Part Two
Stumbling blindly down the TARDIS' corridor; Rose pressed her fingertips against her swollen lips. Pausing a moment, she leaned against the wall, the feel of the alien metal, cool and familiar through the fabric of her T-shirt. Looking down at her hands, she realised with a shock that they were shaking. She had spent nearly two years running for her life and never once had her hands so much as trembled. Now her whole body was quaking. Swallowing hard, she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and let her head fall back against the TARDIS' wall. Again, she raised her hand to her mouth, tracing her lips, searching for any trace of him that he may have left behind.
He had kissed her, really, truly kissed her, and then sent her to bed like a wayward child. Anger, frustration, surged up in her and her hands clenched into fists. She wanted to go back. She wanted to run back to the library and slap him across the face. She wanted to feel her open hand sting his skin, she wanted to see the blood well up in his cheek. She longed to make him see her, register her face, see that he had well and truly hurt her.
But she had hurt him too, hadn't she? He was her best friend and what she had done had been selfish, childish even. The most horrible part of it all was that she really did care about his past, she really did want to know everything there was to know about him. But... just now her need to know his future, more specifically where she fit into his future, had overridden her actions. Tact had been thrown out the window, and she had blundered in, begging for assurances that she knew he could never give her. She had wanted a cuddle and a mouthful of platitudes, and she had ended up with the truth.
She wasn't stupid. She knew this life would end, maybe end soon, and she wasn't frightened of death, only of being separated from him. The thought of losing him, of losing this life, of losing everything that he had come to mean to her - that was what terrified her most of all. He was ancient and alien and she was human and fragile. She would 'wither and die' and he would go on without her. Her brief life was a snap of his clever fingers.
But now... things were different, weren't they? The boundary line that they both had so carefully constructed over the last two years was now officially broken. And well, now there was no going back was there? Things would change. They would change. She had kissed him and he had kissed her. And now - here they were. She was trembling in thehallway and he was probably brooding in the library. True, it had been awhile since she had kissed anyone, not since Mickey anyway, but she was relatively sure this was not how things were supposed to end up.
Sighing, she pushed off against the wall, walking slowly to her room, her thoughts tumbling against one another. Entering her room, she blindly shoved a pile of clean clothes off her bed and onto the floor, narrowly avoiding pushing them into the overflowing rubbish bin. She toed off her trainers and crawled into bed, pulling her pink duvet over her head, without bothering to wash her face, clean her teeth, or even change out of her rumpled clothes. Closing her eyes, she did the only thing left to her. She fell asleep.
Rose opened her eyes and then shut them quickly. The light was bright, too bright. Reaching up a hand to shade her vision, she opened her eyes again.
Two twin suns sat low in a vivid orange sky. She looked down and wriggled her toes in crimson coloured grass, the cool blades tickling her bare feet. Despite the warm colour of the sky, it was chilly, and she realised with a shiver that she was still wearing the same wrinkled t-shirt and jeans she had fallen asleep in. She must be dreaming then, unless she had suddenly been transported out of the TARDIS and plonked down randomly on aplanet. Well - stranger things had happened.
Looking around at the foreign landscape, Rose shivered again. It felt odd being in such an alien place without the Doctor. But, well, she was here, dream or reality, might as well see what there was to see. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she began the trek forward, trepidation giving way to wonder as she took in the beauty around her. Flanking her on each side were elegant white trunked trees, their leaves shimmering, flickering gold to silver in the light breeze. The ground was cold, springy, and in someplaces bright white wildflowers with star shaped blossoms peeped up from the thick undergrowth, a dazzling diamond contrast to the ruby tinted grass.
As she walked, the two suns sank lower in the sky and the light around her became more translucent, almost golden. Colour ranging from deep purple to pale yellow streaked across the atmosphere, and the first stars began to pierce the gentle evening sky. She emerged from the forest of white trees and topped a small rise, gasping in awe.
She knew she had to be dreaming now, but a creeping doubt lurked in the back of her mind... Frankly, she wasn't sure that her imagination was quite capable of making up something so magnificent. Snow-capped mountains emerged from a distant sloping landscape, marching proudly across the horizon line. A shining city, encased in a great glass dome was nestled amongst the far-flung peaks and inside the dome, dozens of graceful towers reached upwards, scraping the twilight sky.
It was all so peaceful, perfect in its tranquillity, but still she was plagued by doubt. She bit her lip, suddenly disquieted by the flawless beauty, the seamless stillness that surrounded her. It was all a little too quiet. The city was too still, the forest too silent. A tremor crept down her spine as she stood gazing out towards the horizon. There was no sign of life anywhere. For the first time since she had opened her eyes in this strange world, she realized that she was completely and utterly alone with not even an alien insect to keep her company.
Rose cried out, ducking instinctively, batting the air in front of her as something small and dark suddenly flew into her vision and brushed the side of her cheek. She straightened and gazed incredulously at what was floating serenely in front of her, buoyed by the light breeze.
A butterfly. She had just been dive-bombed by a butterfly. Or maybe it was moth, she never had been sure of the difference. Well, whatever it was, it was beautiful – and large, probably a little bigger than her hand. Its wings were tinted every shade of blue imaginable: sapphire shadowed aqua, cobalt bled into indigo and cerulean faded to deep navy.
Funny how it had appeared, just when she had been thinking that she was so completely alone… The insect fluttered nearer and she was distracted from her train of thought. Smiling, she tentatively held out her hand. The creature brushed her fingers gently with antennae tipped in gold, and then flew off in the direction of the city. She took a few steps forward to follow, utterly enchanted by the alien insect.
Then everything changed.
Dark clouds broiled rapidly across the colour-streaked sky, obscuring the golden suns from view. The wind picked up and her hair whipped around her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck. She jumped as a deafening crack split the air. The ground beneath her feet trembled violently as another sharp bang shattered the sky. She finally managed to clear the hair from her eyes and watched in horror as the shining citadel in the distance collapsed in on itself, the silver towers toppling in on each other like children's building blocks. The ground shook again and Rose lost her balance, falling forward onto her knees. She scraped her palm on a hidden rock in the grass and the startling sting of broken flesh nearly brought tears to her eyes. A sudden blast of searing heat from behind made her topple over fully. Rose twisted her head in terror to look at the forest from which she had emerged. The tree line behind her had burst into flames and the atmosphere crackled with fire and smoke.
The ground continued to shake, and the sky grew continually darker, filling with acrid fumes and swirling clouds. She wanted to run, but where could she go? The city was now nothing but a heap of twisted glass and the forest had become a blazing inferno. She looked towards the mountains, her eyes widening in shock as she saw flames begin to lick across the stone. Even the mountains were burning. She was trapped. She was dead. The flames from the forest crept closer, catching on the crimson grass. She put her hands over her ears, closed her eyes, and wished to wake up.
+
The first thing she noticed - the heat was gone- the light was gone. Tentatively Rose uncurled from her position huddled on the ground, her eyes still firmly closed, too afraid to open them, afraid of what she might see. Moving her feet a little, she noted she was no longer standing on grass but on something much smoother. She opened her eyes and looked down; she was still in her t-shirt, jeans, and bare feet – definitely not burnt to a crisp. Still dreaming, then?
Looking around, her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. She was in an office, or well – what might pass for an office. The only light came from a small lamp sitting on an old-fashioned wooden desk. Draped across the desk chair was a large, outdated army coat, lined with shining brass buttons. The desk was crowded but neat, a stack of papers sat next to a cup full of pens, a black stapler, a tray full of paperclips. On the opposite side of the desk was a bubbling tank containing what looked like a human hand. Sitting next to the eerie container was, oddly enough, a tiny miniature of a Dalek.
Rose leaned over, examining the small replica. Yep, tiny Dalek. She suddenly wasn't sure she wanted to meet the kind of person that kept a hand and a miniature Dalek on their desk. Shying away from examining the hand more closely, she turned instead to a large bay of windows on the opposite wall. The windows were dark, glazed, and she could not see out, serving to isolate her from whatever was outside. A door, cracked slightly open, was set into the wall of windows. She moved forward to investigate, but stopped as she heard something move behind her. Turning back towards the desk, she froze, eyes widening in shock.
A tall man with a shock of dark hair now occupied the chair that had only moments before been empty. He was wearing a white shirt under blue braces and he was grinning at her.
"Jack?" she managed to choke out.
The man picked up the tiny figure of the Dalek and waved it at her, "Give us a cuddle," he voiced in a decent imitation of the Dalek's mechanical rasp, his fingers moving the tiny plunger like arm up and down. Seeing the pained look on her face, he stood up from his chair and put the Dalek down, giving her a wide grin and holding out his arms. "Hello Rosie! Miss me?"
"Jack? Jack, you're dead. You're dead and I'm dreaming." Rose backed a little closer to the glasswindows.
He shrugged and put his arms down. "I've been dead before."
"What's that mean?" she asked, still pressed against the glass.
He grinned at her, posturing a little, his blue eyes twinkling, "It means I still look pretty good for a dead man, and even better in a T-shirt."
Despite herself, she felt herself begin to grin. "Its really you isn't it?"
"Sure," he said holding out his arms to her again.
Relief flooded through her and she ran to him, throwing herself around the desk and burrowing into his arms.
After a moment, she reached up and ran her fingers along the tiny wrinkles that sprouted from the corners of his eyes. "You look older. If you're dead how did you get older?"
"Ah,a question I myself would very much like to know the answer too," he intoned cheerfully, pulling away from her and leaning against the corner of the desk, his eyes searching her face. "How have you been Rosie, still travelling, still exploring time and space, still keeping the Doctor on his toes?"
She smiled and bumped his shoulder with her own, "Yeah of course, forever. It's not the same without you though. I miss you, travelling the three of us, it was fun."
He shook his head, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a squeeze. "Nah, you two only ever had eyes for each other, its better this way."
She bit her lip, afraid that she had hurt him, "There was room for you Jack."
Silently, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he pulled back and gave the figurine of the Dalek a light tap on its domed head. Her delight at seeing Jack again faded as the deadly alien instantly transformed into the butterfly she had seen earlier. It hovered a few moments infront of her, its blue wings flickering like gems in the soft light from the desk lamp and then it flew away, out of the open door and into the darkness.
Ignoring the butterfly and suppressing a shiver, she turned her attention back to the man in front of her. "Jack, what is this place?" she asked, trying once again to peer out the dark windows.
"My office." he moved and stood near the door, gazing out towards where the butterfly had flown.
"I never really thought that you were an office type of guy." She nervously tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze moving to the glass tank, its sinister contents bobbing gently in the bubbling current. It almost looked familiar...
"Things change Rose," he said simply, his eyes catching and holding hers.
She looked away, down at the place the tiny Dalek had been sitting, "Yeah, yeah they do," she murmured.
"I do it for you, Rose... and for him." He was suddenly standing beside her again.
She looked up at him, confused. "Do what for us, Jack?"
He brought his hand up and gently traced the line of her jaw, "I'm sorry. I'm sosorry."
Alarmed, she grabbed his hand holding it firmly in her own, "Sorry about what? Jack you're scaring me a bit."
An intense white light exploded from the dark windows and she threw up a hand to cover her eyes at the sudden brightness. She could hear shouts coming from beyond the open door. He didn't turn, but continued to look at her. Bending down, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I am sorry, Rose." He grabbed his coat from the chair, and walked out the door, into the light.
"Jack? Jack, where are you going?" She called after his retreating figure. The shouting from outside grew louder and she stepped towards the door, ready to follow him, wanting answers to a million different questions. A gunshot rang out from below and she hurried forward, but was stopped in her tracks as the light from the windows suddenly intensified, changing from dazzling white to bright blue. She was nearly thrown off balance as the whole office shook. The glass from the windows exploded and Rose threw up her hands as shards of glass hurtled towards her face.
A second later Rose uncovered her face and looked down at her hands, expecting to find a bloody mess. Instead, her hands were whole and clean and she studied them in surprise. The sound of muffled whispers, intertwined with a stronger, clearer voice, filtered through her confusion and she looked up, realising at once that she was no longer in Jack's office.
Warm human bodies pressed in all around her and sharp elbows jostled her for more space. She was standing at the bottom of a dark and crowded stairwell. The space was stifling and smelled of unwashed bodies, sweat interlaced with the pang of hunger and the tang of fear. The dirty, pinched faces of the people around her were turned upwards, focused on a slight woman dressed all in black, who was sitting near the top of the steps. The woman's face was partly illuminated by the wavering light of a nearby candle. She was young, maybe only a few years older than Rose herself and she was beautiful, but there was something hard in her expression, something wizened and tired and knowing.
For a moment, Rose was too dazed to concentrate on what was going on around her, but the woman's voice was firm and practised, and Rose quickly honed in on the words.
"I travelled across the world. From the ruins of New York, to the fusion mills of China, right across the radiation pits of Europe. And everywhere I went, I saw people just like you, living as slaves. But if Martha Jones became a legend, then that's wrong because my name isn't important. There's someone else," the woman paused here, her eyes seemingly searching for someone who wasn't present, and then continued, "The man who sent me out there. The man who told me to walk the Earth. His name is the Doctor. He has saved your lives so many times, and you never even knew he was there..."
Rose shook her head in disbelief, her stomach churning, shock flooding her system, "He never stops. He never stays. He never asks to be thanked. But I've seen him. I know him," The woman paused again, and this time her dark gaze stopped and locked onto Rose. "I love him… And I know what he can do."
Rose was breathing heard now, her chest felt tight, her head throbbed painfully and she could feel her blood coursing though her body, keeping time to the staccato drumbeat of her heart. This woman, Martha Jones, knew the Doctor, her Doctor. Where was he? Was this some glimpse of the future, some piece of the past, or some horrible joke that her subconscious was playing on her? And if this was a part of the Doctor's future, then where was she?
Her thoughts were cut off abruptly as a woman shoved her roughly to the side and yelled; "It's him! It's him! Oh my God, it's him! It's the Master! He's here!"
Panic moved through the crowd. Martha stood up, plainly frightened, but her back remained rigid and straight. A soldier'sstance.
"But he never comes to Earth! He never walks upon the ground!" a boy standing next to Rose exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear.
"Hide her!" shouted the same woman who had shoved Rose out of the way, gesturing wildly at Martha. For a moment, Rose was lost in the shuffle as Martha was hidden by a tarp, but she managed to break free and stand behind a young man who was crouched near the doorway, a cocked gun in his hand.
"He walks among us, our lord and master," breathed the boy who had spoken earlier. Rose was slightly nauseated by the reverence in his tone.
"Martha? Martha Jo-hones!" a high-pitched voice cut through the air and a shiver shot down Rose's spine. "I can see you! Out you come, little girl," the voice became lower, more dangerous, a snake's hiss, "Come and meet your master."
The crowd pressed around her remained silent, and Rose hardly dared to breathe. The voice continued, "Anybody? Nobody? No? Nothing!? Positions!" Rose heard the clamp of soldier boothsechoing in the street, the terrible sound of dozens of gun cocking echoedt hrough the heavy air. The voice continued, "I'll give the order unless you surrender. Ask yourself; what would the Doctor do?"
Rose looked back towards the stairwell as Martha stood and pulled something from around her neck. She recognised itinstantly for what it was: a TARDIS key. Martha moved down the stairs and paused by the door. Looking back at the frightened crowd, her face turned up into a gentle and reassuring smile and then she walked bravely out the door.
Without hesitation, Rose slipped quickly out the door, following Martha into the cold night. The rough pavement scraped at her bare feet and she kept her eyes trained on the group of people standing in front of her, making sure to stay in the shadows. No one noticed her; it was as if she wasn't even there.
A tall, slim man stood in the middle of the dark street, his face thrown into deep shadow by the bright light behind him so that Rose couldn't make out his features. Several silver spheres sliced through the air around the man's head, their mechanised lights beeping ominously in thedarkness. Rose started, surprised, as a flash of vivid blue, an image of familiar fluttering wings, antennae brushed with gold, appeared hovering beside the man's head. She blinked and the butterfly was gone, replaced by another metal sphere.
Martha walked into the street and Rose followed, trailing behind. She squinted, still trying to see the man's face.
"Oh, yes!" the man clapped his hands together. Rose shuddered as he leaned forward on his toes, his whole body crying out with delighted anticipation. His movements reminded her painfully of the Doctor. "Oh, very well done! Good girl! He trained you well!" he cried, gesturing wildly at Martha. Then, suddenly, he stopped and his body became perfectly still, some unreadable emotion passing across his face. He straightened and sniffed the air, inhaling deeply.
"Ah!" he breathed. "But wait just a moment, Martha my dear. I think I hear a Wolf at the door!" Rose felt the blood drain from her face as the man turned towards her. The soldiers had their guns trained on her now, and she could see Martha's face, confused and frightened. She could see the man's face now too, and his light brown eyes pierced hers, leaving her frozen in the street.
"The Bad Wolf has come to call, and she is a very Bad Wolf indeed," his voice was low, dangerous, tinged with fanaticism, insanity. He moved forward rapidly and grabbed her roughly by the arms, painfully smashing his forehead up against her own. It had happened so quickly, she couldn't move, couldn't look away. She could see nothing but the swirling vortex of his golden eyes.
"Can you hear them Wolf?" he whispered, his mouth hovering over hers. "Can you hear the drums?"
Rose felt dizzy, nauseous, hypnotized, as a primeval cadence began to pulsate through her veins. Blood pounded in her ears louder and louder. Her breath came faster, mingling with his. There were drums in her head, deafening, throbbing, echoing, an overpowering rhythm pulsing through her body. She felt her knees begin to wobble and she struggled to remain upright, but it was too much. She fell. He sunk to the ground with her, maintaining his brutal hold. Her vision started to fade, pressure building up behind her eyes. She thought for a horrible moment that her head would explode.
"I knew it," the man breathed, "You can hear them too."
Her eyes closed and darkness enveloped her.
Rose opened her eyes as the sound of drums faded into the background, receding into the back of her mind. She was in a cottage. The room was small, quaint, with a rectangular wooden table and four matching chairs. She was alone, standing next to the room's only window, which framed a lovely view of a small and blooming garden; a ragged scarecrow stood upon a nearby hill keeping a vigilant watch over the rolling countryside. Rose blinked in surprise as something suddenly brushed up against the window pane, pressing itself against the glass. The same butterfly from earlier tapped insistently against the window, its blue wings shining translucent in the watery sunlight. The same butterfly. No matter what was happening, no matter where she was there was always the butterfly.
"Don't let it in."
"What?" surprised, Rose turned to find a middle-aged woman sitting primly at the wooden table, her blonde hair was piled neatly on top of her head and she was staring down at a leather bound book clutched in her hands.
"Don't let it in," the woman repeated, not looking up.
"What?" Rose stuttered again. "Why not?" She glanced from the woman back to the window where the butterfly still hovered, drumming against the glass, its antennae waving in the breeze.
"He remembered you." The woman opened the book, her hands gently smoothed down the ink-covered pages.
Bewildered, Rose gave the butterfly a final glance and sat down at the table. "Who remembered me?"
The woman looked up then, her grey eyes, filled with grief and something harder, sliced through Rose like a knife. "My brave John." The woman flipped a few pages of the book and pushed it towards her.
Rose's eyes widened as she stared down at the page. "That's me…" raw emotion swallowed her words as she looked down at the inked page. There staring up at her from the slightly wrinkled paper was her face. It was her portrait, rendered boldly and beautifully in deep blue ink. The words around her shadowed features were nearly indiscernible, and she strained to make them out, but the woman pulled the book away from her before she could decipher the scrawled writing.
"He remembered you even when he could not remember himself." The blonde woman continued to gaze at her and Rose fidgeted a little, uncomfortable with such scrutiny from a complete stranger.
"What are you talking about? Who remembered me?" Her voice started to tremble.
"You are constant light amidst his darkness. You burn like the sun." The woman made a motion to leave the table but Rose shot forward and grabbed her arm.
"Please," Rose whispered, dread suddenly washing over her, "Tell me who you're talking about. Whose journal is that?"
The woman shook off her hand and stood, smoothing down her plain grey dress with practised ease. Looking directly, at her she stated simply, "I don't envy you his love." Picking up the leather journal, she left the room.
Rose sat there for a few seconds more, then got up and stepped out the cottage door.
Rose emerged from the cottage and onto a deserted beach, a far cry from the blooming garden she had seen from the cottage window. She looked out across the panorama of sea and sky. Grassy hills covered with squat and windswept trees turned to tumbling sand dunes and tumbling sand dunes turned to flat white sand. Jetties of deep black rock jutted out from the white beach, long fingers beckoning weary fishermen and intrepid adventurers home. The sea spread out before her, mimicking the thickly clouded grey sky. The wind was brisk and Rose automatically wrapped her arms tight around herself in an attempt to keep out the chill. Rose knew that she had never been to this place before, but the flat sea, the murky light, it was all so familiar, as if she had previously walked this beach. It felt as if this place was written into her very bones.
She sighed. When was this going to end? This, all of this had to be a dream, her tired mind couldn't think of any other possibility, but it was all so real. A tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it angrily away with the back of her hand. Crying wasn't going to solve anything. She had to think. If this was a dream she would wake up… sooner or later… and if this wasn't a dream then she had to find some way to contact the Doctor, he would know what to do. And what about the butterfly? It had been the only constant in this strange mess since the very beginning.
The butterfly flew past her face, as if she had summoned it by merely thinking about it. Rose jumped a step backwards, irritated at herself for startling so easily. The butterfly glided away and Rose bit her lip in indecision. The last time she had followed it the world had burst into flames, and then that strange woman in grey had warned her not to let it in. Shaking her head, she made her choice, and stepped quickly after theinsect.
She followed it for a ways, climbing up and over a small outcropping of rough rock. Joy surged through her as she topped the small rise, because there he was, she had found him. The Doctor stood on the beach a few yards away, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, as if he was waiting for her, as if he had always been waiting for her. She scrambled down the rocks and started to run, her bare feet making heavy impressions in the damp sand.
"Doctor! Doctor!" she called, her voice catching and dissipating in the wind. He didn't even look at her. She was right in front of him now, gazing up into his face. He looked… well he looked horrible. His face was drawn and tight, hair flattened and unkempt, suit uncharacteristically wrinkled, deep shadows underscored his dark eyes.
"Doctor," she cried waving her hand in front of his face, but his eyes looked through her, his mouth moved, forming words that she couldn't hear. "Doctor, can you hear me?" Panic bubbled up inside of her. Desperate she reached out a hand to touch his face, but instead of the familiar roughness of his cheek, her hand met nothing but air.
She had passed right though him as if he wasn'teven there. Her mind searched frantically for some sort of solution, for some sort of explanation of how this was happening. It was like before, before when he had died and left her alone on the TARDIS. He had used a hologram to say goodbye, to tell her to have a fantastic life. Was this what this was? Was this the Doctor saying good-bye? He wouldn't leave her here would he, not in this harsh and barren place?
She gave a little cry of dismay as his image grew paler and then faded away, leaving her alone. She took a step forward, anchoring herself to the ground where he had just stood. The sob that had been building in her chest, exploded outwards and she toppled forwards, onto the wet sand, fighting down nausea.
"I want to go home," she whispered to the empty sky.
Rose woke, opening her eyes to the gentle darkness and familiar hum of the TARDIS. Gasping, she sat up and rubbed her hands over her face, trying to scrub away the after images of her dream. An orange sky, dead Jack, the sound of drums, an image of her face on ink-stained paper, and the Doctor's fading image, his grief stricken gaze. She felt sick. Trembling she wrapped her bright pink duvet more tightly around her knees and stared unblinking into the darkness.