Desmond Rose hated the nighttime. No…he hated the nighttime in L.A. He had lived here nearly his whole life yet he never got used to the disturbing silence, the mellow cacophony of the big city nights. Despite all he had seen, nothing gave him the shivers more than the dank streets on a wet city night.

Living as he had was advantageous in some ways, yes. But it was also full of glaring tactical discrepancies. He had no cell phone. No way of calling out in case something happened; lest you count his solemn prayers to a God he stopped believing in long ago. But he had his cause. That's why he had parked 6 blocks away- so he could avoid the two major intersections that had traffic cameras attached to them. He wasn't doing anything wrong, mind you. He just had his mission.

And right now his mission was feeling pretty stupid. Walking six blocks back to his car for some milk and organic eggs was not what his Drill Sergeant would have called a smooth move. Especially with the four or five neo-Nazi looking guys that seemed to be following him.

It wasn't that he was scared of death mind you. He had faced that many times. He just didn't want to be tortured like he knew these skinheads would do to him. He would prefer it if his death were to be quick and relatively painless.

He quickened his pace ever so slightly. Enough to satisfy his fight or flight instinct but not enough to make them think that he was as scared as he actually was. After about a block of this, they disappeared. Breathing a momentary sigh of relief, Desmond rounded the corner and saw his Ford Fiesta off 3 blocks away. But the elation of the illusion of safety was short lived. As he neared the end of the first of those three blocks, the four youths- there was four of them by the way, not five as he had overestimated- charged authoritatively from around the other corner.

"Alright guys, look, I don't want any trouble. I'm just trying to buy groceries" He said, remarkably calm.

"Yeah, ain't that what we're all trying to do. Put food in our bellies. But to the winner goes the spoils…along with whatever is in your wallet, boy." The larger of the four responded.

Desmond swallowed his pride on being called boy.

"Look, I don't want any trouble but I will fight you, if that's what you intend."

"Quit talkin' like a white man, boy. You know it ain't safe for you on this side of town at night."

"Right now it's not safe for you." Desmond replied, a sinister grin covering his face.

"There he is! Thanks for smilin' boy, we couldn't see you in the dark for a second." The leader chimed, trying to assert his dominance. He had no idea what Desmond was capable of.

"Listen here, I'm gonna give you all one chance to walk away uninjured from this." Desmond said coolly, placing the bag behind him.

"Don't make threats here, boy. Remember there was a time when you'd call us master."

"Right now, I won't call you anything but a bitch." Desmond shot back sharply

After a chorus of cat calls and concussive cooing, the leader responded "I don't think I heard you right, boy. What'd you say?" At this, all four of them brandished the crude weapons they had- a Bowie knife, a club, a bat and some brass knuckles.

"Well, what I said was that I would never call you master, but I would call you a bitch. But what I'll say now is that you should know better than to bring some knives to a gun fight."

Desmond reached in his coat pocket and quickly pulled out a snub-nosed .32. But then something strange happened. As he went to point it at them, lightning crackled on this cloudless night. More lightning than one could expect from a bad thunder storm. After a few tense seconds of the five of them looking around, they saw the strangest thing. Down the block about half a mile, a big blue box appeared out of nowhere, flying in the sky. Like one of those old police boxes you'd see in England back in the day…but flying. Not really flying, more like crashing. Literally crashing- into lampposts, parked cars, the sides of buildings…until finally it found its final resting place. Like a giant foot, feet from the four foes, it heaved into the air and smashed right down on all four of them, no doubt killing them instantaneously.

Desmond stood there in what can only be described as shock for a good minute, not having any clue what to make of this situation. Suddenly, the door on the front of this…box- popped open, and a tall, red-headed man fell through it, steaming, clutching the side of it. Desmond approached him cautiously and the…man…threw himself on Desmond as if in his death throws.

"What the f….who the hell are you?"

"I…I…need…" the man responded in what Desmond guessed was a low Londoner accent. "I…need…I need a place to rest."

Desmond looked at him incredulously.

"And…some…carrot juice?" With that, the Brit collapsed in Desmond's hands. Desmond looked at the blue police box and the wayward ginger who emerged from. The only thing he could muster to say was…"What!"

Chapter 2

The Doctor…at least he thought…awoke to find himself in the passenger seat of an early 21st century gas turbine vehicle. Silently he glanced down at his hands. He was definitely a bit older looking.

"My veins…are huge!" He said in a surprised low voice. "Wow, I like this voice!" his toothy smile settling to one side.

"Dude, are you like…drunk…or stone…or something?" Desmond asked.

"No, no, no…I am the Doctor. Wait….no…no, no, no, yes….yes, I am the Doctor." He said, moving his arms around to get a feel for the rest of his body. "A really lanky Doctor." He clapped his hands "but I'm ginger! Finally I'm ginger! Do you know how long I've wanted to be ginger? No obviously you don't you haven't met me…hadn't met me until moments ago. Sorry, still getting used to this jaw…though I've had worse." He said, feeling his rather stout jaw line. "I'm called the Doctor."

"The Doctor? As in the definitive issue? As in the one, the only, will never be another?" Desmond responded skeptically.

"It's like you know me already! And you are?"

Desmond laughed lightly. "I'm…uh…I'm Desmond Rose."

Rose. Susan. Rose. The Doctor's head stirred, his body convulsed and he blew out the yellow-orange residuals of his regeneration again.

"That's…uh…that's some mighty gas you got there Doc."

"It's not gas, its temporal energy, a residual side effect of regeneration." The Doctor explained as he recovered.

"Right, so it's, like, alien gas." Desmond prodded cheekily.

"Yeah, if that's how you wanna think on it, then yeah."

"You always do that?"

"No, only when a regeneration's going particularly badly."

"When a what's doing what?"

"It's not really important. Listen, I need you to take me somewhere safe…"

"No place safer than my house."

"No, no, no. Somewhere safe where I can't be found."

"Like I said, no place safer than my house."

"No I mean like really can't be found."

"Like I said, Doc."

"Do you have a cell phone?" The Doctor asked, starting to prove a point. "Wait, what year is it?"

Desmond laughed as he responded "2017, man. What other year could it be?"

"Don't tempt me. Do you have a cell phone?"

"Nope."

"Landline?"

"Nope."

"Computer? Tablet?"

"Nope and nope."

"Gas lines, electric lines, water lines, bills sent to your house?"

"Wood stove, solar panels, rainwater and their sent to my Aunt's house in Beverly Hills."

"What are you on the run…like…me?" The Doctor was getting a bit out of breath.

Laughing Desmond replied. "No, Doctor."

"Wait. Your one of them? Who sent you? The Master? Rasillon? Where are you taking me?"

"What? No! Doc, listen- I'm Desmond Rose, your little shoe box landed and saved my…"

Desmond looked over and saw that the Doctor was out cold, some newly expelled timey stuff floating out the window.

"Wow, was my company that boring to you." He joked rhetorically.

Chapter 3

Desmond was sitting at his kitchen table, banging away at his type writer. It was now 7 in the morning…two days after this Doctor fellow had saved his bacon and given him extra fat to carry around. He was writing all this in his diary, making intricate notes of it all. This had the beginnings of a great book. Or, like a mediocre dime store novel- but it could make him some money. More than his other work. Or the one he was thinking of writing.

The sun rose blessedly over the San Fernando Valley, shining its countenance on all in its path. All in all, a beautiful Los Angeles morning. His eggs and bacon finished, the greasy plate sat next to the type writer- his .45 on the other side. This was an old school typewriter, the kind where you had to literally punch the key to write. As if to make sure what you were writing was deliberate and not some typo or grammatical error lest the energy you took to type that letter, word, sentence or paragraph be wasted. Desmond had become so proficient at it that he clicked away at his old laptop pace- 75 words per minute. He was typing so loudly it surprised even him when he heard the china crashing, the picture frames breaking and the loud grunt coming from down the hall.

"Ahhhh….shut up! What in the seven blessed systems are you doing!"

"Writing."

"On a type writer? In 2014?"

"2017 Doc, and yeah. It's how I roll."

"Okay…what is this?" The Doctor said, holding up the glass of orange liquid.

"Carrot juice." Desmond muttered. The Doctor actually couldn't hear him and motioned as such. "Carrot juice." Same song second verse. "Carrot juice!"

"Oh. Why on Earth would you give me carrot juice?"

"It's what you asked for when you fell outta your little box."

"And you just happened to have some?"

"No I drove back to the store and got some."

"With me asleep in the passenger seat?"

"Nope. Left you on the sidewalk. Wasn't till I came back that I decided to be your wet nurse till you got better."

"And it's just carrot juice?"

"Yes, Doctor. Pure, organic carrot juice."

"It's delicious. Used to hate it, now I love it. Funny how you change with these things. Once hated pears. Once used to be able to save me own skin with a stick of celery. Did I really just say 'me own skin'?"

"Yeah. Isn't that how you talk where you're from?"

"To say the least, no." The Doctor took a swig of his beloved juice and spied the gun. "Is that what your gonna use to kill me?"

"What?"

"The gun…the big…shooty gun."

"Oh no."

"Well I don't like guns. Get rid of it, please."

"I love guns, and no. It keeps me motivated when I write."

"Motivated when you write?"

"Yeah! Paul Shrader wrote 'Taxi Driver' in five days with a revolver next to his type writer."

"That movie was so inaccurate."

"That movie was a work of fiction."

"Right. Of course it was." The Doctor mumbled mockingly. He looked around the house musingly while sipping his carrot juice, trying to get a feel for the character he was holed up with for now. He spotted the lines running out to solar panels in the front yard that were providing the house with a little reading light. The wood stove in the middle of the room had recently died down. Rosewood, if the Doctor's new nose was working correctly. If not then it was cedar. No definitely cedar. "You really are completely disconnected, aren't you?"

"Totally off the grid, Doc."

"Why would you do that?"

"Well, I'm…uh….I'm a writer. And this is my little experiment. I'm living off the grid for a year and writing about my experiences."

"Oh, and how long have you been at it?"

"3 weeks."

"Wow, expert you are."

The two sat there in silence. The animosity, the tension was thick. Desmond finished what he was typing, took a drink of his coffee and turned to the Doctor.

"So. You're an alien."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"You were burping time gas, Doc. Humans don't do that."

"Right. Sorry."

"You were worried about someone finding you. Area 51? NSA? DOD?"

"Worse than all three combined over a hundred thousand years."

"Right. So, tell me. Who's after you?"

"My own people."

"You mentioned you were on the run."

The Doctor knew what was happening. An interview. He didn't want it. "Look, I pissed off a lot of people by doing the right thing and now everybody in all of time and space is after me. From the beginning of time straight to the Utopia."

"Utopia, is that what the afterlife is called?"

"You wish." The Doctor, with a start, jumped to his feet.

"My TARDIS! What did you do with my TARDIS? Where is it?"

"Your what?"

"My…ship."

"You mean that little blew box you crash landed?"

"Well…yeah."

"Well, thanks to no small effort on my part, I towed it to a back alleyway yesterday and covered it with a tarp. Don't worry, I don't think anyone's gonna find it."

"No, no, no, no, no, no! You have to take me to it now! They can find it, and if they find it they can find me and if they find me….I'll be wearing Spongebob jammies. Spongebob, Desmond? Really, how old are you?"

"Hey, it's a smartly written show!"

The Doctor started a scowl. "Oh you…." This quickly diluted into a smile "Humans! Just when I had lost all hope, you go and do something like this. A children's show! And you're what, 32? And you're still wearing the jammies of it! Marvelous. Hey, I like that. Marvelous. Think I'll keep that. Not these jammies, though. Cute as they are, not very befitting of a 2000 year old fugitive. What did you do with my clothes?"

"Burned them."

"Why, in the love of all things wibbly wobbley would you do that for?"

"They were all burned and tattered. Your ass was hanging out."

"What's it look like?"

"What?"

"My bum?"

Desmond gawked at the Doctor momentarily then said "I didn't really look" trying to hold back the sarcastic disgust.

"I just made this quite awkward didn't I?"

"Doc, since you planted that box, it hasn't stopped being awkward."

Chapter 4

"Ro. Mo fro ro kro tro ro io." Rembo chanted.

"Well who is it?" Said the elderly lady.

"Mo ao so to eo ro."

"Oh. Do we have precedence for his visit?"

"Of course you do." The Master stated as he walked nonchalantly into the state room.

"You know this is my private quarters."

"Yes I know. Personally, I find it quite dreadful. Purple and black never go well together. And it's got this whole…wannabe steampunk-ness to it. But…a matter of this importance needs immediate attention." The master was still reltively young looking for having aged a thousand years since their last encounter. And remarkably, he was still wearing the same black hoodie.

"Master. You haven't changed much."

"Correction, I haven't changed at all. Literally as you can see."

"We are…pleased that Gallifrey is back. We're awaiting the Doctor's next intervention."

"Oh, and why is that?" The Master asked, helping himself to some blue ale on her drink car.

"We're going to give him a medal. He defeated the Daleks, subdued the Cyberman…taught some manners to Raxicoricofallapratorians. All so that he could bring your home world back."

"Ah, seems to be a great man then doesn't he?"

"One would think a fellow Time Lord would agree to that after recent events."

"Recency is relative, Madame Architect."

A tense moment passed as the Master sipped his drink with a smile.

"What do you want?" The Shadow Architect asked straightforwardly.

"The Shadow Proclamation." He shot back curtly.

"You can't have the Shadow Proclamation. It is an entity separate from all forms of control. It exists to…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah. I want it. And I'm gonna have it." The Master rounded the room and launched himself onto the comfy chair situated to the Architects right.

"I should have known. I thought a millennia locked in a pocket Universe would change you." She waved her fingers. A small patrol of Judoon charged into the room and pointed their weapons at the Master.

"Like I said, Madame Architect, I literally haven't changed at all." He replied, still carelessly drinking his ale.

"So you want the Shadow Proclamation all to yourself then, is that it?"

"No, no. I would get bored in two seconds with all the rules, and smelly Judoon waltzing around here. I'd just as soon be back in my TARDIS causing havoc, cause let's face it: that's what I do best. No this type of establishment is best suited for…a cop…or a scientist. Someone methodical, someone who has a singular drive for what he- or she- wants. I'm too- chaotic. No, no. I'm not taking the Proclamation for myself. I'm taking it for her."

A well placed shot split between two Judoon soldiers and smacked the Architect square on the forehead, killing her in a millisecond.

"That was…anti-climatic." The seductive females voice rang out as the shocked platoon turned to see what they were facing. A large force of Ogrons, cavemen like in appearance, 3 for every Judoon stormed into the state room. Her heels could be heard clicking down the floor as she walked…no, more like stalked into the room.

"Judoon soldiers. Your old leader is dead. I am replacing her." She was, to put it simply, sexy. Long full legs, sculpted curves, full lips and flowing red hair. Her emerald eyes pierced anywhere she looked and her stance was one of confidence and sex.

The Master bounced and clapped in amusement. He always hated the Judoon. So obstinate. So thick. So smelly. And here they were caught completely and utterly off guard. And by the former competition no less. A thousand years had taught him a lot about this woman, but her flair for the dramatic was never to be under-estimated.

"Don't bother calling in your reinforcements. I have a million Ogrons to your 200,000 stupid Judoon. If you wish to live, submit yourself to me."

"Wo Ao Yo" the Judoon Sergeant asked.

"I am the Rani."

Chapter 5

"Ah this is no good!" The Doctor yelled, banging his Sonic Screwdriver against the dash. "Why is it every time I crash, this thing has to go out." He held it out the window trying desperately to get a reading. But it was no use. One of the prongs was missing. The subwave amplifier was phasing.

"What's wrong with it?" Desmond asked.

"To put it bluntly…it's broken. Completely useless. Always when I need it most."

"What's it do."

"Yes."

Desmond looked questioningly at the Doctor.

"Yes. You asked what it does, and the answer is yes. It's a sonic screwdriver and if you need it to do something, the answer is yes. Unless it's a deadbolt lock. Then the answer is most certainly no." The Doctor sighed and looked at his clothing choices. Desmond's closet left a lot to be desired, so the Doctor chose functionality over fashion. He hated doing that. But it was perfect for the kind of life he had to lead now. Still nice-looking, but nothing bawdy. A autumn brown suit jacket; green and yellow pattern stripes on his white shirt, blue jeans and a rather nice pair of dress boots he was surprised to have found in Desmond's closet. Just what he needed to hide in plain sight.

Desmond drove for several blocks, doing his best not to attract attention. The Doctor gazed silently at the passing shop windows.

"I told you not to bring your guns."

"You told me you were a fugitive. Fugitives get looked for. Since I've met you, Doc, you've spoken in hiaku's, riddles and half-truths. But I do know one thing, the people coming after you don't plan to take you down by tickling you to death."

"I have everything I need. I have my ship. I have my wits, my cleverness. And I have this!" The Doctor brandished his screwdriver.

"Oh really, now."

"Yes. Entire galaxies tremble at the thought of my Sonic Screwdriver. Entire population's histories have been made by this little thing. I ended the greatest war in the history of the universe with this one little piece of hardware."

"Oh. So, it's pretty dangerous, huh."

"Yes, but not deadly."

"Right. And like you said, it can do pretty much everything."

"Anything I might ever need it or not need it to do."

"Okay, then. My radiator's been leaking for a week or so now. Fix it for me will you." Desmond had a smug smile smeared on his face.

The Doctor went to fix it. At the attempt, the sonic sparked and started to smoke. The Doctor exclaimed in pain, the stared at Desmond.

"My point is, Doc- galaxies may have trembled at you before. But the way you're making it sound…well it seems like you may need a little more than a broken Stellar Screwdriver."

"Sonic! Scredriver."

"Right, whatever. But the point is…" Before Desmond could finish his sentence the sound of police sirens behind him interrupted.

"Pull over." The Doctor said.

"No, it's city cops. I may have just bashed your little device here, but between you, me and what about Bob I think we can take them. Besides we're, like, 4 blocks from your little ship thingy."

"Desmond, you are wise beyond your years, but you're still so stupid! If they find out where my TARDIS is, all hell will break out!"

After a moment of humble moment of silence, Desmond complied with the Doctor. Immediately, the Doctor popped out of the passenger seat.

"Why in the world would you pull me over!" He whispered at the approaching officer, mocking an American accent. "Do you have any idea how close you are!"

"Sir, please step back inside your vehicle and place your hands on the dash." The officer said, reaching for his firearm.

"Right, I get it, you're a big ole police officer now, but you're really blowing this for me!"

"Sir, I'll ask you one more time…"

"No you won't!"

"Sir?"

"See, I'm one of you!"

"Sir?"

"My name is Jackson Lake. I'm an undercover!" The Doctor said feigning exasperation.

"I don't understand sir."

"Look, I'm undercover with the Unified…Intelligence…Task Force. Top secret. UNIT for short. We've been investigating this scum bag for the better half of 6 months. Now we have a chance to pop this terrorist and your gonna muck it up cause you wanna fulfill your quota?"

The officer looked unsettled, uneasy. "I'm gonna need to see some identification, sir."

The Doctor smiled. Not a smile of victory, but of confidence. Suavely he pulled out his psychic paper. "See there. Detective Jackson Lake. LAPD-UNIT Joint department."

The cop stuttered in his breath. The other officer stepped out of the cop car as well, breathing heavily. The first officer, the higher ranking of the two, looked knowingly at the Doctor.

"That's a blank piece of paper. That's psychic paper."

Dropping his American accent, the Doctor, now worriless, started talking.

"Psychic paper! How in the world would you know that! It won't be invented for another 476 ye…what year is it? Yes 476 years on Earth. The only answer is that you, like me, are in fact not officers of law attached to the Los Angeles Police Department but are in fact…" he paused as he looked deeply into the first officers eyes "…vehicles of the Interstellar Justice Department." He looked at their name tags. "Chakoteya…and Teselecta Jr. I'm assuming that means Teselecta number two?" The Cop nodded his head. "I knew your father."

"Time Lord known as the Doctor, you have been found guilty of egregious war crimes against the Time Lords, Daleks, Cybermen…"

Desmond hopped out of his car. "Is there a problem here officer?" The irony is, of course, as he said this he was holding a small sub-machine gun in his hands. The Doctor looked at him "Desmond, you have no idea."

Teselecta Jr continued "…humans, Krillitane, Ood and Silurians. Pursuant to sector 17.9 Section A-12 of the Defense Codes, you are scheduled for…"

"What is this- an execution?" Desmond popped in.

"No, Desmond. These two men here are actually space-time ships controlled by tiny little shrunken men and women. They've colluded with those who are out to get me and now they want to execute me."

Desmond cocked his gun. "I understood literally nothing of what you said, Doc, but their cops and that pisses me off enough."

Tires screeched as 3 state police patrollers pulled onto the side walk.

"Drop your weapon!" "Freeze!" Rang a chorus of commands from the statey's.

The Doctor examined them fearlessly. Desmond tried his best to imitate a Mexican stand-off, his sub-machine gun pointed at the newly arrived statey's while he brandished the .45 he had in the back of pants at the weird human-space-time-robot-shrinky thingy's. "Be cool, Desmond. I'm sure, as much as you hate police, you don't want to die today." He walked cooly up to the black-clad patrol officers.

"Sir, get down on your knees, place your hands above your head and lie prone…"

"Oh shut up! Did you really think I'd believe your clever little disguises?" He said, his walk a bit more confident and threatening now. "Just needed a closer look at you to know exactly what I was dealing with. But I mean you stink! At everything! Your strategies terrible. First off you had no idea that the Justice Department would be. Secondly, any real officer would know that holding a gun like this would take your bloody thumb off!" He said, pulling one of the officers thumbs down from behind the slide. "Thirdly! You just reek of dirt. Iron. Earth. So! You stink at strategy, you stink at weapons, you stink in general, you're stupid and you're arrogant. That can only mean one thing! You are Zygons!"

The statey's slowly dropped their guns, smiles wide. The lead officer spoke up "Fine, Doctor, you got us." With that, all six of them transformed into their ghastly, sucker selves.

"Jesus!" Desmond exclaimed. "What the hell are those things!"

The Doctor turned cooley to Desmond. "Their Zygons, Desi. Their aliens. They can shape shift. Now act like you've got a pair and BE COOL!"

"And you're right about a few things, Doctor. First off- that's Zondik. He's new. That's why he was holding the gun wrong. Secondly, yes. We do smell like dirt. It's a glorious smell we revel in when we get the chance, but it does give us away. But you were dead wrong about one thing."

"Oh and what's that?" The Doctor replied smugly.

"We were counting on the Justice Department to be here."

"They were!" Chakoteya chimed in.

"It was integral to the plan."

"Please. I've defeated Zygons numerous times and I've been inside a Justice Department ship. You don't scare me."

"Right, Doctor. But when you knew my dad, and when you defeated the Zygons, you had two things you don't have now. Your screwdriver…and your TARDIS."

"You're right, Junior. But neither do you."

"Don't need em."

"Wouldn't be so sure about that!" Desmond said, having dived back into his car and now brandishing to AR-15's.

"Seriously, Desmond, I think you have issues." The Doctor exclaimed.

The Justice Department cops both laughed. "Besides the fact that our ship will barely register your little bullets, you don't have enough for all of us."

"Um, math lesson. Two big guns, 30 rounds a piece plus two in the chambers. 8 of you guys. I literally have 4 times the amount of firepower to take you out. And as for your little weird human ship thingy, I'm sure the Doctor will figure something out."

"Though appreciated, Desi, that's an awful lot of trust in me in a very short period of time. Seriously, you need help!" The Doctor remarked.

"And besides that, you did your math wrong…Desi." Junior said.

"What do you mean?" Desi asked.

"Well, you're right. There are two of us JD ships. And six smelly Zygons. And that added together does indeed equal eight." The sound of heavy footsteps grew closer and closer. The smell expanded at an even more exponential rate. "But you forgot twenty Judoon." A moment after they were announced they were in sight.

"God damn those are some ugly aliens!" Desi said.

"Not to mention…"as the jumped down from the roof tops "A hundred Ogrons!"

"Oh Ogrons! Haven't seen them in a while!" The Doctor said with a smile.

"Yeah. Hired hands go a long way. But don't forget these guys!" With that a portal opened in the street and a platoon of Sontaran's ran through.

"And, let me guess, those shop window dummies…"

"Yup."

The Auton's made their slow, awkward walk up the street as the Doctor assessed the situation.

"Ok. I'll admit, my math may have been off. But BRING IT ON!" Desi shouted. The Doctor twisted around. It was hopeless. Looking up, the giant eye in the sky in the middle of the spaceship was ominous. Atraxi. They were literally surrounded on all sides.

The Doctor smiled his toothy smile. This is when he thrived….