I've finally finished chapter two! It's shorter than the first one, but I already told you that it would be. Sorry if anyone's disappointed. Anyway, thank you for reading and enjoy.
I do not own Doctor Who. I do own Dahlia, please do not steal her.
"Could you tell me what the date is?" I asked the desk clerk.
She stared at me.
I must've made some picture: a roughed up, teenaged, American girl with only two bags paying for a room with a wad of cash. So I had either been kidnapped, gotten really drunk the other night, or I was a criminal of some sort.
"March second." She frowned worriedly. "Are you okay, miss? Do I need to call someone?"
God, this was going to sound horrible.
"What year?"
She looked taken aback, so taken aback that she paused in handing me my room key.
"2004. Miss, I can call someone. They can be here in a few minutes." Her free hand twitched toward the phone on her desk.
I took the key card and smiled reassuringly. "Thank you, but it's been taken care of." Then I calmly left the lobby to find my room.
I've seen worse, I thought, regarding the room with little interest. It was a plain room in pastel colors with a twin bed and a connecting bathroom. Nothing special. Instead, my attention was directed at every aching part if my body; especially my burning and stinging arm.
I didn't want to do inventory. I didn't want to look at my wounds. With all the adrenaline gone, all I wanted to do was sleep, but I knew I couldn't. Least I could do was take a shower.
Shucking my clothes off as carefully as I could, I made my way to the bathroom. Before stepping under the water, I checked my arm.
There wasn't much blood, but there would be once I removed all the splinters. Deep blue flecked up and down my forearm and hand. Most of the splinters weren't that large. Two or three, though, seemed about half an inch long. I managed to remove those with my nails.
A soft moan escaped when I stepped under the scalding water. Tension leaked out easily, but attempting to wash my hair brought it back. Several minutes and a wad of hair later, I was back to scrubbing and relaxing under the spray. Forty-five minutes in, I managed to drag myself out.
It dawned on me that I didn't have a change of clothes.
Fuck it, not like I haven't slept naked before.
Sleepy from the warm water, I stumbled to the bed and flopped on it. Any invigoration the shower had created disappeared as exhaustion set in once more. I wiggled weakly to get under the sheets. Seconds after shutting my eyes I was asleep.
Eleven hours later—I woke up.
Even though I was awake, I couldn't actually move without searing pain shooting through me until an hour later.
At 4:27pm, I sat lotus style on the bed, still completely naked, to take inventory. Opening my purse, I dumped all the contents in front of me, making sure to empty every pocket. One slim, brightly colored box caught my attention.
I blinked in astonishment.
Of all the things . . . A smiled slowly spread across my face. Giggles welled up in my chest before bursting from my mouth.
The box of gushers rested amongst gum and candy wrappers, a bag of watermelon jolly ranchers, my MP3, a tube of lip gloss (also watermelon flavored), a few pens, and a book.
I guess I was in such a rush that I just shoved it in, I noted when my giggles had died down. But the smile was still there.
A search of my wallet produced thirty-seven dollars and eighty-four cents. Added with the money Koschei gave me, I had seven hundred twenty-four quid, with some change. It was a good bit of money to start off with but it wouldn't last long. Getting money was definitely at the top of the priority list.
I opened the bag the TARDIS put together and reached in. My fingers touched cloth and, confused, I pulled it out. A shirt? It was white T-shirt with short, block sleeves and made from a soft but sturdy material.
Setting the shirt aside, I reached in again to pull out a pair of comfortable feeling jeans, in my size, underwear, and a bra.
"Thank you, TARDIS." My grin faltered when a thought crossed my mind. "Although, it's pretty creepy that she knew my sizes," I muttered, glancing at the tag on the bra—36C, exactly right.
The thought of getting dressed cross my mind. And was then crushed and the little pieces shoved off a cliff. The lazy part of me expressed its opinion that I could always get dressed later. It wasn't like I was expecting company for Christ's sake.
Some more rummaging produced a banana, a tooth brush, toothpaste, three bottles of water, a pill bottle with odd little medication, a cell phone, a laptop, chargers for the electronics, fifteen different hair bands, a medical kit, and a bag of Granny Smith apples with a curious little note that read: Use wisely.
My arm was now buried up to my shoulder as I dug around. A slim tube drifted to my hand.
"Let's see what you are," I mumbled, retracting my arm. Blinking, I stared blankly at the object I now held.
I had pulled out a sonic screwdriver.
It looked just like the one the ninth and tenth Doctors used: slim and shiny silver with a blue light at the end.
Amazed, I turned it over in my hands. "Wow," I whispered. "A real sonic screwdriver."
Biting my lip, I couldn't resist the temptation. I clenched the sonic in one hand and directed it at the chair in the far corner. Nothing happened for several long moments, but then a stinging pain erupted from my index finger.
Dropping the sonic with a shocked cry, I brought the injured appendage close to examine it. A small drop of blood had welled up.
"What the fuck?"
I glared at the screwdriver. A needle stuck out from where my finger had just been placed.
Cautiously, I picked it up to get a better look at the needle.
It disappeared back into the sonic and reappeared in another spot, succeeding in stabbing me for a second time and getting more blood. The needle retracted again while I dropped the—apparently—hostile device. Again.
"Fuck you, too," I grumbled.
The needle hadn't gone too far in, just enough to draw a few drops of blood from each puncture.
It reminded me I needed to inspect my wounds from the night before,
I'll do it in a few minutes, I mentally promised.
I hesitantly reached in the bag. Something practically slammed into my hand this time. Whatever it was felt like a larger version of a sonic screwdriver, but I doubted the TARDIS gave me two. Even with my doubt, I readjusted my grip to two fingers and slid the object into the open. What came out was both shocking and unsurprising.
Why would the TARDIS give me this? Would I need to use it? Did she think I'd use it? Or did she just want me to be prepared for everything?
The laser screwdriver dangled menacingly in my loose grip.
Sighing, I muttered, "I'll just put you over here for now," and went to place it next to the sonic.
Sharp pain signaled I'd been stabbed another time.
Hissing out as many curses as possible, I let the laser fall to the bed. It clattered noisily against the sonic.
Thinking bitterly that I should've seen that coming, I re-examined my finger. There wasn't a third drop of blood, but one was now larger than the other. The laser's needle had gotten me in the exact same place as the first one. That puncture burned twice as badly than earlier.
"Note to self: Sonic and laser screwdrivers bite." My tone was sour, punctuated by the scowl on my face.
I didn't want to continue my search through the bag. Who would after being stabbed three times by two different objects from it? Unfortunately, I had to make sure I knew all my resources.
When I grabbed the bag this time, I didn't plunge my arm in. Instead, I turned it upside down and shook it.
Nothing came out so I shook it harder.
Finally, an index card sized piece of paper fluttered out. It was shortly followed by what looked like a key.
"Okay, so a piece of paper and a key," I mused. "Why would the TARDIS give me a piece of paper and a key?"
Picking up the paper, I turned it over in my hands. There was nothing written on it. It was just a blank scrap of paper.
I started muttering to myself. "Paper . . . paper . . . special paper? Maybe. What kind of special—"
I grinned when it dawned on me. "Of course! Psychic paper! She gave me psychic paper! That'll definitely come in handy."
Psychic paper now moved to the side, I picked up the key and examined it.
It was a spade key and it strongly resembled the ones used by the Third, Fourth, Seventh, and Eighth Doctors.
No, wait. I frowned and flipped the key over continually, making sure to scrutinize it from all possible angles.
It was the exact same key! I had a key to the TARDIS! Euphoria swept through me. This was even better than the sonic screwdriver! An actual key to the TARDIS! She trusted me enough to give me a key!
"And aren't you gorgeous," I complimented, watching the silver object twinkle in the light.
Apparently, those are the words to initiate contact with the TARDIS, because the key glowed hotly. I yelped in surprised and pain. Immediately I dropped the key.
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. "What is with all the stabbing and singeing? Are Time Lords masochists?"
The first aid kit made even more sense.
Snorting, I muttered, pulling the kit toward me, "At least she thought ahead."
One hour later, I was property bandaged, sanitized, de-splintered, and dressed. After my final count—something that took much longer than I had anticipated—I had seven bruises of differentiating sizes and colors, five scrapes, all of which were on the same arm, a goose egg on the back of my head, and two punctures on my right index finger. I had actually suspected the damage would be a lot worse. Koschei had given me a bit of a beating before getting friendly.
While I packed my belongings, I listed my top priorities:
Money was definitely at top of the priority list. The large roll of quid Koschei gave me wouldn't last long, even if I knew how to be frugal.
Shelter came second. I couldn't just stay in this hotel for a year. That decision would end up being both suspicious and expensive.
After shelter came food and water. Altogether I had three water bottles I could continually refill, a box of gushers, a banana, a bag of apples, and a bottle of nutrients pills that would, apparently, sustain me like a three course meal would. I still wasn't sure if those were safe for human consumption.
Then, I needed a cover story. I couldn't just walk around Cardiff without some explanation. The woman at the front desk already thought I had been kidnapped. And I wouldn't be able to get a job without information, either. How was I going to accomplish that anyway? I didn't have the equipment or knowledge to counterfeit the necessary papers.
No, I reprimanded. One step at a time. I'll worry about that when I get to it.
All that left was finding The Doctor. It was 2004 now. It would at least be a few months before he showed up for the Nestene Consciousness.
How do I get him to take me with him?
Now that was a good question. What did all the other companions do to grab the Doctor's attention?
"They showed him they were brilliant," I mumbled. A smirk slowly split my mouth.
"I think I can handle that."
Turns out I didn't need to worry about much. The TARDIS had thought of everything.
On a whim, I had pointed the sonic screwdriver (after making sure I wouldn't get stabbed again) at an ATM. Bills had flown out of the machine at rapid fire speed. Soon a huge pile had formed on the ground. Alas, there was a police officer around at the time, so I couldn't grab any of the money. Next time I tried, I was extra careful.
I also didn't have to worry about a cover story or information. The USB Koschei had given me contained everything I would need.
Two weeks in and I had more than enough money, a good sized flat, a cover story, and a pending job at Henrik's.
With the weight of my checklist off my mind, I did some research.
I found out I didn't exist in this world. My parents were together; my older sister existed and so did my younger brother, but I didn't. I hadn't been born. Dahlia Fae Tombew didn't exist.
I wonder if this is how Rose felt in Rise of the Cybermen.
Rose did exist. At one point in time. Nineteen years ago twin girls were born to Pete and Jackie Tyler. Ashley and Rose Tyler were their names. Unfortunately, there were complications. Rose Tyler died two years after birth.
I hadn't been expecting that.
Actually, I hadn't known what to expect, but that wasn't it. Maybe she'd never been born or wasn't as brave as she was in the show but not that. Rose had been alive. A problematic birth killed her before she grew up; before she met The Doctor; before Bad Wolf or Canary Wharf.
Even though I wasn't Rose's biggest fan, I never would've wanted that to happen to her.
Several questions had been answered, but others formed.
Why had Rose died? Was it because this time she'd had a twin? What was Ashley like? Would she be anything like Rose?
Quickly, I decided Ashley would be nothing like Rose; if she was then I wouldn't be needed. Ashley would've simply taken Rose's place with The Doctor.
I prayed she wasn't like her mother.
The telephone made a soft clack when I set it back in its cradle.
Henrik's manager had called to tell me I had gotten the job and I started tomorrow.
I plopped down on the couch and sighed roughly. That was it. I had done everything I could do to prepare for The Doctor. Now all I had to do was wait.
An annoyed huff rose from my chest. I pouted and glared sourly at the television.
I hated waiting.
That was much shorter than I anticipated. Again, I am sorry it's so short. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
Reviews and follows are always welcome! I love to hear what you think of the story so far!