A/N:: So, it's been way too long, but here's my update. I actually have through the beginning of the New York Dalek episodes, but I haven't proofread them though. I'm starting my freshmen year of high school, which is why my updates have been all slow, but I hope to start doing better.

Disclaimer:: Nothing's changed in the past five months. I still don't own crap.


Rose leapt to her feet, yanked instantly out of the slight doze she allowed herself to drift into, almost completely out the door before the scream had even finished. When she was about halfway down the hallway, she heard Martha catching up just behind her, and felt bad for leaving the girl behind when something dangerous was out there. Such thoughts were erased however, when Rose rounded a corner and burst into Shakespeare's room.

The playwriter woke with a startled jump when the two crashed into his room, Rose instantly on her knees to examine Dolly's body. Martha dashed toward the window, the only way the attacker could have even dreamed to escape.

"Wha'? What was that?" He yelled still somewhat sleepily. Martha stared in absolute shock and horror when she saw the silhouette of a witch on a broom darting across the sky in a high arc. She sucked in a breath, her fingers tightening on the windowsill as Rose moved her hand away from the woman's body, looking up between Shakespeare and Martha in stunned silence for a second.

"Her heart gave out. She literally died of fright."

"Rose?" Martha's voice shook in an odd type of fright, more like confusion. Nevertheless, it prompted Rose to stand and join the other at the window.

"What did you see?"

"A witch."


Shakespeare sat at his desk, his face buried in his hands for a moment. Martha sat at the table as well, and Rose leaned against the wall in the corner once more, though she paced occasionally up and down the room, deep in thought. She wore the sky blue t-shirt from the past night, her jacket laying on the table a few feet in front of her. Martha wore the same clothes as before, though she wore her jacket. The silence was broken by the man's voice.

"Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey. She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place. We all ran like rats. But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit!" Rose smiled a sad, ironic smile, looking toward the ceiling.

"Fear keeps us human in the endless abyss of the night." She said to herself, and only Martha got the irony in the quote.

"I might use that." Shakespeare piped up, but Rose shook her head.

"You can't. It's someone else's." Martha, on the other hand, tried to get the not-conversation back on track.

"But the thing is, Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright and they were both connected to you."

"You're accusing me?" He snapped, indignantly.

"No, but I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away, and you've written about witches." Rose jerked forward, shooting Martha a warning glare. Shakespeare, on the other hand, looked confused and interested.

"I have? When was that?"

"Not, not quite yet." Rose said, taking her eyes from Martha and looking out the window at the rising sun, her mind rolling as she thought back to every bit of literature the TARDIS had shown her, scouring her mind for any information that could help.

"Peter Streete spoke of witches." Shakespeare said suddenly, jerking up as he made the connection.

"Who's Peter Streete?" Martha asked, looking at him intently.

"Our builder. He sketched the plans to the Globe." Rose leaped forward from her spot, pacing up and down the room in such a way you would almost think her mad as she started to ramble to herself.

"Peter Streete.. The builder.. The architect. Hang on... The architect of The Globe spoke of witches!" She reached forward and snatched her jacket up off the table, dashing for the door. "Come on then!" She rushed off, followed closely behind by Martha and Shakespeare.


Rose stayed in the pit, the audience area, while Shakespeare and Martha stood on the stage, staring at her like she might just be a bit mad. She paced even faster now, the rustling sound of the hay beneath her feet became almost like white noise to the unlikely trio.

"There are fourteen columns right? Fourteen sides? I wonder.. Tell me, Will, why 14 sides?" Shakespeare just shrugged.

"I don't know.. It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that's all. Said it carried the sound well."

"That number sounds familiar.. Way too familiar.." She paced faster, her left hand on the back of her neck, the other on the back of her head. "Fourteen... Fourteen.."

"There are 14 lines in a sonnet." Martha offered.

"You're right. That's a good point Martha Jones... Like the words and shapes are all following the same design." She paused her pacing for a moment, turning in a circle to view the entirety of the theatre. "14 lines, 14 sides..…God my head is starting to hurt.. The Globe's a tetradecagon... Fourteen.." Martha looked like she was trying to follow along, while Shakespeare rolled his eyes.

"But this is just a theatre." He argued.

"A theatre can be magic, can't it? You of all people should know. You stand on this stage and say the right thing at the right time in the right way, you can make men cry, change lives, change minds with just words. And my theory is... if you exaggerate that.." She trailed off, looking for the correct way to explain.

"It's like you're police box. Small wooden box with all that power just shoved inside." Martha tried, though it was more of a question. Rose stopped, turned, and gave a small smile.

"Just decided I like you Martha Jones."

"You just decided that?" She asked, frowning slightly, but she was unable to keep it for long, Rose's smile was infectious, even if it was small.

"Yep.. Tell you what, though. Peter Streete would probably have some sort of answer... Can I talk to him?" Walking back toward the stage, Rose looked to Shakespeare as she asked that. He just frowned and shrugged.

"You won't get an answer. A month after finishing this place... lost his mind."

"Why? What happened?" Martha took the words right out of her mouth.

"Started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled." Rose and Martha looked at each other, a current of understanding passing between them. There was no way that could be a coincidence.

"Where is he now?" Rose questioned, already having decided to find him and try to get an answer anyway.

"Bedlam." Her face darkened in recognition. She'd heard of Bedlam, listening in on many of the citizens conversations the past night when her and Martha were enjoying the town. Obviously Martha hadn't done the same, because she asked.

"What's Bedlam?"

"Bethlem Hospital. The madhouse."

"That's where we're going then. Come on." And without another word, she headed for the exit. Martha dashed after her, as did Shakespeare.

"Wait! I'm coming with you. I want to witness this at first hand!" He yelled as he followed. He paused for a second as two young actors entered the area. He turned towards them, all business. "Ralph, the last scene as promised. Copy it, hand it round. Learn it. Speak it. Back before curtain up. Remember, kid, project. Eyes and teeth. You never know — the Queen might turn up." After that, he turned on his heel and dashed after the two young women, almost all the way down the street by then. "As if. She never does." He muttered to himself, catching up with Martha. "So," He started, looking her over. "tell me of Freedonia, where women can be doctors, writers, actors."

"This country's ruled by a woman." She pointed out, but he waved a hand dismissively.

"Ah, she's royal. That's God's business." He paused, seemingly thought. "Though you are a royal beauty." She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him, looking affronted.

"Whoa, Nelly! I know for a fact you've got a wife in the country."

"Ah.. but Martha, this is Town." He purred back at her, smiling as he did so. Rose stopped and turned to face them, rolling her eyes and looking more than a little bit irritated.

"Would you two hurry up? We can all have a good flirt later." He just raised his eyebrows and looked at her.

"Is that a promise, Rose?" She rolled her eyes, the image of Jack flashing up in her mind. Oh if he were here... They could co-captain the innuendo squad. The phrase brought up warm memories from a happier time, and she smiled ever so much, before remembering sharply that Jack was dead and Mickey and The Doctor were both in a parallel universe. The smile vanished and her next words were sharper than she intended them to be.

"Would you two just come on?!" She barked, turning and walking away, not bothering to see if they followed.


Loud screams and moans sounded as the Rose, Martha and Shakespeare were led through the halls of Bethlem hospital. The light from the candlelight was dim, giving the walls an eerie appearance, and nearly everything was covered in at least one layer of grime. The smell alone was nauseating for Martha, but Rose felt her stomach twist in sympathy the walls seemed to retain the raw energy of misery. Perhaps it was in her biology, but she picked up on it, felt it. It was horrible. She winced and kept walking, doing her best to ignore it. The Jailer grinned a maniacal grin.

"Do my lord and ladies, wish some entertainment while they waits? I'd whip these madmen. They'll put on a good show for ya. Bandog and Bedlam!" He shouted, sounding almost exited by the idea. Rose fought the urge to give him the signature Tyler Slap.

"No, I don't!" She barked furiously, and the Jailer almost quailed under the intensity of her gaze.

"Wait here, my lord, while I make him decent for the ladies." He muttered toward Shakespeare, vanishing down the hallway. Martha rounded on the remaining man, looking both angry and upset.

"So this is what you call a hospital, yeah? Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry? And you put your friend in here?" She sounded horrified by the idea.

"Oh, and it's all so different in Freedonia." He retorted.

"But you're clever! Do you honestly think this place is any good?" His face darkened, and he looked away, toward the end of the hallway.

"I've been mad. I've lost my mind. Fear of this place set me right again. It serves its purpose."

"What do you mean, mad? In what way?" Martha asked, gentler this time, but Shakespeare didn't answer. It was Rose who said it, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

"You lost your son." Shakespeare nodded, his dark expression never fading as he continued where Rose stopped.

"My only boy. The Black Death took him. I wasn't even there." An apologetic look spasmed across Martha's face, and she looked genuinely sorry as she looked at the man in a new light.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be... oh, that's quite good.." He said the last bit to himself, and Rose allowed herself a weak smile, nodding.

"You should really write that down." She encouraged. It almost made her smile to think about. Perhaps one of Shakespeare's most famous lines, just conceived in front of her. The Doctor would be- She stopped the thought there. She hated moments like this when she thought of Him. For her, it'd been about two hundred years now. She'd taken Donna's advice and learned to take care of herself better before she dared enter that hospital two days ago, but still, thought's of the Doctor plagued her. She moved her eyes from the two people in front of her to the ground as she heaved a sigh. Martha looked up at the sound of the sigh, but said nothing.

"Hm, maybe not. A bit pretentious?" Before anyone could say anything else, the Jailer appeared at the end of the hallway, beckoning them forward.

"This way!" He called, and the three of them made their way down the dank hallway toward Peter Streete's cell. The jailer unlocked the door and let them in, though he looked wary. He cast Rose an odd looking glance as she was the first through the doorway. "Watch out, they can be dangerous, m'lady. Don't know their own strength." She glared at him, dislike bubbling through her veins as she almost shoved past him.

"I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure it helps if you don't whip them! Now get out!" She snapped angrily, Martha walking after her and Shakespeare just behind her. The jailer left as Rose walked slowly and carefully toward Peter, who sat hunched over in a chair near the middle fo the room. She spoke kindly, her voice quiet and gentle as she closed to within a foot from him. "Peter? Peter Streete?" No answer, he seemed to have not heard her at all. "Peter?" She asked again, her voice low. Shakespeare was unimpressed.

"He's the same as he was. You'll get nothing out of him." Rose ignored him, laying a hand on Peter's shoulder, still talking to him gently. "Peter?" She asked again, and this time she got some kind of result. Peter's head jerked up quickly and he looked at Rose with wild, glassy eyes. His mouth opened, but no sound came out and he looked like he wanted to speak. She tried talking to him again, but with no result. Great.. That meant she'd have to try something she'd only practiced before, but never done. She reached back with her mind, feeling the far reaches of her consciousness where the song of the TARDIS sang nonstop. Her eyes slipped closed and she smiled a little bit as she spoke to the TARDIS, asking and confirming the actions she needed to take in order for her idea to work. About a full minute later she opened her eyes and looked back to Peter.

"What are you going to do?" Martha asked curiously from somewhere behind her. She had no real answer, no real way to explain it without taking forever and a half so she gave a flimsy grin.

"Something I've never done before." She knelt in front of Peter, her fingers going to each of his temples, brushing her mind against Peter's gently and, with occasional help from the TARDIS, she managed to reach a point of his mind that hadn't been addled yet. "Peter, My name's Rose. Go into the past, one year ago. Let your mind go back, back to when everything was good. Everything that happened in the year since, it all happened to somebody else. It was just a story. A winter's tale to scare young children. Let go. Listen. That's it, just let go." She put her hand against the man's shoulder, pushing him gently so he could lie out straight on the cot. "Tell me the story, Peter. Tell me about the witches." Peter suddenly started speaking and Martha and Shakespeare looked shocked.

"W-Witches spoke to Peter. In the night, they whispered. Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. Their design! The 14 walls — always 14. When the work was done..." He let out a maddened giggle, rocking back and forth a bit, "they snapped poor Peter's wits." Rose nodded, keeping a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me though, where did Peter see the witches? Where in the city?" She crouched beside the cot. "Peter, tell me. You've got to tell me where were they?" He grinned another maniacal grin before answering.

"All Hallows Street."

There was a loud screech and a figure that resembled the stereotypical broom-riding witch appeared beside Rose.

"Too many words!" She screamed, making Rose leap away in fright, retreating slightly to stand just in front of Martha, who looked on with wide eyes.

"What the hell?" She asked, as the witch put up one finger, waggling it tauntingly.

"Just one touch of the heart." She crooned, before tapping her hand upon Peter's chest, eliciting a scream from him before he fell into a slumber from which he wouldn't awaken. Rose looked livid as she did this, looking at Peter's now dead form.

"Witch! I'm seeing a witch!" Shakespeare yelped, looking a cross between excited and horrified.

"Who would be next, hmm? Just one touch." The witch jeered, taking a step toward them. "Oh, oh, I'll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals." Martha turned and slammed her hands upon the door, yelling in desperation.

"Let us out! Let us out!" Rose pulled her away from the wall, shaking her head.

"Martha, the entire building is screaming that. Really think it's going to work?"

"Who will die first, hmm?" The being asked again, pointing her finger to each one of them in turn. Rose put on a false smile, stepping forward with easily mimicked bravado.

"I suppose I will, if you're looking for volunteers." She said cheerily, looking her up an down with a curious grin. She took a few steps closer to the witch, tilting her head to the left ever so much.

"No! Don't!" Martha pleaded, reaching for Rose's arm, but she just jerked away, closer to the enemy, who had her finger outstretched menacingly. Shakespeare rose his voice over the loud cackles of the witch.

"Rose, can you stop her?" He asked, looking nothing more than mildly concerned at the prospect of his own death. In answer, the cackling being screeched in fury.

"No mortal has power over me!" Rose raised her eyebrows at that.

"You sure? I mean, you out of everyone here knows that there's massive power in words. All I have to do..." She tilted her head, "Is find the right one."

"None on Earth has knowledge of us!" She screamed. Rose gave a smirk, shoving her hands in her jean pockets and leaning backwards for a moment.

"Well, then it's a real good thing I'm here, isn't it? Let me see.. Humanoid female, one that uses shapes and words to channel energy, uses the number fourteen.." Something on the witch's face changed at mention of the number, and the TARDIS nudged against Rose's mind, supplying her with just the right information for the answer to piece itself together. "Fourteen!" She exclaimed excitedly. "There are fourteen stars in the Rexel planetary configuration." She looked almost unsure for a moment, before she declared: "Creature, I name you Carrionite!"

It appeared that she'd named the creature correctly, because she gave a final wail before disappearing.

"What did you do?" Martha asked breathlessly.

"I named her. The power of a name. That's really old magic.. Like really old."

"But there's no such thing as magic." She argued.

"Fine, think of it kind of like science. Like humans, they chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom. Carrionites do sort of the same thing, except they use words instead."

"Use them for what?" Will looked between the two young women who spoke quickly between themselves in a way he didn't understand. Rose gave a grim smile.

"The end of the world."


Whaddya think? Decent? Good? Great? Let me know in a review or a PM, either's fair game. Thank you for reading and I'll see you next chapter.

~TheFallenArchangel