, tweaking the little gizmo, again. "She's been ripped out of her normal life, shoved through a lethal energy field with no shielding whatsoever — and the first thing she sees, when she emerges, is an army platoon pointing guns at her. What did you think she was going to do?"

The Brigadier had to concede the point.

The elderly gentleman nodded, in approval, at the device. "Energy field residue tracker." He stood up, and marched to the door of the lab. "I'll find her," he said. Waving off Benton, who tried to follow. "And I'll have none of your army guns along, when I do."

Slammed the door in their faces.

"No, Jack says that if Alison's at UNIT, Seo can't pick her up," said Tosh. "Something about crossing… timelines…" She shook her head. "I don't really understand it."

"So it's up to us, then," said Gwen. She hit her head against the palm of her hand. "Fantastic."

"Hey, we can get Alison back from the 70's!" said Owen, slamming down his Torchwood gear onto the ground. "We got Tosh and Jack back from 1941, right?"

"Admittedly, we did almost end the world doing it," Ianto muttered.

Jack stormed into the Hub. His eyes focused.

"All right," he announced. "Tosh. Hack into those UNIT files, 1971, find out what's going on there. Gwen, Owen. Figure out how that building disappeared, what it has to do with the rift, and where it's wound up, this time. Ianto — look into every scientist that's made any headway on time travel research, who happens to also be a big fan of 'Back to the Future'."

"And you?" asked Gwen.

Jack turned, headed into his office. "Working out a way to get Alison back here safely."

"London," said Alison, looking about herself. She frowned. "I'm… in London?" Shook her head. "How did the Cardiff Rift take me to London?"

But it was certainly London.

A more computer-free, non-digital version of London, but still London.

When was she?

In the past, certainly. Beyond that, Alison wasn't exactly sure. She'd expected eras of the past to be fairly obvious at first glance: see lots of mini-skirts, tie-dye, 'flower power' and Beatles hair cuts? Chances are, you're in the sixties. See lots of spandex and leg warmers and hockey hair? 80's it is!

Problem was… the past didn't really seem like that.

Most people just looked like… people.

"Can I help you, Miss?" said a policeman, coming up to Alison.

She spun around, a little flustered. Stumbled back. "No," she insisted. "No, I'm just a bit lost, trying to work out…" She glanced down at the smart phone in her hand, automatically, to check time and date.

Then remembered she was in the past.

And that wouldn't work.

"Do you know the date?" Alison asked him.

"The fourteenth," said the policeman. He was eyeing the smart phone, suspiciously. "What, exactly, is that, Miss?"

Alison blinked. Then realized… she was a suspicious-looking person, wandering around London, looking nervous, with a Torchwood-issued gun by her side, carrying an unknown electric device.

Just the kind of person you'd expect to be a terrorist about to plant some bomb.

"It's my iPhone," said Alison. Then, with a grimace, "I mean, my mobile. My… phone."

The policeman looked like he didn't believe her. Seemed terribly suspicious of her, more so than before. "Miss," he said. "I think you should come into the station and answer a few questions."

"On the contrary, Constable," came another voice, from just behind Alison. "I don't think you'd be able to understand her answers even if she gave them."

Alison turned, to discover an older-looking gentleman, curly gray hair, dressed in a green suit and a funny-looking opera cape, stepping out of an old-fashioned yellow car. He studied Alison with growing interest, as he advanced towards her.

"Not a scratch or burn on you," he muttered. "Remarkable."

"Sir, I think—" the Constable began, but the man cut in, putting an arm around Alison's shoulders.

"Listen, Constable, it's perfectly simple. Miss…" He turned to Alison. "Sorry, what's your name?"

"Alison Korjensky?" Alison whispered.

"Miss Korjensky, here, is currently under the protection of UNIT," the man said, in a tone of voice that dared any to argue with him. "And…"

He stopped.

Turned back to Alison, a frown on his face. "Alison Korjensky," he mused. "Any relation to…?" He stopped himself, shook his head. "No, never mind. Early 21st century — he wouldn't have even been born yet." He turned back to the Constable. "At any rate. If you have any further questions, you can contact the Brigadier."

Then he turned, and led Alison into his car.

Alison felt her head spinning.

UNIT?

"But… but I thought… UNIT were the good guys," Alison insisted. "Why are you sending a carrier signal to a group of kidnappers if…?"

"A carrier signal?" said the man beside her. "Who said anything about a carrier signal?"

"The people who sent me here," said Alison. "Via DeLorean."

The man glanced over at her, thoughtfully, analyzing her. "Interesting."

Then jerked his little car into traffic, zipping through the streets so quickly and with so many swerves and curves that Alison had to cling onto the passenger seat for dear life.

"This all started about a day ago, see," the man explained to her. "Bodies appearing out of nowhere, on UNIT headquarters. Burned beyond recognition." Another swerve of the car. "Then you came along. Not a mark on you, uninjured. And carrying an iPhone. 2013?"

"What?" asked Alison, over the honk of nearby traffic.

"Where you're from," the man guessed. "Must be early 21st century. Before 2024 — iPhones looked a bit different by then."

"I… I…" Alison winced as they just barely managed to avoid hitting the side of a building. "Could you slow down? You drive like my best friend's mum!"

"Lovely chap, Steve Jobs," the man continued, ignoring her. "I met him, once, you know. In a former life. Zoe was rather starstruck the entire time, I confess."

The car skidded to a stop, in front of the building complex that Alison had fled from, a short time ago. The man extracting a number of hastily assembled gadgets out of his pockets — pockets way too small to fit the devices he was storing inside of them.

Alison stared at him.

Familiar.

All… so terribly… familiar…

The pockets, the way he rambled in technobabble, the way he strode around like he knew precisely what he was doing, the driving and the outtalking-policemen and… just… something indefinable about him…

"Who are you?" asked Alison.

The man looked up at her. Then seemed to realize he'd never actually said. "Oh, forgive me," he said. Extended out a hand to shake. "I'm the Doctor."

Alison's eyes went wide.

As it all made sense.