Disclaimer:I recently realized I am just like RTD, except I am a woman, and not the owner of Doctor Who.
Whew, it's been long since my last update, apparently. I keep promising to cut the delays, but it doesn't seem to be working. So sorry! I'll tell you, though, I wish I actually felt time go by, because to me, it feels like two weeks, tops. Maybe this story, and your awesome, terrific REVIEWS can sustain me throughout this stupid year of National Service. I'll be replying them as soon as this chapter is up (even though I usually do it the other way around…)
Anyway, this chapter, as compensation, has a very special guest star, ladies and gentlemen: The Doctor! Don't know about you, but I certainly miss him.
Huge thanks to my intelligent, patient, and fascinating bata, Requialexa (of the land of LJ) and BluWine for pimping me out!
Enjoy!
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Chapter 8
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John looked away and fiddled around with the controls. Touching without really touching. He wasn't sure what he said, but it felt private and ugly and he enrolled every piece of willpower he possessed in order to push it away.
"This is extraordinary!" he gasped, changing the subject.
She smiled, "Frankly magnificent, actually."
Tim pursed his lips, seemingly starting to doubt himself.
Rose almost crashed on the floor with relief. For all she cared, they could wait this thing out in the TARDIS.
Things were starting to fall into place.
And then the Doctorscrewed everything up.
A hologram of him appeared before them. Clad in his usual striped suit and John Smith's face (no coat, though). Grinning like he had not a care in the world. Right bloody there. A bloody hologram. Rose almost doubled over with a jolting migraine.
He cleared his throat festively. "This is Emergency Program…Two?" He wrinkled his nose for a second, before shaking his head. "No. No, this is Emergency Program Three. Let's hope we never get to Two. Two is… not… especially nice. Or pleasant. Well, nice andpleasant are the same thing, so obviously it can't be one without the other, but still."
John gasped, "Oh my God!"
Rose gaped, and breathed, "No way." Her gaze traveled between John and the Doctor. "You've gotta be kidding me."
"That-that-that's me!" John called, pointing at his hologram, who had stopped arguing with itself over vocabulary issues and was now waiting impatiently for them to finish their discussion.
Tim pointed at him as well, with evident glee. "It's the Doctor! It's him- it's you! I told you!"
"Thanks a lot, Doctor," Rose murmured under her breath.
John jerked away from her, putting as much distance between them as possible. Her betrayal hit him like a dagger in the heart. More and more lies from his beautiful Rose. "He was right. Tim was right all along. You lied to me! Again!"
And again and again and again. Although, in her defense, it was at his request.
Rose emitted a silent sigh as she tried to edge closer to him. "Mr. Smith…"
He stepped back even further, face crumpling in revulsion. His hand crept suspiciously to his pocket, where she knew he still had the gun. "No!" he called. "D-d-don't you come near me, you deceitful woman!" As she feared, he pulled it out and kept shifting its aim between her heart and the Doctor's hologram. "I'm warning you! This is madness! Who are you? What do you want?"
Tim crashed to the floor, cradling his head between his knees. "It's him… it's Mr. Smith," he murmured. "He's… in the watch. Everything… all that is, all that was…"
"I'm not this Doctor!" John cried. "I can't be! It's impossible! He's… he's just a story!"
"Calm down, Mr. Smith, it's alright," she tried.
"… all that ever could be. Everything…" Tim continued.
Rose looked between the two, "Please, the both of you, this isn't-"
"… must come to dust."
"He's just a story I made up," John spat. "It can't-"
"Excuse me!" the Doctor waved.
The room fell silent as each of its occupants stared at the Doctor's image with their own individual version of horror.
"What's all this commotion?" He clicked his tongue. "A hologram trying to speak here!" He waited a moment, daring the silence to crack. When it didn't, he nodded. "Good, thank you. Now, listen, Rose. My thick human presence, along with other thick human presence-s-s…" he frowned in confusion. "Never mind. Hard to work around that one. Anyway, folks were detected here for more than ten minutes, which is… not good, I reckon."
Rose rolled her eyes, "It was just fine 'till you showed up."
The Doctor shook his head patronizingly. "Now, Rose, that's rude. I have no idea what you just said, but I imagine it was rude."
"I can do much worse," she muttered.
John shifted his gaze from his beloved and the… image. "What… is that?" he motioned their ongoing conversation with an incomprehensible wave. "How are you doing this? He looks just like me! How are you talking to it?"
She sighed, "It's not exactly talking, it's a… hologram thing. He just guesses what 'm going to say."
"Oi! Interrupting!" the Doctor called.
John froze, the next accusation stuck in his throat.
The Doctor nodded again. "I'd like to believe this is all your fault, Rose Tyler…"
"Don't bank on it, mate," she snapped.
"… but I suppose my thick human self might have gone and done something… you know, thick," he admitted with a sigh. "Either way, I hope to God you haven't lost the Watch, Rose." Her response was an annoyed eye-roll, which he ignored, and instead turned to look at her directly, startling both her and John. "You haven't, have you? Because now would be a good time to have my thick human self open it."
He tapped his foot expectantly against… well, nothing.
Tap, tap, tap.
Rose blinked, waiting for the rest.
John scratched behind his ear, the gun forgotten.
Well? They both seemed to think.
"Well?" the Doctor asked, vocalizing the general atmosphere. "Watch? Open it? Sometime between now and right now?" he nudged.
Rose's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. "That's it?" she hissed, utterly disbelieving. "That was the message? Open the watch? That's you're advice? I could have gotten there myself, thank you."
The Doctor shrugged. He scratched behind his ear, just as John was still doing, which caused the latter to drop his hand in dismay. "Oh!" he flashed her a triumphant grin. "I almost forgot. If you say foxy Doctor at any point while in the TARDIS, it'll release a sedative gas that would knock me out for about three days, and-"
The lights went out, causing the hologram to zap and disappear.
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"So, everything all clear? Crystal clear? Polished, super-clean crystal clear?"
Rose rolled her eyes and fought a tempting urge to take the poor, overworked mallet and bang its rightful owner's head. Repeatedly. One more time, and she might kill him. "Yes, Doctor, I think I got it," she assured him. "Do not open The Watch. Watch, not opening. Watch closed. Can we please move on?"
The Doctor frowned pensively and counted with his fingers, "Family, random time, human me, no memories, dangerous, hiding, low profile, aliases, responsibility…" He ran out of fingers and remained with both his palms wide open in front of his face. He pouted at them, being adorably stupid, as if they betrayed him for not having more fingers.
Sometimes Rose found herself thinking: The Oncoming Storm of what, exactly?
His eyes snapped to hers, seemingly realizing that she was thisclose to openly mocking him. "I think we just about covered everything… Unless, I don't know, have I mentioned that you mustn't open the watch?"
She grinned despite herself, "Possibly, you did."
"What's left, then?" he asked, genuinely interested.
Rose stared at him incredulously. "How about why we're doing this?"
"Because, they're after us."
"Them and half the galaxy? In various times and places? What's special 'bout this lot?"
He sighed, "It's different."
"Different how?" she pressed, inching closer.
"Different in a distinctively different way," he quipped, almost cheerfully.
Oh, thanks. Really helpful, that was. Rose was utterly and completely confused. True, the Doctor liked to run, but only until he figured out something else. Running per se was never really Plan A. Not even Daleks scared the Doctor into really running, so this… What could be worst than the Daleks? She shuddered to imagine. "Can't we just… stop them?" she asked, voice dropping to a near desperation.
The Doctor pursed his lips darkly, "Not this time."
Rose found that she was practically leaning on the Console for support. The finality in his voice shattered the last traces of her courage. "Why?"
The Doctor must have noticed her -frankly noticeable- distress, because he made a considerable effort to lighten up. "See, Rose, the thing is… you see… the thing…" his voice faded. It wasn't working. He turned from her, closed his eyes, took a deep alien breath, and opened them again. His eyes held a frightening glint of determination as he wheeled around and gripped her shoulders.
His demeanor was cold and, most of all, haunted, which was a word she hated associating with the Doctor, as it usually meant the Time War.
"You trust me, don't you?"
Rose smiled nervously, "Oh, this is never good."
He tightened his grip on her almost to the point of bruising. "Rose?Please," he nearly begged.
Her smile faded. "'Course I do."
He didn't let her go. Instead, he pulled her closer. It was hard to decide if he didn't realize how he was terrifying her, or if he was actually counting on it. His voice was the sinister whisper of ghost stories. "Then continue trusting me when I tell you that despite what little chance there is we'll lose the fight against them, the consequences would becolossally bad, and we absolutely, positively cannot risk it."
For a moment, Rose felt a chill run through her, over and over again. But she was brave, and she'd been through worse, undoubtedly. She just needed to breath, and think.
Fear quickly gave way to blessed annoyance, which was a considerable improvement. "Oh, we can't, can we? Good thing I didn't have to decide this at all."
The Doctor tilted his head, pleading.
Rose shifted, loosening herself from his grip as much as possible. "Fine, Doctor. Do whatever you like," she sighed.
"Rose…" he murmured, apologetic and hurried.
"What?"
He ruffled his hair, a sheer sign of distress. "This is sort of goodbye. For the next three months, I won't… be here. I'll begone, Rose. I'll cease to exist." He pouted, smiling sheepishly. "And without even a teeny-tiny goodbye hug?"
Oh, that was low.
Turning to the pout, and the hair, and the big, begging eyes- that was just low.
Rose narrowed her eyes, and continued scowling even as her arms somehow came to be wrapped around his neck while he nuzzled her hair happily, practically crushing her waist with his embrace.
He won.
The Bastard.
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The console was lit by a green emergency light which Rose absolutely hated.
John's face was devoid of all color. "This can't be happening…"
Rose swallowed hard, "Oh, Mr. Smith-"
He aimed the gun at her, dangerously. For the first time, it seemed like he might actually shoot, intentionally or otherwise. "Don't even open your mouth. Don't you dare."
She tried to edge closer anyway, "No, but, really, see…"
"No!" he roared. "No, no, no. You-you-you despicable, conniving woman! Get back!"
Rose –along with Tim- startled back in bewilderment.
John continued to flail the gun madly, seemingly forgetting about its existence. "Impossible," he spat at no one in particular. "The nerve…"
Rose rolled her eyes, once again choosing irritation over terror, which was becoming a worrisome habit. "Would you stop waving that gun around and let me explain? Please?"
"Oh, what would it be this time?" he sneered, rolling his eyes. "My mind created an illusion of myself?" He slapped his forehead, "Perfect! My mind created my own image… because I was the closest, was I not? Otherwise, it would have taken your form, I imagine."
Rose staggered, momentarily impressed with this imaginative idea. Had she not lied at least fifty times already, that would have been an excellent jiggery-pokery explanation. Though, she imagined sadly, it was probably too late to congratulate him with a believable Exactly! Well done! "Well, no," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean it means what you think it means."
"What I think it means?" he hissed. "I don't think anything!"
Tim also looked quite annoyed at his savior's idiocy. "Look, Mr. Smith, you're the Doctor, I've said so all along. Would you just…accept it?"
John whirled, pointing the gun at the boy's head with renewed vigor. "You shut your mouth, Tim! Not another wordfrom you! From either of you!"
"Alright!" Rose called, raising her hands in surrender. "Get the gun away from him! What's wrong with you? He's just a kid. You're the Doctor, okay? Tim was right. There, that's the truth. You? Are The Doctor."
John huffed indignantly, "I most certainly am not, I assure you."
Rose frowned, "No, but you are."
"Quiet!" He snapped. "I'm sick of this! This ends now. "And before she had the chance to respond, he turned on his heels and fled from the TARDIS.
Rose blinked, staring at the space he used to occupy. Surely this was all a dream. There was no way this was getting any worse than it already was. She stuttered, "No, but- what? What?" She turned to Tim, whose widened eyes gaped right back at her, before lunging to the door and breaking into a mad sprint.
"Mr. Smith!" she called desperately. "Wait!"
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Tim's gaze followed her as she left him completely alone in a spaceship. His legs trembled, and suddenly the walls seemed considerably closer.
He might have been top-of-the-class material, but this was nevertheless overwhelming. He was frightened, confused, and most all, blindly and stupidly curious, as children his age tended to be.
He was all alone, in a spaceship.
He strolled around the console, touching anything that looked safe enough to touch. The pearly walls, the metal floor, the odd, wheeled chair, the doors leading to corridors which were long enough to make him queasy. They looked like they went on forever, and he wasn't keen on finding out if they really did. Yet.
"Open the watch," said a voice that could only belong to one person, one being.
Tim recognized that voice from his nightmares, shouting and laughing and talking rapidly. Sometimes he whispered, and Tim knew, somehow, that he was addressing him. Not the maid, nor the countless faces he saw when she stroked his hair and exposed her life, but him-Tim Latimer, being addressed by a creature from another world. And not just any creature, awarrior.
There was something to write home about.
Suddenly, his legs were taking him to the console itself- by their own accord, he'd have sworn.
He stood before it, overcome with awe. So beautiful and so regal. How could one live with such power nearby? He remembered how the maid moved around it effortlessly. Could she not see? Could she not see how unworthy she was? How lowly? No creature deserved to be near such divinity, let alone have it inside her head.
Something pulled at him, a feeling in the back of his neck. He opened a seemingly random drawer without thinking.
Time Lord.
For a moment, he stared at the watch – The Watch – and swore he could read the writing. Everything was so clear, and just for a moment, he knew. And then, with an eerie whirr from the ghastly machine, it was gone. He knew nothing. The letters turned to elegant carving on a probably expensive, but otherwise unremarkable, watch.
He cradled it carefully, amazed that a timeless entity could fit in his small, trembling hand, and opened it.
His mind was instantly filled with whispers. A swarm of angry bees that scratched at his sanity.
Time Lord. Hidden. Danger. Time War. Time Lord. Gallifrey. Rassillion. Theta. Hutchinson, the time is now.
Tim clasped it shut and stumbled back, gasping for air.
This was it! There he was. The alien that haunted him, the warrior. He was right there, inside a watch. He was trapped, by his own doing. Willingly sacrificed to save the universe. Tim fought an urge to fall to his knees.
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Did you feel that, Husband of Mine?
I did, Wife of Mine.
It's the Doctor. TherealDoctor.
He's here.
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To Rose, it seemed as if hours had passed. How could he have gotten such a head start? She could hear faint footsteps, followed by the sound of cracking branches and an occasional yelp. She was painfully aware of the fact that they were sharing this forest with The Family, which could trap them at any given moment.
Eventually, the footsteps stopped.
Rose's heart sank in her chest with concern, but she didn't hesitate before quietly running over to him. If the Family apprehended him… well, she'd just have to do something… heroic.
Luckily, he was alone, leaning against a tree for support. He had apparently worn himself out. "Doc-Mr. Smith, we have to…" she panted, leaning on her knees. "'s not safe here. Please, let's go back?"
John shook his head frantically. "Go away, Rose. No more."
Her eyes welled with frustrated tears. "No, but, you're not safe. What's the matter with you? Are you bent? D'you wanna die?"
He exhaled desperately, "Go away, please."
"Mr. Smith, you have to trust me," she pleaded. "I'm telling the truth this time."
John sneered, "This time? How is this time different than all those other times?"
"It just is," she snapped, impatience getting the better of her.
He rolled his eyes angrily, and without waiting for an answer, started to make his way to where he thought the school was, mumbling contemporary profanities which Rose couldn't quite make out.
She followed quickly, falling into step beside him. Thankfully, he made no move to either dodge or shoot her. "Listen, what can I say?" she shrugged. "You saw it -uh, you. You were talking. I'll tell you the truth if you just stop."
Unlike her, John seemed to favor propriety over fear. He raised his chin, nostrils flaring, "I will not."
"But you have to!"
"No, thank you," he snipped. "I'm going back to the school. You can come with me, if you like, but only if you stop being mentally deranged." He nodded condescendingly, seemingly pleased with his newfound control over the situation. "You are my maid, and I will not stand for witchcraft under my charge. Nor lunacy, which I thought would go beyond saying, but apparently not."
Rose bit her lip, "Mr. Smith, have you gone completelybarmy?"
"I have no idea what barmy means, but put your mind at ease, I have turned into no such thing."
"God, you're rubbish as a human," she snarled, before shaking her head and grabbing his hand. "I'm sorry, we don't have time for this. We've got to get back to the TARDIS. Now."
John resisted her tugging, and instead, with force she didn't recognize, locked onto her hand and commenced dragging her to where he still thought the school would be. The most frightening part was the detached way in which he stared ahead, as if not realizing what he was doing. He never once looked at her, and his tone was suited for an idle conversation about the weather.
"I will also not tolerate insolence from you, Miss Tyler," he continued calmly. "I know I have before, but needless to say, you have abused it beyond reason."
Rose tried to slip away from his grip, "What are you talking about, you prissy sod?"
He was most certainly not listening. "When I was taught to be firm with the help, I assumed it was to prevent stealing and the like, not insanity," he huffed. "I would have never imagined that allowing you to speak freely to me would lead you to create a crime family and drag me into your… questionable affairs. I will not make the same mistake twice."
Finally, she gave up and simply allowed herself to be led. Honestly, her exhausted, famished, practically dehydrated body would not stand for more struggling. "You have gone completely daft."
John turned to her for the first time, holding up a scolding finger. "Rose Tyler, you have behaved… actually, there are no words for the severity of your behavior."
"Complete nutter…" she murmured.
"If you are to continue working for me, there will be discipline, there will be rules to follow. Do you understand?" he stared at her, as if anticipating a nod, but was met with steely dislike. It didn't seem to bother him, or even register in his brain. "This would, of course, apply to our marriage as well."
"Our what?"
He looked down into her eyes and explained, as if she were completely thick, "Rose, you and I are deeply in love. And sane people who are in love get married."
"Get what?"
John rolled his eyes at her, as if she was being needlessly slow. He showed no traces of warmth, or any positive emotion, as he barked, "Working as a maid has obviously caused you severe mental damage. As a gentleman, I cannot simply stand by and allow my beloved wife-to-be to fall ill, darling."
"Wife-to-what?"
Before John could answer, a felted arm filled with straw wrapped around his neck, inciting Rose to scream.
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Always the cruel, cheap cliffhanger. I'm am thoroughly ashamed of myself. REVIEWSmight make it better, or worse, depends on which one entices you to leave one. ::pouty smile:: Please?
