DISCLAIMER: PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE
Author's Nook: *stares wide-eyed at reviews and story watches* Oh my—YES! :D Hello again everyone! Thank you so, so much for the reviews, faves, and watches; all of them have made me really happy as well as made my day! My family and I were on the East Coast of the U.S. when Irene hit :/ our area's better than most, but we're looking at power outages until Friday, or, at worst, next Tuesday. I'll try and get the next chapters out ASAP, but we'll see how available the Internet cafes are…
Thank you again to everyone who reviewed, gave me suggestions, support, and shared their opinions (on that note: "Let's Kill Hitler"—WHAT DID YOU THINK! Finally Moffat acknowledges seasons 1-4!)
Hope this chapter meets your expectations, and please read/review!
Chapter Four
Spirited Away
Two days later and several side trips into new areas of interest as they headed north, Rose and Gwen were ushered into Stratford-Upon-Avon by furious rainfall, lightning forking across the sky and the following collapse of thunder echoing like a launched rocket. Cursing and struggling to haul their drenched luggage into the foyer of the Arden Hotel, Rose and Gwen checked in for the night before seeking out some dinner before turning in to bed.
Curled up beneath her comforter, Rose's eyes absently took in the pouring rain and constant rumbles of thunder, her mind involuntarily straying toward another storm. As she re-listened to the latest version of the ballad they'd found, a 1950s version crooned by Frank Sinatra, Rose couldn't help but think of how well it fit her relationship with the Doctor, albeit with several words switched out.
"My boy, my boy, my precious boy, I love you, you understand," were the words she murmured only within the confines of her head; the last thing she needed was to wake the snoring Gwen in the twin bed across from her.
Shaking her head to thwart unwanted emotions, Rose killed her mp3 player and laid it on the night table next to her, exchanging it for the pair of retainers her dentist had given her to maintain her straightened teeth. Stretching out and settling one final time beneath the covers, she allowed herself to be swept into the land of sleep, her heart both hopeful and filled with dread for whomever she might, or might not, see within her dreamscape.
"…reel me in, me precious girl,
Come, come, take me home.
My body's tired of travelling
And me heart don' wish to roam..."
Frowning, Rose turned back to face her night table, exasperated that she'd left her music on, only to find it snoozing away happily without a care in the world. Unsettled, her instincts on red alert (and she wasn't being camp, she was sure of it), Rose slid out her retainers and grabbed the firearm she'd stored under her pillow. "Gwen," she hissed urgently, "Gwen, did you hear that?"
Gwen gave no answer, and it was with a frightened jolt that Rose realized her partner's snores had been silent for a while. "Gwen?" she asked, fear tingeing her query.
Sitting up with a wolf-like snarl, Rose cursed and struggled into a pair of jeans and boots, making sure to grab her jacket and ID on the way out.
Because all that was left of Gwen Cooper, was a disheveled bed and a blood red rose on her pillow.
~?~?~
Rushing down the stairs two at a time, Rose leapt from the landing, startling the man behind the front desk, and momentarily flashed her badge at him, barking orders to call Torchwood immediately for back up as she exited the building. Gulping, her incredulous eyes took in the thirty plus women strolling down the street in varying states of dress as if it were an average summer day instead of raining cats, dogs, and the entire mammalian genus. All of them were drenched zombies, the thunder and lighting booming overhead to no adverse affect upon their sensibilities, none of them twitching in shock or fear at the storm that raged around them.
Pushing her way past a sixteen-year-old girl dressed in frog pajamas, plaits, and a green face mask, Rose frantically called out for her partner.
"Gwen? GWEN!" her hoarse voice called out, only to be swallowed by another boom overhead.
Sharp eyes found her quarry at the head of the queue. Stretching her hand forward in relief, she was unprepared for the body slam she received instead of clarity. A zombie brown gaze bore into her without recognition as Rose struggled beneath Gwen's feet, but a well-aimed kick took the brunette's feet out from under her. Scrambling on top of Gwen, Rose shook her shoulders frantically, hoping to shake her out of her trance.
Strong arms lifted her off her partner, dragging the struggling, wilting Rose away from her partner. Cursing when Gwen and the others disappeared in a flash of light, Rose pulled herself away from her savior and hinderer, irritation and sorrow coursing through her. Turning to him, she wasn't prepared for what she saw.
"Jack?"
"No," the young man said after a startled glance down at her petite figure, "But we'll get to that later. Names Grey. Lieutenant Grey Harkness, ma'am, and I think we need to talk."
Rose felt her left eye twitch, a habit she'd developed when dealing with people she normally regarded as daft or moronic. Mickey liked to say it was a direct copyright violation of their Mancunian Doctor, but in this situation, Rose was beginning to feel it was warranted. "Sorry, but we'll have to postpone our coffee date," she hissed, sarcasm dripping from every word, "if you haven't just noticed, thirty girls or more have disappeared into thin air, my partner amongst them, and Torchwood is on their way!"
"I know, and I can help with that!" he replied impatiently, hands grasping both her arms as his green eyes peered into hers frantically, "but more importantly, I need to know, where the hell is your husband?"
~?~?~
Gwen felt as if she was walking in a dream. She had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep, intent on making headway in the home of the Bard early the next morning, when a lilting medieval tune, complete with lute and pipes, had settled gently on her ears, encouraging her to sing and dance to its alluring beat instead of curl up into the arms of sleep.
A sudden pressure had almost distorted the jubilant song, but she had brushed it aside, intent on following the musician wherever he led her. It was important that she do so; the King was searching, and her resemblance to the Queen was astonishing, more so than any other girl or woman whom he had seen thus far into the Midsummer Season—wait.
Frowning, Gwen concentrated, focusing her mind on her totem. During Torchwood operative training, all future members of the task force, office personnel, and other employees that made up the hive of Torchwood were required to undergo basic training in neural stimulus blocking and expansion. In other words, everyone was tested for ESP and taught how to block out anyone who attempted to access their minds without permission. Which was why Gwen thought about her totem, the one object or element that could help clear her mind and reassert her control.
Which was why, at this very moment the unknown musician was leading her to this "King" personage, (most likely that fairy one Rose had mentioned), Gwen was thinking of only one thing:
"I've got a looo-vely bunch of coconuts, deedley dee! There they are all standing in a row, bum, bum, bum…"
Going through three repeats of her favorite Monty Python theme and blinking slowly to bring herself back into awareness, her astonished gaze drank in the crystalline rainbow around her, a vast tunnel of beauty that reminded her of a story her Auntie had read her as a child, one of a rainbow bridge that led to the realms of brave gods and benevolent goddesses, amongst other beings.
It's like Iris, or the Bifrost, she thought, keeping her eyes forward like the other girls but trying to snatch looks at them out the corner of her eye.
Ahead of her, the music began to wind down, its regular, intense tone softening as they reached a split in the road, a heavy oaken door carved to great detail, a hunt and a feast and quest, with nights and fair ladies and robust kings with jeweled crowns. Several figures such as Brigid, the Morrigan, Ogma, and Nuada she recognized, their appearances undisputed from the rubies and white gown of the triple goddess to the silver hand that glinted loftily on his right arm, where Nuada's original right hand had been severed in battle.
As the music finally faded, eager looking servants approached all the women, still dazed from their journey. When they got closer, Gwen say that their basic shape was the only human trait about them. Male and female alike in form, their hair was made of shiny gold or white fish scales, weeping willow branches, twigs with new spring growth, or the feathers of sparrows and wrens. Skin colors ranged from the gnarled dark of English oak to the pale cream and silver of birch, their texture reflecting the trees they resembled and, she surmised, most probably their environment, if this fairytale world was to be believed. (Then again, with Torchwood, who knew?)
"Take each woman to a chamber and prepare them for the Wedding Feast," the lead musician, the one who had sang the ballad, commanded, his youthful face lined and tired. Pointed fox ears upon his rust-brown hair twitched irritably, his busy tail a bottlebrush from behind him. Each servant gently led a girl or woman down several hallways up the stairs. It was as Gwen passed by the fox singer that her arm was grabbed, her clear brown gaze pinned by the glimmering black and gold of the fox's narrowed gaze, which widened in excitement at something only Gwen could guess at.
"Except this one," he breathed, "oh my…how you resemble her…Leechwood! Merryweather, summon the king! You heard me," he demanded impatiently, seeing their reluctance. "Get him out of bed at once! I think we've found her! Oh, your majesty," he gushed, clutching her closely in a bear hug. "How we've longed for this day!"
"What day?" Gwen's voice was heard to echo throughout the hall sharply.
"Why, the day our Queen returned to us, of course," a smooth baritone drawled huskily from the top of a grand staircase that suddenly built itself out of nearby thick branches and stone.
"Maeve, my love," his tender voice caressed Gwen's ears in a manner she was uncomfortable with, "welcome home."
~?~?~
"Husband?" Rose repeated, disbelief written on her face. "But I'm only 28, and if any man were to…" here her resolution faltered, a shadow falling across her face. "Look, Lieutenant Harkness, was it? You've got it all wrong, and I really don't have time for this. I've only lost a partner once, and after him…I don't plan on losing anymore."
"Please," Grey begged, becoming desperate. Something about tonight had sat badly with him ever since he'd seen Rose and Gwen's altercation in the street before the Welsh woman had been spirited away by those Pipers. And when he'd tried to return to his commanding officer's ship in order to locate the differentiation variable in the time line, no one had responded, leaving a cold, hard feeling in his chest.
"Please, Ms. Tyler; if you haven't guessed by my attire and introduction, I'm from the—"
"Future, yeah, I got that the moment you asked where my bloody husband was, thanks. Also, judging by that sonic blaster under your jacket, I've got to ask, how's Villengard these days?"
"How did you—? Look, I'm from a Terran organization in the future whose mission is to specifically manage and insure the integrity of Earth's timelines. A few months ago, this anomaly popped up and a HUGE chunk of history was rewritten, all centered around you and your family."
For a minute, Rose considered he was having her on, maybe even working with the enemy; why else stall her rescue of Gwen? If it weren't for the sonic blaster…Rose crossed her arms and leaned against the wall as Grey babbled on and on about the anomaly. Eyeing the poster behind her, she interrupted his nervous babbling.
"What happened, this anomaly? Are we talking erasure, time loop, delay of events, rewritten history, wot?" she asked heavily, her usually delayed south London accent coming on heavy and thick.
Grey looked at her with dawning hope. "So…you believe me?"
Rose looked at him dubiously, "What do you lot have on file about me anyway, if you're askin' me that?"
"Rose Marion Tyler-Noble, first appeared in the year 2006 and claimed to be the adult child of Jackie and Peter Tyler. Torchwood archives record the entirety of her life on a parallel world, A-level records, degrees in university, license to perform detective and forensics positions…and one marriage, annulled after five years, to one James Noble, code named "The Doctor.""
Rose remained silent for a bit, trying to absorb the information he had given her. "You know," she said after a while, feeling a bit hysterical as she heard the Torchwood sirens in the distance, "if it weren't for the fact that that dance recital poster said "Bad Wolf Ballet" behind you, I think I'd haul off and slap ya. Then put ya in cuffs. Naked. An' dangle ya off the bridge we crossed into town."
Silence prevailed for a few minutes, during which Grey pondered how wise it would be to simply knock her out and duck tape her to a chair until she listened to him.
"Anyway," she continued, "so, what's so bad about me being married to the Doctor?"
You've just given me hope he'll return someday…and get divorced, or whatnot, but I'd still want to see him, she thought wistfully.
"It's not your marriage that was the problem," Grey began hesitantly, "it's that you were married six years ago…and now, it's like he never existed."