AN: This chapter co-authored by my husband, the knight to my spooky. He definitely earned his byline. Also, a great thanks must be paid to my beta, lastincurableromantic. Both of you, thanks for your help and support in telling this story. And thank you to everyone reading, following, favoriting, and commenting. Reviews are loved.
She's been crying for hours, shut up in her bedroom on the TARDIS. When he finally appears at the doorway, she guesses he just figures it's been long enough.
The Doctor leans against the frame for a while, just watching as she sniffles and rubs at her cheeks. Without a word he walks in, sitting down on the bed at her feet.
"It's my fault," Rose says quietly. "I couldn't save him."
"You weren't meant to save him," the Doctor replies gently. "Your father died that day. It's a fixed point in time, it was always going to happen."
"But it worked," she protests with a choked sob. He gives her a skeptical look, icy eyes reminding her of the catastrophe they just narrowly averted. "For a little while," she amends quickly. "What if I - what if I -"
"What if you sang a little song and all the Reapers disappeared just like that?" He snaps his fingers on the last word. "You can't play that game, Rose. Believe me, it doesn't help."
"I was right there. And I couldn't even change anything."
"But you did change something, didn't you?" The Doctor takes her hand and squeezes it in his own. "This morning you told me your father died alone. Now, we've been there and back again and that's not true anymore, is it? You were there with him."
Rose sniffs briefly and nods her head in reluctant agreement.
"You changed time. That's no easy thing to do," he admits seriously. "And that's coming from a Time Lord."
He bumps her shoulder and flashes a beaming grin. She manages a watery laugh.
"Thank you," she murmurs gratefully.
For comforting her, she means. But also for whisking her away in this magical box. For coming back and asking twice. For being willing to take her to witness her own father's death, despite the risks.
"Always, Rose Tyler," he promises, pulling her into a hug. "Always."
She heard them before she saw them, the voices echoing off the steep cliffs on this side of the island. The group had agreed on radio silence. If she could hear them, that meant she was close. Rose caught sight of the rendezvous point through the sparse canopy of leaves on the rocky outcropping above the beach clearing.
A few survivors were huddled around a small fire on the beach. A middle aged woman with curly brown hair, whom she recognized as Carol the entertainment director, was regaling the group with an animated story. It seemed she was trying to keep them calm until everyone arrived, and by the looks of it her efforts were successful. Rose was just about to call out and announce her presence when the ambush began.
Without warning, a sharp crack pierced the air and Carol froze abruptly, halting her story as her arms fell limply at her sides. She sat down heavily on her rear and a puff of disturbed sand escaped beneath her as a deep red stain blossomed in the center of her shirt. One of the survivors gently jostled her shoulder, asking if she was alright. Slumping to one side, Carol fell to the ground dead. In the next moment, a rounded canister-like object flew in a high arc from the trees, bouncing on the sand. With a thud, it slowly rolled into the center of the group just before the fire. It glistened for a moment in the reflected firelight. A grenade.
A trim, uniformed man, whom Rose recognized as Scott, the security officer, screamed for everyone to get down and find cover. The explosive detonated with a small but brilliant flash of fire and a devastating blast of shrapnel. Black smoke from the now extinguished fire billowed for a moment then cleared with the sea breeze.
Rose had a clear view from her vantage point but was too far to reach them in time. It all happened so quickly. Helplessly, she watched the massacre unfold.
Scott suffered a nasty hit of shrapnel in the shoulder but somehow remained conscious. He stood and shook his head to clear his vision, preparing to survey the damage. There was a shallow crater in the sand where the campfire had once been. The bodies of three survivors lay mangled and unmoving on the sand near Carol's lifeless body.
"Daniel? Sarah?" he cried out to the remainder of the group. His voice was distorted. It appeared as if he couldn't hear what he was saying over the ringing of his own ears.
Sarah had managed to throw herself away from the blast. She covered her head and rocked back and forth in a fetal position, muttering to herself, clearly experiencing shock.
The man who had introduced himself as Daniel while on board, a proud father who couldn't stop showing every passenger pictures of his children from his wallet, had a gash in his leg and a slight graze on his forehead but appeared otherwise unhurt. He stood clumsily, stumbling. He seemed disoriented, trying to find his center of gravity.
The attackers, who were only a moment ago taking cover and concealing themselves in the forest, materialized at the tree line. They stormed the beach with precision. Rose counted five gunmen. Two teams of two, the men marched shoulder-to-shoulder, holding black assault rifles sweeping from side to side. Rose could not clearly see their faces beneath the red bandanas they wore, but she imagined she could just make out the determined, hostile look in their eyes. The fifth brought up the rear. Rose couldn't see any of this man's face, it was covered by a black balaclava face mask. But she could see clearly see this assailants' bare muscular arms emerging from his camo flak jacket tightly gripping a fierce looking sawed off shotgun.
The riflemen opened fire on Daniel, who made himself an easy target by waving his arms, foolishly assuming that these men were here to "help". He caught several rounds in the chest before collapsing like a ragdoll onto the ground, blood pooling in the sand beneath his body. His wallet fell from his pocket landing, and laying open, at his side.
Two of the rifleman forced Scott down onto his knees in the sand training their weapons on him as he raised his hands in surrender. The third let out a sharp whistle and raised a finger in the air, moving it a circular motion signaling towards the forest. The fourth rifleman moved towards the body of a female passenger hit by the grenade. With his foot on her back, he leaned down to feel for a pulse. Rising, he shook his head. Rose had never even learned the woman's name.
Another passenger wounded by the grenade moaned piteously, still clinging desperately to life. The muscular man in the black mask pulled a sleek pistol from his belt and silenced the man with one last shot to the head.
The last attacker, who appeared to be the leader of the group, emerged casually from the woods. He was clean shaven, just a little taller than the rest and carried only a handgun. He took his time walking through the devastation on the beach, admiring his men's work as if examining the masterpieces on display within an art museum.
Scott glared at the leader bravely from his knees as the assailant approached.
"They were innocent," Scott growled. "Just passengers on a ship. No threat to you."
The leader regarded Scott, seemingly for the first time, and with a wave of his hand dismissed the crewman. With his back turned, he stated simply, "They were in my way." He walked over the unconscious Sarah who had fainted sometime during the attack. She was being cradled in the arms of the muscular man in the mask, who stood as still and unmoving as a statue.
"What do you think, Butch?" the leader asked his muscular subordinate casually. Butch flashed a filthy, toothy grin and the leader chuckled dryly. "That's what I thought."
"Who are you? You bast -" Scott's insult was cut short as a rifle butt was slammed into his cheek.
The leader smirked cruelly. He gently stroked Sarah's long hair which was splayed out, her previously well kept bun now in complete disarray. "I'm just a man who enjoys the finer things."
Butch lifted the officer's coat off of Sarah's prone body and the leader peered beneath. Earlier, in a gesture of kindness, Scott had draped his coat over Sarah's shoulder to help keep her appearing decent after her already scant waitress uniform had been torn during the disaster.
The leader turned back to Scott, licking his lips dramatically. He raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated gesture and purred in a sinister voice, "Yes, she'll do nicely."
"Don't you touch -" Scott never finished that sentence.
One of the rifleman fired one decisive shot between the security officer's eyes. Scott's body, devoid of life from the fatal wound, slumped solidly to the ground.
"Charlie," the leader admonished. "We were talking!"
"Sorry, boss," Charlie quipped with a rakish smirk. He shrugged. "I didn't like his tone."
Their boss guffawed loudly, his laughter resounding off the cliff face over the beach. "Move out," he ordered curtly, turning serious once his mirth had died down.
"What about the loot?" Charlie asked. Some of the riflemen were already pawing at the bodies looking for valuables.
"Leave it," the leader commanded. "Our prize makes jewels and credits look like garbage." He spat on the ground before leading his men away from the slaughter.
The muscular gunman Butch turned crisply and roughly threw Sarah over his shoulder. As the assailants headed back into the forest, they hooted and hollered obscenities in their easy victory. Scott's officers coat fell to the ground, surrounded by the ruin left behind at the beach.
Rose stood paralyzed with fear and disgust on the ridge. She has seen plenty of death in her travels with the Doctor but so far he'd mostly managed to shelter her from carnage like this. Extermination by a Dalek, instant disintegration by lasers, energy weapons, and reality bombs - the deaths in Rose's recent memory were horrible but usually relatively bloodless. She was reminded suddenly of the morbid fascination that took hold of her as she watched the werewolf tear into Captain Reynolds of the royal guard at Torchwood Manor. Even then, the Doctor was there to pull her away before the worst of it. Now, there was nothing but air between her and seven battered bodies on the beach below.
She turned away from the scene of the beach turned graveyard, unable to take the violent display any longer.
"Rose," Ridgely's voice crackled over the comm. "Are you there?"
She didn't respond at first. The sound seemed distant, dark and ominous like the disembodied voice over another radio on a Sanctuary Base impossibly orbiting a black hole. A voice that told her she was going to die.
"Rose," he repeated urgently. "I saw the raiders moving towards the beach. Are you alright?"
"I'm here," she answered quietly, her voice shaking as strongly as her hands. "They - they're dead."
"Who is dead?"
"I saw it," Frank cried woefully. "They're all dead. Everyone. Everyone who met up at the beach. Oh, shit, they're dead. It's just us."
"This is all my fault," Rose sobbed, the tears overtaking her feeble attempt to keep calm. She wanted to be strong, but she was human, as the Doctor so often reminded her. And right now she felt grieved, guilty, and scared as hell. "I chose the rendezvous point. I killed them."
"You didn't kill them," Ridgely assured her resolutely. "Those monsters killed them. These weren't their first victims. Where are you now?"
"They took Sarah," she recounted gravely.
There was quiet for a moment, the comm fizzling with static.
"We need to regroup, someplace safer," Ridgely determined.
"Nowhere is safe," Frank wailed helplessly.
"Not completely," Ridgely agreed. "But we know they're monitoring the beaches. We need to stay where there is cover. Up towards the mountain. No clear, open spaces."
"You're not thinking of following them?" Frank asked worriedly. "We can't. They'll get us too."
"One step at a time," Ridgely said brusquely. "Rose, where are you?"
"I'm on a ridge, above the beach."
"Is there tree coverage there? Enough to conceal you?"
"Yeah, a little bit," she replied, surveying her surroundings. "I'm up against the cliff."
"Good," Ridgely breathed roughly. "Frank, I want you to go back to camp and look after Erin. Rose, stay where you are. I'm coming to you."
Rose gasped at the metallic click of Ridgely switching off his channel on the comm. In a few horrible minutes, the small sense of security gained by the supplies and progress she'd managed yesterday was turned on its head. These raiders weren't just dispatching survivors they came across. They were actively hunting them.
Ridgely wanted to save Sarah. Rose did too; she always wanted to do everything within her power to help. But she couldn't think of a time when the situation seemed so hopeless.
Couldn't he see they were drastically outnumbered? The attackers were heavily armed and well-trained, carrying out the attack in a coordinated, precise manner. They made it look effortless.
She had a sinking feeling that the ambush was just the beginning of the bloodshed to come.
Following Ridgely's instructions, Rose stayed on the ridge. Feeling the chill of the wind blowing in yet another storm, she gathered sticks and dry underbrush to light a small fire. Her still trembling hands made it slow work. She went through the process numbly, forcing her limbs to act out of instinct and desperation to keep warm.
The rain was just starting to drizzle when Ridgely emerged from the brush. She stood from her seat by the fire to face him. He looked as despaired and shaken as she felt. His fine evening wear, so smart and handsome in the ballroom on the ship, now looked strange and out of place, dirty and disheveled as it was.
"Rose." He spoke her name kindly, full of relief at finding her unharmed.
Ridgely crossed the distance between them briskly, sweeping her up into his arms in a comforting embrace. Deprived of human contact for these past frightful days, Rose accepted his consolation greedily. She broke down in his arms, crying into the chest of this man she barely knew.
And yet somehow, she felt she knew him very well. This strong, rational voice that had carried her this far, shared in her grief and terror. This stranger who reached out to to help her without hesitation. This was her Doctor, her father, her Mickey - Ridgely was none of these men and yet he was all of them. The embodiment of a strong, selfless person offering of himself.
Gradually Ridgely sank down to his knees, taking Rose with him. She let him hold her as her body wracked with sobs. He stroked her back gently, shushing her. But never once did he tell her it was going to be alright. He didn't give her any soothing lies, didn't speak at all. Just offered his arms around her and his solid weight to lean against.
When her crying began to calm, he lifted her chin to look at him. "You're a good person, Rose. The Doctor obviously knew that, the way he spoke of you so highly."
"He -" she sniffed, wiping ineffectually at her cheeks, wet now both from tears and rain. "He talked about me?"
Ridgely smiled, an assuring expression despite the solemnity in his eyes that reminded of their dangerous situation. "Of course he did." He rocked back on his heels, taking her hand and helping Rose stand. "You're strong. Even I can see that."
"I'm not, though." Rose gestured to the beach. "I couldn't help them."
"Real strength doesn't lie in surmounting the forces we can't control," he said wisely. "It's picking up and carrying on despite them."
A sudden crack startled them. Ridgely ducked her head into his chest, caging Rose against his body to protect her against the imagined threat. As another, quieter, crackle sounded, they realized it was only a twig snapping in the fire.
"We need to move," Ridgely decided. "You've been here for a while already. They'll be able to see the smoke."
She helped him smother the fire with dirt before following him through the forest towards their camp. The rain started to pick up. Rose felt like she could hear every drop hitting the leaves on their way down, creating an almost musical resonance. She walked closely behind her guide, as visibility lessened with the darkening sky.
"Almost there," Ridgely encouraged after a while.
The trees began to thin as they climbed a small incline. At the bottom of the hill there was a dense thicket of overlapping branches, making a sort of loose, natural shelter against the wind and rain.
Under the low canopy, Erin lay motionless on the ground. Frank's tired form was hunched over beside her. As they approached, the young man slowly lifted his head. Ridgely stopped in his tracks.
"I'm sorry," Frank whined, tears streaming down his cheeks. "She was fine when we left. She said she was fine. But then I got here and - and she was gone."
The husband moved reluctantly, taking the few paces forward with halting steps. He fell to his knees before his wife's body, staring emptily as the rain poured down around them. Ridgely curled himself around her, dropping his head against the chest that would never again rise and fall with Erin's breath. His shoulders shook, but he didn't cry out. Silently, Ridgely wept.
