Chapter 3 – Tears Of Black
Sarah Jane Smith
Sarah's sonic lipstick had made short work on the door locks of Canary Wharf, corroded from lack of use. The interior was much like it – untouched since the battle a few years ago. She was surprised no one had come to clean it up, yet. Tables were overturned, glass smashed, paper everywhere, scald marks on the walls, traces of blood on the floor.
The lifts were out of order – no surprises there. It was completely dark as well, so she brought out a torch from her ever-resourceful handbag and flicked it on, scouring her surroundings. Stairwell in the corner. It looked like the only option.
She knew where the spatial disturbance was. She had been here once before – three years ago – a few months after the battle. It looked exactly the same.
Some of the infrastructure had collapsed, but the stairwell was still perfectly accessible. Slowly and cautiously she made her way up and up until she finally reached the top floor.
The ghost shift chamber. There were the levers, one on either side, currently switched off. There was a terrible draft, and she looked to her right to see the glass window in the office was completely smashed in; glass all over the floor. Computer terminals joined the mass of debris – smashed in monitors lying on the floor, their accompanying tables collapsed in on themselves.
But she wasn't here to check the damage. She turned left and cast her beam of light to the large blank wall at the end of the room... and gasped.
It was cracked. One, long crack cut down the middle, barely three feet in length but evidently it had been enough. Because out of the crack something was seeping out, like tears...
Tears of black.
She moved her torch down to the floor at the foot of the wall. There was a giant puddle of black liquid, the same black that was dribbling out of the crack. What the...
She forced herself to move forward to get a better look. But on her third step, she realised her right foot was stuck. Alarmed, she shone her torch down to where she'd stepped... and forced herself to calm down.
She'd stepped into the puddle of black.
It had cemented her foot the the floor. She couldn't move. How could she have been so stupid? She was stuck...
She breathed for a moment, trying desperately not to panic. Think rationally. She had an idea, bending down to undo her boot when she realised that the blackness had not just cemented her shoe. It was moving, slicking up her boot and rapidly towards her knee. She squeaked in alarm, trying to move her other foot... but that was stuck now too.
She screamed out loud, trying with all her might to yank her foot out of the black liquid, but it had a very firm grip. It moved up and up her body, and soon she couldn't move her legs at all. It continued up her body, reaching her torso, wrapping itself around her like a second skin...
"DOCTOR!" she screamed – she couldn't help it, it was impulse. But he wasn't here. He wasn't here. He wasn't here...
It was up at her shoulders now, and she couldn't move. She was absolutely terrified. She was going to die. She tried again to move, managing to grasp her sonic lipstick from her bag but it was like weights were attached to her arms. She fumbled for the switch and pressed it... but it had no effect.
There was nothing she could do.
Finally the black liquid reached her neck, and her neck was completely paralysed. It was going to eat her or suffocate her or... something even worse...
Then it completely coated her, and all that was left was a black statue of Sarah Jane Smith standing in the middle of Canary Wharf, hand still clutching her sonic lipstick, her mouth in a silent scream.
Pete's World
Pete had outlined quite clearly that this dinner was extremely important on every level; utterly pivotal in the future investment of Vitex and absolutely nothing was allowed to go wrong.
More servants than there had ever been in the Tyler mansion were running around amok, trying to get absolutely every detail perfect for the impending arrival of the extremely rich man. Don and Rose arrived at the dinner table mere seconds before all the servants cleared the room and the man entered.
His name was Percival Morton, and he came complete with his trophy wife Cecilia, and even by first appearances Don and Rose could tell this was a man born with £50 notes for nappies. He was the kind that had 'inherited Father's estate' and hadn't done a day's work in his life.
All the same, Don and Rose shook the couple's hands before they sat down to dinner.
It had been about an hour and they were on dessert, immersed in discussion about Morton's business life. Tony was fidgeting, obviously hugely bored, Pete and Jackie were trying to look as interested as they could while Rose gazed blankly across the room, staring at the wall as Don watched her carefully.
"Well, Peter," Morton was saying as he sipped his glass of red wine like a connoisseur. "I simply was not having any of that! I told the man, 'I don't pay you to fold my bed sheets incorrectly!' and fired him on the spot! You had to have seen his face, Peter!" Morton laughed boisterously, a laugh that seemed to as much like music to Don's ears like nails down a blackboard. Mrs Morton was laughing to, and if Morton had the most annoying laugh in the Universe, his wife had to have the fakest.
But Don knew how important this was to Pete, so he grinned and bared it. Until Morton looked in Rose's direction. He quite obviously strained his neck and looked over the table, staring at her pregnant belly in disdain.
"How old are you?" he asked Rose, the first words he'd spoken to Rose all night.
"I'm 21," Rose replied, a little apprehensive.
"That's a little young to be pregnant, don't you think, Peter?"
Pete froze, before glancing at Rose, and then Don, but was saved from answering as Don cut in before him.
"We feel we're ready to have a child now, Mr Morton," he said politely, despite the hatred burning inside him.
"Why yes, of course," the man replied, extremely insincerely. "How far along are you?" he asked Rose.
Rose looked as though she might cry. Don quickly grabbed her hand under the table and held it tightly.
"The baby is dead," he said quietly.
To everyone's utter surprise, Morton suddenly laughed, taking another sip of wine. "Well, I believe biology has a way of telling people they will not be fit parents."
Don stared at the man. The entire room was gripped in utter silence; even Tony had stopped fidgeting. "What?" Don asked, unable to believe what he'd just heard.
"Some people are just not supposed to be parents."
Don felt Rose's grip tighten. She was shaking. Jackie was sitting with her jaw agape, Tony was staring at Don and Pete couldn't seem to be able to look at anyone.
"You think me and Rose wouldn't make good parents?" Don asked dryly, dangerously.
The man laughed that annoying laugh again. "Well of course, what would I know, I only own the entirety of Southern England! With the girl's age it is probably a blessing!"
In seconds Rose was on her feet, letting go of Don's hand. "Excuse me," she practically whimpered, on the verge of bursting into tears as she rushed out of the room. Don could've screamed with anger as he stared at Morton with utter malice and hatred.
"Don…" Pete warned, but Don couldn't hear him through the ringing in his ears. He got onto his feet, leaning forward on the table with his eyes boring into Morton's.
"Jo," Don began, addressing the servant standing in the corner. She rushed over to his side immediately.
"Yes, Mr Tyler?" she asked politely.
"Maybe Tony's getting bored with all this adult stuff," Don said, still not taking his eyes off of Morton. "Can you take him down to watch some TV?"
Jo looked at Jackie for confirmation, who nodded silently.
"Of course, Mr Tyler," Jo replied, bowing courteously before moving over to Tony and taking his hand, leading the boy out of the door.
Don waited a few moments until he was sure Tony was at a safe distance before he suddenly started walking around the table to Morton, so much hate in his face he looked at though he were about to kill Morton. Pete rose in alarm but before he could do anything Don had his hand around Morton's throat, squeezing dangerously with their faces centimetres from each other.
"Right now I could punch you in the face," Don grated. "But I'm not going to. Because, unlike you, I have a bit of decency in my heart." Don paused for a moment, sucking up the look of fear in the man's eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, you've upset my wife."
He let go of the man, and without so much as a glance back, he marched out, slamming the door behind him so hard the wall almost shook.
Just outside the door he stopped dead, head in his hands as he tried in vain to control his parade of emotions. Being part-Donna and part-Doctor with such a violent contradiction of emotions made him practically bipolar sometimes. The Doctor hadn't thought of that, had he? Was this Donna or the Doctor at the moment? He could've quite easily smashed that man's head on the table until his brains came out…
He took a few deep breaths, managing to calm himself down. He needed to find Rose. He finally lifted his head and started off down the corridor in search of Rose.
It wasn't long before he heard the sound of sobbing. Rose's sobbing. Instantly all the anger in him flooded away, replaced by sadness and concern. He followed the sobs until he reached a bathroom door, and tried the handle. The door was locked.
"Rose?" he called gently. "Let me in."
It didn't need anymore persuasion. The sound of the bolt sliding back registered and Don eased the door open to find Rose sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing away from him with her hands on her face.
He moved over to her instantly, dropping to his knees beside her and drawing her into a hug.
"Don't listen to him," he whispered, stroking her hair. "He's just a posh git with twisted morals."
"But… what if he's right, Don?"
"There's no way in hell he's right," Don said, turning her face towards him. "I will find a way, I promise."
She nodded, but it didn't stop the tears from rolling down her face. He held her closer, kissing her head.
"Rose? Don?" it was Jackie.
"In here," Don called. In moments Jackie was in the bathroom, holding them both tightly without a word.
It took ten minutes until they felt ready to re-enter the Dining Room. Rose checked the mirror in the bathroom, forcing a laugh at her own reflection.
"Mascara everywhere," she joked, smiling at Don.
"But you're still beautiful," Don replied, kissing her on the lips and holding her tight. For a few moments they stayed like that, before taking a few deep breaths and making their way back to the Dining Room.
To their utter surprise, they found Pete sitting alone, a bottle of Pimms in hand with his feet propped up on the table. The Mortons had left.
"Where'd they go?" Jackie asked.
"I told them to fuck off," Pete replied simply, offering a smile as he got up and moved over to Rose, hugging her.
"Thanks, Dad," Rose said quietly.
"That's okay," he replied. "Now let's…"
Suddenly Pete's voice trailed off into a high-pitched feedback noise, and Don blinked in surprise. The others were talking, but all he could hear was ringing in his ears. Everything was going blurry, colours merging and people indistinguishable…
"Don?"
He couldn't speak, he couldn't see…
"CLEAR!"
"Don!"
His heart… his heart was tingling…
"Come on, Doctor! CLEAR!"
"DON!"
He had the vague feeling of resting his hand on his chest…
"Third time's the charm! CLEAR!"
Pain shot though his heart, and he heard himself scream… though he was pretty sure he hadn't opened his mouth.
"Not now, Doctor! You can do it! CLEAR!"
"Don!"
"Doctor!"
The entire world faded into nothing.
A/N: Three simultaneous cliffhangers! :o I really do apologise... Well... okay I don't. You know I don't. :D
I WILL REVIEW REPLY. Comments + criticisms much appreciated. Else I dry up because nobody's reading it :(
Chapter 4 – Responsibility
"No," he repeated, pulling away from Jackie and turning to Rose quickly. "Rose..."
"This isn't somethin' you can brush off, Don!" Rose insisted, almost angrily. "I'm not watchin' you go through that again! God, you're just like him!"
And then suddenly all three of them were yelling at him, trying desperately to make him see sense; with good reason, but it wasn't that, Don already knew. His brow furrowed and his felt his patience crumble as they continued to hurl screams at him, words completely lost in the cacophony of yells...
"SHUT UP!" he suddenly yelled, utterly red in the face. Instantly the three fell silent. Even the servants still buzzing around seemed to freeze where they stood.
