Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.
Warnings: PG-13
Chapter Six: Not Quite London... When last we left them, Rose learned she was pregnant, Martha agreed to see her through it, and the Doctor was oblivious to...well, lots of things, really. All three are still true, except now the Doctor's trying to take Rose to see Shakespeare. Again. With the predictable results...
Chapter Six: Not Quite London
Rose was torn about several different things. One had to do with their destination. The Doctor had promised her Will Shakespeare two years running, and now that they were actually going, Rose was hopeful that she'd end the day having seen something wonderful.
Of course, the Doctor had an extensive track record, two years running, of managing not to show her Shakespeare, so Rose was trying to temper her excitement.
The other issue was Martha Jones. Rose liked Martha well enough, although she wasn't always certain that Martha liked her – there was the small issue of Martha being in love with the Doctor, despite her words in the library. Something Martha had said made it sound as if she'd spent two years with the Doctor, but Rose could have sworn the Doctor had told her it was one. Perhaps she'd misunderstood – Rose remembered jokes about pregnancy memories, and decided that's what it had been. Nothing more than that.
But at the moment, Rose didn't mind that the Doctor had asked Martha if she wanted to see Shakespeare with them. It was more that he was letting Martha help him to navigate the TARDIS now, while she watched from the jump seat.
In the two years with the Doctor, Rose had picked up quite a bit of navigational skills, and the two of them could operate the TARDIS without words, without thoughts, moving in tandem with each other seamlessly, like a perfectly executed dance. Rose loved it, working with the Doctor that way – there were seldom times in which she was happier than those moments. Watching Martha struggle – just a tiny bit, just the smallest half fraction of a second too slow, needing a second explanation for where to find a particular lever – made Rose feel instantly sorry for poor Martha, and at the same time, quite superior.
When they landed, the Doctor popped his head above the console and grinned at her.
"What? You'd better go and change, can't go to the premiere of Romeo and Juliet in jeans," he said cheerfully. "Where's that dress you never stop nattering on about?"
Rose sat straight up in the jump seat. "Really and truly? We're there?"
"Oh, God, do I have to change too?" groaned Martha, slumped over the console on the far side.
"Come on, Martha," cajoled Rose. "It's fun."
"Only if she wants," said the Doctor, and Rose stuck her tongue out at him.
"More dress for me, then," she said cheerfully, and ran out of the console room.
"Don't even think about lacing into a corset," Martha shouted after her, and Rose laughed, wondering how she'd manage it on her own.
Luck was with her, and the wardrobe room was close – the TARDIS had even pulled out the dress and all its bits and pieces, and Rose (who had practiced when the Doctor wasn't looking) managed to pull it all together in record time. She gave a final appraisal in the mirror and grinned. The satiny-grey dress was perfect for the Elizabethan period. The overskirt was covered in delicate embroidery, blue and yellow roses with thin green vines connecting them in a massive spider-web. The folds were deep, billowing out around her, and for a girl who was more comfortable in denim, created an odd sensation of being a princess. The underskirt was embroidered as well, a pale peach with white roses and blue vines, just peeking out from beneath the skirt and stomacher, and the white, filmy shift beneath created little ruffles around her breasts and beneath her sleeves. Rose smoothed the folds of fabric, and touched her hair cautiously, uncertain what to do with it.
"Bit plain, for the dress," she said aloud. "Can't be helped. Maybe the Doctor will think of something – or it'll just do as it is." A low, reassuring hum sounded from the TARDIS, and Rose grinned at her reflection, instantly feeling better. She brushed her hand along the walls as she ran back down the corridor, flying into the console room to see Martha and Doctor frowning over the controls. Rose didn't even stop, racing right by them.
"Allons-y, don't waste time," she called out, too excited to stop, and pulled both the TARDIS doors open, fully expecting to see the whole of 16th century London bustling around her.
Instead, she found herself in the middle of a grassy plain, rolling hills in the distance, a bright blue sky above. Rose took a few disbelieving steps outside of the TARDIS, staring at her surroundings in shock. The wind whipped around her, carrying the salty scent of the sea, and she could hear gulls in the distance. There was nothing to be seen for miles, save the waving grass, a line of trees, and beyond that, the ocean, stretching to the horizon.
"This isn't London."
"Ah, no," said the Doctor appearing behind her, much subdued but unable to hide his curiosity in the surroundings. "It's Cornwall." He bounced on the ground, testing it. "A field in Cornwall, it would appear."
"Cornwall," repeated Rose. "When?"
"Summer, I think, it's quite warm. Martha, don't you think it's warm? Nice bit of breeze, too," said the Doctor as Martha came out of the TARDIS.
"Oh, it's about to get a whole lot warmer, I expect," said Martha dryly.
"Doctor," warned Rose. "What year is it?"
"Well….." The Doctor gulped, and started rubbing the back of his neck. "1588."
Rose slowly swiveled toward him. "And we're in Cornwall."
"We could get to the play, if we popped back into the TARDIS, just a short little hop, not long—"
Rose sighed and covered her face with her hands. "No, it's all right. Cornwall."
"It's Shakespearean!"
"Little early, though," said Martha helpfully.
"Only – I thought I'd really have Shakespeare this time," said Rose. "And Romeo. And Juliet. And a lovely theatre with a pretty dress."
"It's a pretty dress," offered the Doctor.
"It's a gorgeous dress," corrected Martha, but it was too little, too late. Rose's face fell as she stared at the Doctor, and it was all she could do to turn to Martha.
"Thank you, Martha."
"Rose – we'll go now," the Doctor stammered, clearly trying to remedy the situation the only way he knew how: words. "Still plenty of time to catch the opening act—"
Rose shook her head. "No. If you don't want me to see Shakespeare, we won't go. Obviously you've got some reason to keep me away from him. I just wish you wouldn't keep telling me we're going and then not."
"He's a bit of a flirt, really," said Martha, and the Doctor grimaced as Rose turned to stare at her in shock. "Tried to kiss me, with the most awful breath. Really, you're not missing much."
"You – you met Shakespeare?"
Martha blinked, deer in headlights. "Ah. Yes? First place he took me. He didn't tell you?"
"No, that didn't come up."
Martha turned on the Doctor, who was slowly backing away. "You didn't tell her?"
"It didn't come up?" he tried.
"What about Elizabeth? Did you tell her about Elizabeth trying to kill you?"
"Elizabeth?" asked Rose.
"The queen tried to kill him," Martha told her.
"Queens don't like him much," said Rose.
"What else didn't you tell her, Doctor?" asked Martha, suddenly growing alarmed. "Oh, god. Don't tell me—" Martha went pale.
"What?" asked Rose, and she grabbed Martha's arm. "What didn't he tell me?"
"Martha," warned the Doctor, his voice suddenly stern.
Martha looked at Rose. "He didn't tell you."
"What?"
The Doctor pointed at Martha, sounding very Time-Lordish, and not succeeding in frightening anyone. "Martha, don't you say a word! Not one word."
"We slept in the same bed," said Martha.
Rose stared at Martha, who stared right back.
"It didn't mean anything!" the Doctor shouted.
"Nothing happened," squeaked Martha.
"I didn't even sleep."
"I mean, I wanted it to," continued Martha.
"There was only the one bed!"
"But he was a perfect gentleman!"
"I stayed on my side."
"He did, bloody Time Lord!" wailed Martha.
Rose had been watching both of them like a tennis match as they volleyed their defenses back and forth. She didn't think she could hear another word without bursting into laughter or tears (again, she was torn), so the only thing she could manage to do was to turn and walk away.
"Rose?" called the Doctor, with Martha repeating.
"I'm fine," she replied, her voice high enough to reach them, without her having to shout. She didn't stop walking. "I'm just going to walk to London now."
She heard the Doctor race after her, Martha behind him. "Rose, you can't walk to London."
"I'm wearing my trainers."
"Rose, it's over two hundred miles."
"I like walking."
The Doctor tried to take her arm, but she brushed him off. "Rose," he said, nearly begging. "Please, come back to the TARDIS. We'll go straight to London, be there in minutes."
"Oh, couldn't," said Rose. "You'd overshoot and we'd end up in Berlin."
"Rose, think of the baby. You can't walk two hundred miles, you'll wear yourself out."
"I can stop every so often. I've got seven years before Romeo and Juliet, I should be there in time!"
"You've only got three weeks before you have to go back through the Vortex, Rose," snapped the Doctor. "The baby can't take a time journey after that point – not when the neural impulses and time senses begin working. It's too dangerous, it could affect the entire way he reasons and thinks!"
Rose stopped dead in her tracks. He made perfect sense, and Rose found this annoyed her terribly. "Oh. I see. The baby. Of course. Back to the TARDIS, Rose, can't risk the baby. Never mind that you could be attacked or kidnapped or worse on the road to London, but heaven forbid your journey take a little longer than expected, because the baby might be hurt."
The Doctor groaned and ran his hands through his hair. "That's not what I meant. The TARDIS is safe, Rose."
Rose spun on him. "Stop wrapping me in cotton wool. Why don't you want me to see Shakespeare?"
"It's got nothing to do with Shakespeare."
"Oh? Then maybe it's got to do with Elizabeth, is that it?"
"Nothing to do with her either!"
"How about Martha then!" shouted Rose. "Perhaps you didn't want to spoil the memory of a date with Martha! Is that it?"
"You're being irrational," he said.
"All right! I'm irrational! I was human once, we tend to be irrational when we're repeatedly lied to and told we're going places and then end up somewhere completely different! And I'm going to walk to London because you promised me Shakespeare and that's what I intend to get!"
The crack of her hand meeting his cheek shocked all three of them. Rose hadn't expected it to sound quite so loud, or make her hand sting so badly.
Martha hadn't expected Rose would have the gumption to actually slap him, and the desire to laugh was almost overwhelming.
The Doctor tried to regain his balance, thinking that he really ought to have expected it eventually – there had never been a mother yet who hadn't slapped him. Only, he hadn't really expected the mother to be Rose.
As soon as she came to her senses again, Rose stormed off, mouth set and her hands clenching. Slapping the Doctor hadn't made her feel one bit better. She could hear him shouting behind her, and then Martha's voice joined in. She wasn't the least bit interested – except it sounded as if Martha was shouting at and not with him, and she slowed her march just a little to try to catch the words.
But Martha had stopped shouting, and was running up to join her. Rose set her mouth again, determined to stay angry.
"I didn't know he hadn't told you," she said, a bit out of breath. "I wouldn't have said anything. And really—"
"Nothing happened," said Rose. "I know. If it had, he would have said something. It's because nothing happened that he didn't think it was important to tell."
"Bloody stupid Time Lord," sighed Martha.
"Bloody stupid man," corrected Rose. "Is he still following?"
Martha glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah. Looks right miserable, too."
"Good."
They walked in silence for a few moments, reaching the tree line on the edge of the field. The two of them walked along it for a little bit, before Martha ventured to speak again.
"Still. It was a good slap."
"My mother slapped him one," said Rose, thinking almost fondly of the memory. "Might have been twice, come to think of it."
"My mum slapped him too. Must be something about mothers."
Rose began to giggle. "That explains it. It's lovely here, though. Prettier than London probably is."
"Smells better, too," offered Martha. "Nearly had a chamber pot upturned on me in my first five minutes that trip."
Rose laughed, and then glanced back to see the Doctor following some ten meters behind. She frowned at him and looked away quickly, lest he think she forgave him.
"I don't like being angry with him."
"I don't think he's keen on it himself. You aren't really going to walk to London, are you?"
Rose sighed, and brushed her fingers along the low leaves. "I don't know. Only – I have to wonder what else he's not telling me."
Martha swallowed. "Ah…what did he tell you?"
Rose glanced at her. "What do you think he'd leave out?"
The stricken look on Martha's face was the last thing Rose saw before the ground beneath her feet suddenly gave way. Martha cried out and reached for her, but before Rose could grab her hand – before she could even realize she should, she tumbled through the tree line and onto a down-ward sloping cliff.
It was like Alice down the rabbit hole; Rose barely had time to tuck her head in, and was only able to see glimpses of the brown cliff and blue sea turning in circles as she tumbled. The only thing that kept her from being bruised on the rocky path was the layers of dress surrounding her, the chunks of dirt and grass and leaves following her down. She landed on the sand briefly before the avalanche of mud and debris pushed her further away.
Several minutes went by before everything stopped moving, and it wasn't until then that Rose felt safe enough to stand. By the time she looked back at the cliff, all traces of her tumble had been obliterated, covered by the dirt and debris. She looked up, and could only see the line of trees at the top, and no sign that anyone was there at all.
Rose struggled to stay upright; her head was spinning. There was an odd buzzing in the back of her mind, and she thought the world was still turning in circles around her. When she heard the Doctor shout, she couldn't even be sure that it was him, and not some long-lost memory of Canary Wharf.
"Rose!"
Only she'd never heard him shout at Canary Wharf; she hadn't heard anything at all, except for the rushing of wind. Her head was too full of everything else, but she remembered what his face looked like, the way he reached for her. It was probably just as well, thought Rose, when she heard him call out her name again, frantic, afraid, and lost. To have heard his frenzied and crazed scream in her nightmares for the next five years would have been overwhelming.
"I'm all right," she called up, struggling to keep her balance, to keep her head from spinning. "But there's a lot of dirt down here – I think the path's been covered up."
The Doctor appeared suddenly, poking his torso through the trees, and she saw him slump with relief when he saw her. "You're really all right?"
"I think so."
"Nothing broken?" called Martha, still unseen.
"Not that I can tell," said Rose. "There might be a path further on."
The Doctor didn't seem to want to move. "Rose—"
Rose shook her head; her head still swam, but just seeing him made her feel better. "Later, Doctor. Let's find a way up first."
His face was grim and taut, but he nodded and disappeared back into the trees. Rose sighed, and before she began walking down the beach, she went to the waterline, careful to hold her skirts up. The waves lapped at her trainers, and Rose grinned, very glad she'd not bothered with any other kind of shoe. What was a trip with the Doctor, if it didn't involve some kind of adventure, anyway?
"Cornwall," she said under her breath. Leave it to the Doctor, to find a way to keep her from Shakespeare. To not realize that sharing a bed would mean something different to Martha than it would to him.
The first place he'd taken her – it couldn't have been long after she'd been trapped, if that was true. Rose almost felt sorry for the Doctor – how awful, to be in bed with the wrong girl, to feel the heat from her skin, to hear her soft breathing, and know it wasn't the right skin, the right breath. No wonder he hadn't wanted to tell her; he probably didn't care to remember it himself.
Rose sighed, and glanced back at the tree line. She could just make out two shadowy figures walking along, quickly, and wondered what they were saying. She left the water and started to follow.
The Doctor didn't want to talk. He walked quickly, nearly running, and Martha kept pace with him, for which he supposed he was grateful, but it didn't matter very much. He was angry, and scared, and the only thing he wanted to do was find a path down to Rose, and slide down it, pick her up, and kiss her. If he could convince Martha to stay on the cliff, he probably wouldn't stop with kissing.
"Doctor," began Martha, and he nearly groaned. He didn't want to talk. No, really, he didn't – talking meant walking at a slower pace, and he wanted to run.
"I didn't mean to land in Cornwall." He tried to keep his tone clipped. Perhaps Martha would take the hint. "I really was going to take her to Romeo and Juliet."
"Odd choice," said Martha.
"Worked out well enough, maybe I'd hit a time when Elizabeth didn't want me dead."
"Or maybe you'd be the reason she did," Martha pointed out. "She died before Shakespeare, didn't she? You could have brought Rose here then."
"She wanted Romeo and Juliet," repeated the Doctor.
"Stubborn," scoffed Martha.
"Oi!"
"No, you are! Honestly, it's a good thing I don't travel with the two of you, I'd always want to be knocking your heads together."
The Doctor looked at her. "Good thing, then."
Martha trudged on. "What else didn't you tell her?"
"I told her the important bits."
"Yeah, but I would have thought sharing a bed was important. And you left that out, so clearly your version of important and my version of important aren't the same."
The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and walked faster. He could tell Martha wasn't keeping up, and slowed down just enough that she wouldn't fall entirely behind, but would perhaps get the idea that he didn't want to talk about it. He hadn't told Rose everything, because there was a lot of things that didn't matter very much. The whole year he'd spent with the Master, for one thing, trapped on a ship above the earth, while Martha had walked the Earth alone. Rose didn't know about that – no reason to know, really. She didn't know about the Chameleon Ark, either, or what happened when he lived his life as a human in 1913, falling in love with Joan, seeing himself married to her, children with her…Rose didn't need to know that.
She didn't know what really happened the first time he saw a crossroads, when he was a student. Of everything, that was the last thing she didn't need to know.
Oh, she'd complained once, how he made choices for everyone else. That was true enough, but that was his job, wasn't it, to make decisions and carry them out? As long as he made good ones, what did it matter?
And he really had meant to land in London in 1595, that was the truth. He'd give the TARDIS a right good kick when they returned—
"You didn't tell her about the Master, did you?"
The Doctor nearly stopped in his path; he turned around and stared at Martha. "Did you?"
"No," replied Martha, finally catching up to him. "But I said I'd spent two years learning to…well, with you. And she had such an odd look on her face. You didn't tell her about that, did you? About the year that never was? About growing old, and the paradox?"
"It's not important," snapped the Doctor, and he started walking again, with Martha striding beside him.
"I don't think Rose would agree."
"I won't have her know I collapsed time here, too."
"Too?" echoed Martha.
He sighed. "I collapsed time in the other world when I brought her over here. I didn't know it would happen. It nearly killed a friend of hers."
Martha was quiet for a moment. "Did it?"
"No."
"She forgive you?"
"Yes."
"Then I don't see the problem."
"She doesn't know I did it before," he said shortly. "If I did it before, I should have known I could do it again. I should have taken better care. I shouldn't have done anything so stupid as to—" He trailed off, but Martha didn't give up.
"Stupid as to what? Bring her here? Get her back? I don't think she'll regret you doing that anytime soon."
"Well, we won't know because we're not telling her. She thinks I didn't know it might happen and she'll go on thinking that, thank you."
"Are you saying you knew it might happen?"
"I'm saying I didn't know it would!"
"So you're asking me to lie?"
The scream from the beach interrupted any reply the Doctor might have made, and he pushed himself through the trees, just in time to see Rose on the beach below, but not alone.
"Rose!" he shouted, and watched as she struggled against the two men who were dragging her to a small dinghy half in the water and held still by two others, tossing her in like driftwood before shoving off to row furiously away.
"Doctor!"
Martha was beside him suddenly, and she pointed to the horizon. "Doctor, look! They're taking her out there."
The Doctor somehow managed to pull his eyes away from Rose, and his mouth dropped open in shock.
The Channel was filled with galleons, as graceful and majestic as whales, with flags and banners and sails whipping in the brisk wind. There were so many of them, he couldn't make out the horizon on the other side. On the mast of each flew the Spanish flag.
"1588," said Martha. "Doctor – it's the Spanish Armada. You've brought us to a war."
…the child will die in battle…
"No," gasped the Doctor, nearly falling over, and Martha pulled him back through the trees.
"Yes, it is, I remember this. Doctor, what's the date? What's the exact date?"
"July 30," said the Doctor, sitting down hard on the ground.
"Doctor, it's the Spanish Armada – the first skirmish between the English and the Spanish is tomorrow. Rose is headed right for one of those ships!"
It was reflexive – it shouldn't have been, he knew, but he did it anyway. He pushed his thoughts out past the trees, past the shore, over the waves, until they nearly collided with Rose's, somewhere over the water.
He inhaled sharply. "I've got her. She's all right. She's scared. The men think she's important—"
Martha stared at him, confused. "What?"
"I can see what she's thinking. She's afraid, but she's all right. Martha, she's all right." The relief made him nearly laugh out loud, despite the clear fear in Rose's thoughts. There weren't words – there never were – but he could read her easily, and he knew she could read him. All he could do was show her, show her how he was going to save her, he would run back to the TARDIS, he'd materialize on the ship, whatever ship she was on, he'd pull her in and they'd get so far away from England in 1588 she'd think being on a Spanish dinghy was just a trick of the mind.
He felt her thoughts soften then, just a little. The fear receding, just a bit, and his grin got wider.
"Oh, I'll save you, Rose Tyler—"
Before the words were out of his mouth – just like before, just like on Bad Wolf Bay – she was gone, her thoughts were severed as if sliced with a cleaver. The shock of it nearly snapped his senses. He wasn't on the dinghy next to Rose any longer – he was sitting on the cliff, and Martha was looking through the trees.
"She's on the ship now," said Martha. "I saw them pull up the dinghy."
"She's gone," said the Doctor dully. "I had her with me, just for a moment. In my head, she was saying she was all right, I told her we'd get her – and then she wasn't there."
Martha glanced back at him. "She's there. Look, you can just make out her dress, boarding the ship."
The Doctor looked – sure enough, there was a woman in a grey satin dress, going from the dinghy to the galleon. He couldn't feel her thoughts – but she was alive.
The Doctor stepped back from the cliff and took Martha's hand. "Run," he said, and together, they raced back toward the TARDIS.
They might have made it, too, contemplated the Doctor, had they not run smack into the last person in Elizabethan England the Doctor wanted to see.
"Doctor!" roared the fifth monarch of the Tudor Dynasty, The Virgin Queen, Gloriana, Good Queen Bess herself, resplendent in a gown that put Rose's to shame, and looking angrier than anyone the Doctor had ever met. "You dare return to our sight again?"
"Ah," said the Doctor.
"Explain yourself!"
"Doctor," muttered Martha.
The Doctor raised his hands in surrender. "Hello?"