Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.
Warnings: PG-13
Chapter Nine: With His Winds... The Oncoming Storm takes his revenge.

A/N: The title of this chapter and of Chapter Seven are part of an Elizabethan phrase regarding the fate of the Spanish Armada. Because once I started doing the research, it was just TOO obvious.

I apologize for the lack of response on my part, and the randomness of posting these chapters. My fall has been somewhat hectic, although that's not much of an excuse, I know. Please forgive me, and I'll try to do better in the coming weeks.


Chapter Nine: With His Winds

The TARDIS's systems were more complicated than Martha had ever understood, but even she knew when the ship was having trouble. Her mobile had been plugged into the circuitry for ten minutes, with the Doctor typing furiously at the console, his glasses perched on his nose, before the grin swept over his face.

"Hang on tight," he said, barely glancing at her. "If it's half as bumpy as it was before, we're in for a ride."

Martha wrapped her arm around the nearest strut, and watched as the various gears and devices began to spin. The Doctor raced around the console, trying to hold the ship together, and when Martha saw the wheels turning, she let go of the strut and fell onto the console to help.

"Hold that down!" shouted the Doctor. "I'm not sure where it's taking us!"

"How can you not be sure!" yelled Martha. "Didn't you check?"

"Not in so many words!"

"Are you completely insane, or just stupid!" Martha yelled, and the TARDIS landed with a thump, nearly knocking itself over in the process. They both fell to the floor, and Martha banged her elbow hard against the grating. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. The Doctor, she knew, wasn't going to notice, and she wasn't about to stoop to pointing it out to him. He'd already jumped to his feet and was flinging the doors open.

"What?" she heard him shriek, and she jumped to her feet, pulled her mobile out of the TARDIS console, and shoved it in her jeans pocket before joining the Doctor outside.

The world was green and grey with very little in between. The grass beneath supplied the green, rich and thick and never-ending. The grey was the sea beyond, which blended into the sky. Martha might have thought the sea continued above their heads, the color being exactly the same. There was a wind whipping down the rolling green landscape, lifting her hair as well as the Doctor's, and it was unusually cold for the beginning of August. The air felt dense and thick, and carried the dusty, musty smell of rain on the horizon.

"Scotland," said the Doctor with wonder. "We're in Scotland."

"Where's Rose?" asked Martha, but before the Doctor could answer, there was a shout from behind the TARDIS. They both turned to see a royal guard approaching on horseback, galloping quickly toward them.

"Halt! Identify yourselves!" the guard barked at them as soon as the horse pulled up.

The Doctor instantly put his hands in the air, and Martha followed suit. "I'm the Doctor and this is Martha Jones."

The guard nodded curtly. "Come with me."

The Doctor gave him a quick once-over. "Ah, no, I think I'll stay, thanks much."

"Apologies, Doctor," said the guard, and the sound of galloping reached them moments before the sight of ten other guardsmen appeared over the crest of the hill. "We are under orders from Her Royal Grace, Queen Elizabeth, to escort you and your companions, should you have them, to her side as soon as possible."

"Escort?" asked Martha wryly, and the Doctor glanced back at the sea behind him.

"Right then," he said. "Lead on, good sir."


Martha wasn't sure how she knew the queen was angry, because Elizabeth angry looked much the same as Elizabeth calm. It might have had to do with the absence of lips when she was angry. Certainly, Elizabeth was pinching her mouth so tightly, it didn't look like she had a mouth at all.

"Where is Janie?" she demanded the moment that the Doctor and Martha stepped into the royal tent, less a tent than a mobile castle. "You have tried our patience, Doctor, and overstepped your bounds in removing Doctor Jones from our company before we released her from service. We demand to know your whereabouts for the last three weeks."

The Doctor blinked. "Three weeks?"

"Yes, three weeks," snapped Elizabeth. "The last anyone saw of you was aboard the deck of the Rosario, and now three weeks later we find you gallivanting across the Scottish shore. Doctor, you grow too fond of your head being attached to your shoulders. Furthermore, you still have not said where Janie is."

"We know where Janie is," said Martha quickly. She fell to her knees before the queen, and reached up to try to pull the Doctor down as well, but he did not budge. "We have spent the last three weeks tracking her here, Majesty, waiting for the proper time to rescue her. Our man aboard the Spanish ship has given us what information we need, and our plans have been laid."

Elizabeth rested her cool eyes on Martha for another moment before flashing to the Doctor. "Is what she says true?"

"Oh, you can trust Martha Jones," said the Doctor. "Just a bit of time, that's all we need."

"Time, Doctor," said Elizabeth curtly, "is one thing of which you never seem to run out. We will let you go, but you will return here with Janie safe, Doctor. I must have your word."

"Or I will chop my head off for you myself, your Grace," replied the Doctor, far too cheerful for Martha's liking, and when Elizabeth nodded, he took Martha's hand and ran back out of the tent, racing in the direction of the TARDIS on the shore.

As soon as they were out of sight of the encampment, Martha slowed, holding her side. She could tell the Doctor was itching to keep running, but he stayed nearby, waiting for her to catch her breath. "Really, Martha, falling to your knees?"

"What are we going to do?"

"Save Rose," he said automatically, eyes scanning the horizon, where they could just make out the sea.

"Right," said Martha. "How? And how do we produce Janie if you don't have her yet?"

The Doctor glanced at her. "What do you know?"

"Not very much, apparently."

"You were with Elizabeth for a entire day and not once did it occur to you, 'Oh, hello, perhaps I should ask how Elizabeth knows Janie'?"

"Even if I did," said Martha, irritable, "it's not like I could tell you anything about her without messing up the time lines, could I?"

The Doctor grimaced at her, and turned back to the horizon. Martha stood straight up, gingerly feeling the stitch in her side, before remembering the mobile in her jeans. "My mobile's recharged – we could try calling Rose again."

"I'm trying," muttered the Doctor. "I can't feel her out there. Whatever was blocking me from sensing her before – it's still there."

Martha sighed and flipped open the phone, listening to it ring Rose's mobile. As she waited, the Doctor turned around to look at her, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets, eyes creased and worried.

"She's not answering," said Martha, unable to look at him.

"I know," replied the Doctor, voice thick.

"She always answers."

"She does."

"Doctor—"

"He said she'd die in battle," said the Doctor suddenly. He turned back to the sea. "On Krop Tor – the Beast. Satan. Whatever you want to call it. The child would die in battle. Then there was a battle, Martha – at Torchwood, when your cousin died. Rose died too. I lost her."

"She didn't die," said Martha, lowering the mobile. The connection to Rose's mobile continued to ring. "You got her back."

"There was a battle three weeks ago."

"You talked to her afterwards."

"Do we know that for sure?"

Martha snapped the ringing mobile shut and grabbed the Doctor by the shoulder, swinging him around. "Stop it," she hissed. "Rose is alive. Do you hear me? Rose is alive. She's out there somewhere, and we're going to find her. I don't know what told you that Rose would die, but you know what? We all die eventually, even you. But it's not going to be today. So pull your thick head out of the bloody sand and move."

The Doctor blinked for a moment, and the lost, haunted look in his eyes disappeared. He looked down at Martha, and for a moment, Martha thought she was seeing a different Doctor – an older one, a wiser one, and a far more frightening one.

"Thank you, Martha," he said, his voice oddly calm.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Doctor?"

"Oh, she's still not there," he said, and he took her hand. "But you're right. She won't die today. And I know how to find her."


Rose breathed a sigh of relief when her mobile stopped vibrating in her stomacher. It tickled, and the last thing she wanted to do just then was laugh. After all, it doesn't look very well when the prisoner laughs as she is tied to the mast on the flagship of the Spanish Armada. Not very well at all.

Even if her hands had not been firmly tied down, Rose would not have answered the call. It would only be the Doctor, and the last thing Rose wanted was for him to learn where she was, and therefore come to rescue her, bringing the TARDIS with him. She was safe, as long as the TARDIS remained very far away. The duke believed the TARDIS would come for her – he wasn't far wrong. Rose believed it too, and that was the problem.

Grimly, Rose watched the captains on the far end of the deck, all arguing amongst themselves. She wasn't sure what they were saying – they were too far away, their accents were too thick, and the wind was picking up enough to blow their voices away from her. Besides, Rose didn't much want to know – she suspected they argued about her, and what to do with her. Julio was in the thick of it, arguing just as loudly if not more so than the rest, but none of them seemed to pay him any heed, as if he were truly the ghost they believed him to be, and not an actual captain any longer.

Perhaps that was why he gave up after some time and walked over to her, looking upset and grim.

"Are your bonds comfortable, senorita?" he asked courteously through gritted teeth, and Rose couldn't decide if she felt sorry for him or just annoyed.

"Oh, they'll do," she said airily. "How goes the reunion over there?"

Julio glanced back at the captains. "They look right through me sometimes, as if I do not exist. Perhaps I don't."

"I'm fairly certain I exist, and if I'm here, so are you," said Rose.

"How is that? How did we come by here, lady?" asked Julio, his eyes boring down into hers. "I recall only my ship in flames, and you in the corridor, and then you woke me below deck. Did I die?"

"No," said Rose.

"They believe I did. Perhaps it is true. But – I do not remember heaven. If I was in heaven and charged to come here, as they believe – as I told them – I do not remember it."

"You didn't die," repeated Rose.

"Then how were we on the burning San Salvador three weeks ago, only to wake up here and now off the shores of Scotland?"

Rose sighed, glancing over at the captains. "Look at them, Julio. Really look at them. Can't you tell? There's something wrong, when you look in their eyes, like they're wearing masks."

Julio frowned. "We wear no masks. We have no need for them."

"You hide behind your spirits, what are those if not masks?" countered Rose. "The worst sort, too – they're masking what they really are, even to you who wear them. They're not good spirits, Julio – they're lying to you. They're something far more sinister and alien, and they're feeding off of you the whole time."

Julio turned sharply and stepped away from her. Rose bit her lip, certain she'd said too much. Julio was the enemy – but he was still the closest thing to an ally she had on the Armada, and the only one other than the Duke who dared speak to her.

"We'll let you go when your Doctor comes with his TARDIS," said Julio, his voice short and clipped. "The spirits want only the TARDIS, not you."

"He won't come," said Rose. "He can't. He won't let you take the TARDIS from him."

Julio laughed. "Not even to save you? He loves you, I saw it."

"You didn't see everything," said Rose before she thought, and Julio turned back to her.

"What do you mean? Explain yourself, senorita."

"Nothing," said Rose quickly, but Julio's fingers reached out to her again, and though she strained against the ties, she could not dart away from him. His fingertips were warm despite the chill, and wet with sea spray. Rose braced herself, trying desperately to hide her last secret deep, burying it under everything else she ever knew, and thought she'd succeeded when she saw Julio frown.

"I see nothing," he said, but even Rose could tell he was unconvinced, and it did not surprise her when he turned to the captains. "Brothers!" he shouted to them, his voice carrying on the wind. "The woman hides something! Come closer, and learn from her. I cannot see it."

The captains immediately stopped their arguments, and strode forward. As the duke, who led them, came closer to Rose, she could see more clearly the dark, blank look in his eyes, the taut skin across his cheekbones. She wondered if perhaps the Spanish were the ones who were the ghostly dead, and not she and Julio, and she straightened her back, prayed she'd buried the baby far enough under everything else, and waited for the onslaught to reach her.

The duke's cold, clammy hand clapped on her cheek. Rose recoiled, struck by the memory of the Doctor doing so in a completely different context. The duke's hand stuck to her, however, and she closed her eyes tight, not wanting to see him standing opposite her. It was different from when Julio had done it back on the San Salvador – there, she'd barely been able to feel him sift through her thoughts, but now the duke invaded them and tossed discarded ideas from one side to the other, as Rose raced behind trying to tidy the mess. He was far stronger than Julio had been, which made some degree of sense – the Demuti had lived in the duke's body for three weeks longer. Just as Rose began to worry that she hadn't done well enough, the duke let out a breaking laugh and pulled away from her, out of her mind, and turned to the others.

"Brothers," he hissed in the flowing, slithering Demuti voice. "She is with child – the Time Lord's child!"

The captains murmured together. "A child…a child…a child…"

Rose opened her eyes to see Julio staring at her, his face drained of color. His eyes darted back and forth between Rose's face and her stomach. Rose held her breath, suddenly desperately afraid of the rest of the men, but any thought she might have had for his assistance was dashed when he spoke.

"A gift," he said, low.

"Not for you," replied Rose, and turned away. The only place left to turn, however, was to the duke and the captains, now advancing behind him, circling around her, closing in. Their faces were skeletal, with manic wide grins and gaunt, sunken cheeks. The eyes were dark and hollow, and they resembled the creature Rose had seen in the mirror more than they did human beings.

"We shall use her before the TARDIS arrives," announced the Duke, and the captains behind him linked themselves together, hands touching shoulders, to form a massive chain as the Duke leaned toward Rose and locked his cold lips over hers.

It was not a kiss – there was no exchange, not of love nor hate. Their lips simply touched, two open pipes butting against each other. Rose could feel her very breath flow from her like water, spilling out into the duke. The only thing holding her up was the thick ropes around her arms and waist, and she dared not close her eyes, which widened as she saw the Duke grow darker and larger as he fed. A dull glow emanated from behind him, as the captains fed from him through their links, and as Rose began to faint, she realized the glow was turquoise.

Her turquoise – her glow, her force, her life. They were eating her away.

Just before Rose blacked out entirely, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the TARDIS materialize. And then she was gone.


The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS onto the deck of the ship, his face set, Martha close behind. She carried a duffel with her, and before anyone noticed them, she had scurried away, just to the side, taking care to stay low and unnoticed, and the Doctor afforded one glance at her before he tore his eyes away. She had her own work to do.

The Doctor couldn't quite see Rose behind the captains, but he could see the turquoise glow around them, and instantly recognized it for what it was. It was everything he could do not to lash out then and destroy them, but to do that would be to certainly kill Rose as well, and besides, he had a better plan. He took a single step out and put his hands in his trouser pockets, and called out. "Let go of her."

The Duke broke away from Rose, more Demuti than human, and Rose slumped over, unmoving. The captains moved to the side, grins stretching across their faces, and he heard their collective, hissing voices call out in tandem, "Tarrrrrdiiissss…"

"Mine," said the Doctor. "All of which you have taken from me – mine. I demand you return it to me."

The Duke laughed and stretched his arms wide. "We have taken for a greater cause."

"I doubt that."

"For the life of my species."

"What sort of species is that, one who feeds on others to survive?" challenged the Doctor. "You create war and chaos and leave only destruction in your wake. You feed on the very lives of those you inhabit. Such a species does not deserve to continue."

"Do you refer to us, Doctor, or yourself?"

"I don't kill in order to survive," said the Doctor.

"I beg to differ," said the Duke smoothly. "The Nestene Consciousness, the Gelth, the Sycorax, the Rachnoss. The Daleks, Doctor. The Time Lords – all dead, by your hand. You are not above us."

The Doctor stared at the Duke, never flinching. "I do not take innocent lives." He could see, just barely, movement near Rose, and thought it might have been her bonds falling away. He did not take a closer look.

"She was not so innocent," said the Duke. "She is more like you than she cares to admit – and she will leave you in the end, Doctor, make no mistake."

The Doctor smiled then, noting the tense. "Oh, yes," he said, his voice just a bit warmer. "I'm sure she will. I'll give you one chance. Leave this planet and these people, or join the list."

The Duke grinned. "No."

The Doctor saw Martha then, just to the side, and she grinned at him too – but this grin was far different, and the duffel was limp at her feet. The Doctor turned back to the Duke and shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and aimed the cellular disruptor at the darkening sky, firing. Instantly the clouds began to roll and rumble. They flashed with lightening and electricity, and the air around them became charged. The pressure began to drop, and with it, the wind picked up. Save the Doctor, who stood firm through all of this, every person faltered, stumbling just a bit, and the Doctor could see another man – Julio, perhaps – trying desperately to support Rose as he fell toward Martha, who just barely caught them.

"Bit nippy, isn't it?" the Doctor shouted above the wind. "Shift in the weather? Storm's coming in. Last chance, Captain. Time to go."

"Perhaps," said the Duke, and lunged for the Doctor, who easily spun and pulled the cutlass from the sailor's belt before letting the man stumble back away.

"Sluggish?" he commented, twirling the weapon. "Air pressure seems to have dropped a bit – odd for so far north. Wouldn't expect a hurricane off Scotland, would you?"

He could see Martha and Julio plainly now, with Rose between them. Her head hung to her side; she was clearly unconscious, but they were at the TARDIS doors now. Martha stopped, resting against them, watching the Doctor and waiting.

The Duke lunged for the Doctor again, and fell to the deck. The Doctor stood over him, resting his foot on the man's neck, and pointed the cutlass at him. He was breathing rapidly, gasping for air, and the Doctor stared, his mouth a thin line.

"You lose," said the Doctor quietly, and there was a crack and shake of thunder above.

Around them, the captains began to fall to the deck, one by one, their bodies hitting the ground with thumps as the air pressure around the ships fell rapidly. Martha and Julio, protected by the TARDIS, would not lose consciousness, but the Doctor watched with stern eyes as the rest of the crew were unable to keep their wits in the vacuum. The duke's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and the Doctor stepped back, his cutlass rising to follow the ghostly form of the Demuti as it left the unconscious body and rose to join its kin in the air. A thin, turquoise loop circled them, but slowly dissipated, flowing like raindrops toward a point behind the Doctor, back to Rose.

The thunder continued to roll, and the wind howled around them. The Doctor kept the cutlass high. "Leave this ship!" he roared as the rain began to fall.

"With our TARDIS or not at all," hissed the Demuti, speaking as one.

"I told you before," said the Doctor. "My TARDIS."

The lightening struck, crackling down to the ship, and instantly found the metal disks which Martha had placed in a circle around the captains. The discs sparked and flared into life, shooting out frissons of energy back and forth between each other, creating a bright glowing web which went over the comatose bodies on the deck and through the ghostly grey Demuti, who began to scream as they burned away to dust. Lightening continued to strike at the disks, over and over, until it looked as if the Demuti themselves were on fire. The last to burn was the largest ghost of all, who raised his hand to point at the Doctor before he turned to ash and blew away.

The rain fell, dampening the embers, and the wind grew stronger still. The Doctor dropped the cutlass, suddenly able to breathe again as the air rushed in. He turned back to the TARDIS, his only thought being Rose, just as a final strike of lightening hit the mast, which cracked and fell to the deck between them.

"Doctor!" screamed Martha, still holding Rose. "The ships are breaking apart! We have to get out of here!"

There was one last thing, the Doctor realized, before he could go. "Working on it!" he shouted back to Martha, and he knelt beside the prone body of the duke. A quick blast with the sonic screwdriver, and the duke began to blink, slowly waking.

"Who—"

"Never mind," said the Doctor quickly. "Wake your men and take your ships apart. I cannot stop the storm coming and most of you will not survive."

Martha's voice cut through everything. "Doctor!"

The Doctor sprang to his feet and scrambled over the mast, pushing Martha, Rose and Julio inside, never once looking back to see if the Duke had listened to his words. He did not see the Duke rise and stare as the TARDIS faded from sight, nor did he see as the others were slowly prodded to wakefulness as the ships were tossed from wave to wave in the worst storm the Spanish had ever known.


Julio de Santiago watched from shore as the Spanish Armada was destroyed. It did not take long. Once tied together for protection, the storm broke the ships apart and scattered them to the winds, pulled the mastheads down and flung sailors to the mercy of the waves. The same rain which drowned his countrymen rolled down Julio's skin, but he did not shiver or huddle into the blanket for warmth. He merely watched until the storm had passed, and all that lay on the horizon were a fraction of the ships which had been there before it began.

He heard footsteps behind him, and knew it was the girl called Martha, the one who had given him the blanket when he had refused to go inside the blue box on the grassy shore. He did not turn to look at her. "Most of them won't survive the trip back to Spain," said Martha. "They'll crash off of Ireland, and the Irish will kill the rest."

"Don Alonso," said Julio.

"The duke? Oh, he lives. Your king even forgives him, if I remember correctly."

Julio wrapped the blanket tighter then. "Don Alonso – he would not have tried to hurt her. Not a pregnant woman. He—"

"He wasn't himself," said Martha, sitting next to him. "There was something possessing him. All of them."

"We welcomed it," said Julio slowly. "We trusted they were angels, and we welcomed them. But I saw them change, as they killed her. I saw what they were. They were demons."

"Not demons," said Martha. She bit her lip. "It's not your fault. Most of us – we would have done the same, I think. We all want to believe we're doing the right thing."

"I have lost my faith."

Martha found his hand and squeezed it, suddenly inexplicably sad.

"The lady – Rose. Is she—"

Martha hesitated. "She'll be all right. She's asleep now."

"And the child?"

"Baby too."

Julio let out the breath he'd been holding. He could hear galloping in the distance, but did not turn to look at it. The only thing he wanted to see was the ships on the distant horizon.

"Don't go back to Spain," said Martha, low, before scrambling to her feet and turning toward the approaching horses. "And get up."

He did not move, and so he did not see who rode the horses which had stopped behind him. Nor did he see who walked toward them with rustling footsteps.

"Doctor Jones," said the cool voice, in tones which he could not place as male or female. "You survived the Protestant Storm."

"Ma'am," said Martha, and Julio felt her kick him.

"The hand of God, I think," continued the voice, and Julio kept his eyes on the remains in the water. "Or your Doctor? I wonder. Who is this?"

"Our spy aboard the Spanish vessels, ma'am," said Martha.

Julio looked sharply up to Martha. "Spy?"

The other woman sniffed. "We thought as much. I have trusted the Doctor before, and look what has been my reward. Does this spy of yours stand, or must we forever see only the back of his head?"

"Get up," whispered Martha through clenched teeth, and Julio looked over his shoulder. He had only seen her picture once, and she might have been thirty years younger at the time, but it did not matter. Queens did not age, especially not this one, and Julio scrambled to his feet, suddenly entirely too aware of his neck.

"Your majesty," he said, bowing as low as he dared, and hoping the back of his head did not tempt her.

He heard the queen sniff. "Hmm. Doctor Jones, where is Janie?"

"Ah…."

The queen sighed, most exasperated. "And you, Spaniard, what do you call yourself?"

"Julio de Santiago, captain of the San Salvador."

"Your ship burned three weeks ago."

"I was aboard it when it did."

"It was a good ship."

"I mourn its loss, and that of my men who died with it."

"Are you our man, or do you belong to the Spanish, captain?"

Julio forgot his place and nearly fell over in his rush to look at her. "Majesty?"

"You did not seem to favor the idea of being a spy, so we think the question appropriate enough. Are you mine or Phillip's? Quickly now, the Doctor owes England a head and it might as well be yours."

"I have no wish to return to Spain," said Julio, and beside him, Martha breathed a sigh of relief. Elizabeth gave a curt nod.

"Very well, then. When this is all over, there may be a ship for you. And you, Doctor Jones, do not look quite so relieved. Did Janie—" The queen faltered for a moment, and Julio saw something flash in her eyes – pain of some kind. "Did she die in the storm?"

"No," said Martha firmly. "She didn't. You can be very sure of that."

It seemed to Julio that Elizabeth nearly slumped in relief then, but she only gave a quick nod. "Your Doctor still owns his head, then," she said. "Captain, with me. Doctor Jones, give the Doctor the message. He will not return to this isle until he can do so with Janie standing next to him. Or we shall allow our men to shoot first, and learn the reason why later."

Martha swallowed. It certainly explained a great deal about the hasty departure she and the Doctor had been forced to make after their time with Shakespeare. "Yes, ma'am," she said as the queen turned and swept away.

Julio looked over his shoulder to the ruins of the Armada on the water. "I should thank him," he said, and Martha shook her head.

"Just go," she told him. "And Julio –"

He waited, his blue eyes sad and lost. Martha wondered if it was the right thing to say, and said it anyway.

"Find it again, won't you? Your faith. It's still a good thing."

Julio held her gaze for a moment before nodding and turning away. Martha watched as he followed the queen past the next hill. He did not look at the water again.