Chapter Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Doctor Who and make no profit from it. Some plot points and bits of dialogue respectfully borrowed from the episodes "The Stolen Earth" and "Journey's End" by Russell T Davies.
Adam Mitchell opened his eyes to the sight of the console room ceiling. He could feel every line of the floor grating pressing into his back, but his head seemed to be comfortably cushioned. The rare sight of the Doctor without a leather jacket gave Adam a good guess as to what he was currently using as a pillow. His groan as he sat up roused the Doctor from his contemplation of the monitor.
"Ah, good, you're awake. I've checked you out – no broken bones, mild concussion, nothing serious. Let me just take another look now that you're up." The Doctor squatted in front of him, shined a penlight in his eyes, grunted in satisfaction, then pressed a cup of water and a couple pills into his hands. "That should help sort you out."
"What happened?"
The Doctor was back at the monitor now. "Well, what's the last thing you remember?"
"We left Rose with her Doctor. We were on our way back to our own universe, and then – bam!"
"Right, so you're about up to speed, then. Not much else to tell."
"So are we back home?" Adam gingerly scooted backwards to lean against a strut.
"Uh…not exactly."
"So where?"
"We're still in Rose's universe. Still in Rose's London, actually."
"Okay, so once again: what happened?"
"Well, you know that hole in the fabric of reality that the Time Lords are holding open for us to pass through? We, uh, we didn't quite hit it."
"I don't believe it." Adam shook his head, and then wished he hadn't – the pills hadn't kicked in yet. "We crashed because your aim was off?"
The Doctor crossed his arms defensively. "Oi, my aim was right on target! The problem was the hole – it wasn't where it was supposed to be. So anyway, since we missed it, we…well, what actually happened was very complicated in a spacey-timey way, but let's just say that we ricocheted."
"Ricocheted?"
"Yes. Back to parallel Earth, back to parallel London. Although we seem to have bounced forward several months. But not to worry. I'm sure with a little recalibrating and a little recalculating, we'll get it right."
"That's –" Adam was cut off when the monitor filled with the image of a man in ceremonial robes and a large ornate collar. He was speaking a language Adam couldn't understand, which was disconcerting when one was so used to the TARDIS's translation. The Doctor was replying in the same language, and judging from his steadily rising pitch and volume, he didn't like whatever the other Time Lord was saying. The exchange went on for a few minutes, until the transmission abruptly cut off. The Doctor slammed his fist down on the console and rested his forehead against the monitor, eyes closed.
Adam pulled himself to his feet, afraid to ask but needing to know. "Okay, so I've got a few questions. First, who was that?"
The Doctor didn't open his eyes. "The President of the High Council."
"And why couldn't I understand him?"
"Gallifreyan. The one language the designers didn't think to program into the TARDIS because they never expected there to be aliens on board."
Adam blinked in surprise, not used to thinking of himself as the alien. "Fair enough. So most importantly – what was all that about?"
"The stars are dying."
"What?"
"Whole solar systems, just blinking out of existence. The universe is collapsing. And not just ours – the High Council thinks it is affecting every dimension, the whole of reality. I told you it wasn't my aim that was off – our worlds are shifting, misaligning."
Adam blanched. "What is causing it?"
"They don't know. But they are recalling every TARDIS to Gallifrey to help with the investigation."
"Every– But they will wait for us to get back before they recall the four holding our hole open, yeah? Because, if I remember correctly, if that connection to home closes, not only are we stuck here, but we're stuck here without power, right?"
The Doctor didn't answer. He didn't have to. The sudden darkness and the sound of the TARDIS powering down was all the reply needed.
Adam felt his stomach plummet, sucked in a breath. "Blimey, they don't waste time, do they?"
A sour voice came from the blackness. "I guess no good deed goes unpunished. Wait here, I'll find us some torches."
As the Doctor's footsteps echoed down the corridor, Adam groped his way to the door and let the daylight stream in. The TARDIS had landed in an alley facing on a busy street. He stood in the doorway, watching London go by, until his whole world began to pitch and sway. He gripped the door frame in alarm, at first wondering just how bad his concussion was, how the Doctor's diagnosis could have been so off. But then the screams coming from the street told him that the motion was not in his head. "Doctor!" he shouted.
The Time Lord was out the door a minute later, staring up in disbelief at a sky that had gone from broad daylight to the dark of night in an instant. And it was more than just a time shift; the various planets floating above, where only the moon should have been, testified to that.
"Where are we?" asked Adam, and the Doctor for once was speechless.
As soon as the Doctor heard the horribly familiar metallic cries of "EXTERMINATE!" he shoved Adam back into the TARDIS, slammed the door, and headed for his workshop. A little bit of jiggery-pokery later, an old salvaged asteroid laser had become a gun capable of piercing Dalek armor.
Adam watched in surprise as he worked. "But you hate guns."
"You've met one Dalek. Now imagine an army of them." The Doctor's face was dark as his voice – like an oncoming storm, Adam thought. Where did that image come from?
"So what's the plan?"
"Well, we know just two people in this entire universe. Fortunately, they both have experience fighting Daleks. So we try to find them."
"And how do you propose to do that?"
"I don't know, all right?" he snapped. "I'm winging it here. But it will work out. It always does."
The Doctor crouched low behind a car abandoned in the middle of the street, and watched the old man's futile attempt to blind a Dalek with a paintgun. He loved the pluck and perseverance of the human race, but this particular instance bordered on foolhardy, and it was sure to cost the man and his middle-aged companion dearly.
You have a limited number of shots; you've got to make them count. You can't save everyone. He tried to creep away, but his feet wouldn't obey; he couldn't just move on and leave this couple to get slaughtered. Resigned to his own interference, he stood up and yelled, "Oi, pepper pot! This is your one warning: Leave them alone."
The Dalek swung around to fix him in the blue light of its eyestalk. "EXTERM–"
The old man ran past the smoking remains of the Dalek to shake his hand. "Bless you, sir! I thought for sure we were done for. Wilfred Mott is my name; this is my daughter, Sylvia."
"Nice to meet you, Wilfred, Sylvia. This is Adam, and I'm the Doctor."
Wilfred's reaction took him by surprise. "You most certainly are not! I've met the Doctor, sir. My granddaughter is with him right now. I'm quite grateful to you, but you are no Doctor."
The Doctor glanced at Adam. "Let me guess: skinny bloke, lots of hair, suit and tie, blue box?"
"So you do know him, then?"
"We're…" The Doctor hesitated.
"They're brothers," Adam said.
"Brothers with the same rubbish nickname?" asked Sylvia in disbelief.
"It's not a nick– Long story," said the Doctor. "So then you must be Rose's family."
"Rose? No. Donna, Donna Noble, that's my granddaughter."
At the thought that something might have happened to Rose, the Doctor felt a fear as great as any the Daleks could inspire. But it changed to relief an instant later, as Wilf prattled on, "Mind you, Donna and Rose are thick as thieves, it sounds like. Sometimes I get the impression they gang up on that poor old Doctor."
"It's very important that I reach them. Do you have a way of getting in touch?"
"No," Wilf said. "I mean, I do, I've got a mobile number. But I've been trying it since this whole thing started, and I can't get through."
"Daleks must be blocking the signal." The Doctor folded his arms, tapping a foot in frustrated thought.
Wilfred gestured to a nearby house. "Well, listen, why don't you come inside? We'll have a cuppa while the world falls apart, and we'll figure out what to do next."
And that was how the Ninth Doctor of Pete's World came to be in the right place at the right time, albeit lacking a webcam, when Harriet Jones' subwave network sought out anyone with a connection to his counterpart.
