The ride through the anomaly was rough. No one had entered through this tear before, and the portal strove to reject the TARDIS. This world was trying to protect itself from further damage, and the TARDIS's passage was tearing the opening further. The Doctor clung onto the console, adjusting more switches, and periodically banging it with his fist.
"Come on, old girl, you can do this," he yelled above the sound of vibrating metal and banging. With a final shudder, and a couple of panels bursting into sparks and flame, the ride came to a halt, and the Doctor released his white knuckled grip. With a chuckle, he patted the console affectionately, then reached for a fire extinguisher device under the console.
The damage to the TARDIS was reparable, but would take a few hours of work. It didn't bother him; he enjoyed repairing the TARDIS. The anomaly nagged at him though, and he decided to put off repairs until after he had checked out the hole further.
He reached for his dark blue coat, intending to throw it on over his usual hoodie. His hand touched something soft, and looking down, he noticed his maroon velvet jacket in his hand. While it wasn't like this version of him to care too much about his clothes, perhaps it would be nice to be dressier for a change. He decided to give no further thought to analyzing his motivations, but instead grabbed the velvet coat, hurried into the wardrobe room, and emerged after a moment wearing a white button up shirt, black waistcoat and trousers, and the coat itself.
On his way out of the wardrobe room, he glanced in the mirror and smiled, running his hands through his hair. Would she like grey hair? The thought popped into his mind before he could stop it. He scowled. This was not something he should be dwelling on. His goal here was not to see her. In fact, it was probably better if he didn't. He might not even be in the right time period. Who knows? Maybe the anomaly was created in the future. She might not be around anymore. Who was to say they didn't keep making Vitex for another thousand years? Yes, it was unlikely he would run into anyone he knew.
He pried himself away from the mirror, and hurried to the TARDIS door. That was the resolve he was looking for. Strong, collected, and ready to save the world again. He grinned, feeling pleased with himself. In fact, he was so focused on how he was handling everything, that it took him a moment to realize that it was quite dark. The light on the top of the TARDIS glowed softly, and he realized he was standing in a small room, or more likely, a large closet. He felt along the door, found the knob, and turned. Locked. A momentary whirr of the screwdriver, a sudden click, and he was out of the closet and in a rather large room.
The large room was dim. There were lights on, but further into the room. It was some sort of warehouse, with high, industrial looking ceilings. Metal shelves, rising well above his head, were built into the room, and covered with scores of similar looking wooden crates. He peered at a crate closely, using the screwdriver for light. There was a neat label affixed to each crate with an ID number for the crate. Several symbols stamped onto each crate seemed to indicate whether the contents were explosive, toxic... or something else. He had no idea what some of the symbols meant. But he wasn't focused on that. Instead, he stared at the word stamped in red on every crate he saw. In large letters, every stamp read 'PROPERTY OF TORCHWOOD'.
Uh-oh. Torchwood was sometimes helpful, often an annoyance, and occasionally dangerous, depending on who was calling the shots. And it was time to start seriously thinking about everything he had studiously avoided thinking about since he had picked up the Vitex can. Rose Tyler. Going through his memories of her that morning had prepared him for this. The girl he lost, and the girl he sent away. With himself. Sort of. Sometimes he wondered if his life was too complicated. Nah. He had wanted to keep this simple and avoid her. But Torchwood was where she had worked the first time he left her in this universe, along with her parallel world father. There it was, getting complicated again. And if he was in her timeline, there was a decent chance he could run into her here. Or his past self, created from regeneration energy and his own severed hand. The Meta-Crisis version of him. Half-human, a combination of himself and his past companion, Donna Noble. Complicated really isn't sufficient anymore to describe my personal life. He definitely didn't want to run into any version of himself, even a half-human one.
He would just scan the anomaly with his screwdriver, analyze the scans in the TARDIS, repair his ship, and get out of here. He aimed the screwdriver, slowly turning a circle, listening to the high pitched whirr as it homed in on the tear in reality. There. Back towards the wall to his left. If he could get close enough, he would get all the readings he needed, and perhaps some clues as to who or what caused the anomaly. But the location was odd. Who would bother tearing reality at the back of a warehouse?
He raised the screwdriver, shining a light on the area, and saw the shelves stopped just short of the wall. He could follow that gap toward the anomaly.
"Hey! Excuse me!" A voice rang out behind him. The Doctor turned and saw an older man in a button up shirt and khakis hurrying toward him, holding a flashlight. He was short, slightly overweight, with a neatly trimmed beard and glasses.
The Doctor turned and put what he thought might be an amiable smile on his face.
"Hello there!" he greeted the man.
"I didn't see you come in," the man frowned. "What are you doing in here? Do you have ID?"
The Doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out the small wallet that held his psychic paper, then flashed it at the man. "Oh, well, perhaps you nodded off. I was just looking around. Looking for a, ah, hymetusite crystal. Do you happen to have any of those?"
The man peered over his flashlight at the psychic paper. "Jamie McCrimmon. Looks like you're a new agent."
The Doctor briefly wondered why it didn't say John Smith. Must be the Scottish side of him showing. He smiled. "Yes, first day jitters. I'm terribly nervous," he said with complete confidence. "Now if you could just go find me a hymetusite crystal... er, what was your name?"
The man stared a moment. "Harold Brown. Archivist."
The Doctor nodded at him, as patient as one might be with a small child. "Right Harold. Just find me the crystal, and I'll be on my way."
The man frowned. "I seem to recall seeing those in the Archive Log. Hang on, I'll check." The man turned and walked away around the corner of the nearest shelves. The Doctor waited a moment before pocketing his screwdriver and following the wall toward the anomaly. He walked by shelf after shelf, vaguely considering checking the warehouse for some parts to fix the TARDIS before he could go. According to the screwdriver's scan, the reality hole should be only about 15 feet ahead. Anxious to see it, he hurried along the wall toward the next set of shelves, and walked with a thump right into someone rounding the corner. Not just someone. A young woman with blonde hair, and a face he could never forget. Rose Tyler, in fact.
