Disclaimer: I own nothing. I would have started a new season ages ago. Goddamn you, Russell T. Davies. Damnit.

Good God, it's been ages. I missed this! I've read every one of you kind, awesome, beautiful reviews and grumbled about having to work or study for the damn TOEFL. (How nice that writing fics for years, with varying degrees of quality, seemed to have worked magic on my English? Yay!). Not to mention, this chapter has been extra difficult to write, and I do hope all my point went across… somehow. And huge thanks to my intelligent, patient, and fascinating beta, Requialexa (of the land of LJ) and BluWine for pimping me out!

Anyway, I hope this chapter will be worth the long wait (I know from HP fics how waiting can be frustrating).

Note: I just noticed this stupid thing this site does with the formatting of italicized words. What the hell is that? I got the last chapter fixed, if it was bothering anyone. God knows it bothered me…

Enjoy!
(And Review:-)

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Chapter 9

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Before John could answer, a felted arm filled with straw wrapped around his neck.

"John!" Rose screamed, scurrying through her many pockets in search of the sonic screwdriver.

Unfortunately, her scream drew the scarecrow's attention, and without a moment's hesitation, he tossed John aside as an afterthought and strode towards her. Rose backed away in horror, tripping over an inconveniently-placed branch. Her heart hammered in her chest. She could barely remember what she had been looking for.

In a flash of brown wool, John leaped to his feet, latching onto the scarecrow's neck. "Run, Rose!" he called. "They're after you! Run!"

Like hell.

She finally felt cool, comforting steel. "Get out of the way!" she cried.

"No!"

"Now!"

He jumped off the scarecrow's back instinctively, though what Rose planned on doing was beyond him. She pulled out the screwdriver, and –paying a lot less attention than she should have to the buttons and configurations- aimed at the scarecrow and pressed down hard.

The felted creature coked its head in wonder, before exploding into tiny pieces of hey. It might have been dazzling, had they not been fighting for their lives and on the brink of collapsing.

John looked at Rose oddly. "You called me by my name," he said.

She blinked at him as if he were mad, "What?"

"You called me John."

She frowned. "I did?"

He smiled, "You did."

She supposed she did. But Rose knew that now was not the time to dwell; it was time to run.

They ran.

:-:

John's lungs threatened to tear out of his chest, his legs threatened to crack under the pressure, any movement of any muscle threatened to be his undoing. His body urged him to put an end to all this at once.

Unless they stopped running soon, he was going to collapse into a sad, messy heap of exhaustion, and would be of no use to defend the school, much less care for his beloved– no matter how mad she seemed at the moment, or what shiny powerful toys she had in her possession.

"Rose, please, I beg of you…" he wheezed, his voice coming out in painful gasps. "Desist with this… incessant running."

"Shut up, Mister Smith," she spat, but nevertheless slowed her pace considerably, until they were walking awkwardly side-by-side. John still would have much preferred sitting down with a nice cup of tea in front of a crackling fire. "It's your fault we have to run in the first place."

He huffed, "Well, I hardly see how."

She narrowed her eyes angrily. "You ran out of the TARDIS, you twerp."

John stared at her wearily, "What in God's name is a twerp?"

"It's…" she frowned. What the hell was a twerp, anyway? "It's… well, it certainly isn't good," she snapped.

He raised an indignant eyebrow. "Yes, I figured as much, thank you."

Rose rolled her eyes, deciding to ignore him from here on and possibly forever. His childish denial was really getting on her nerves. Instead, she looked around, noting the trees and bushes around them looked exactly the same as the ones they passed minutes or hours or days ago. "Where the bloody hell are we?" she wondered aloud.

John sighed, "Honestly, this kind of language…"

Rose halted suddenly, glaring at him with pure, unadulterated – and frankly, quite frightening - fury.

"Shut up! Just stop talking right now! And I mean that!" He opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him, "Unless you remember where the TARDIS is, not another word from you. I'm sick of you, Mister Smith."

Her scolding fell on the deaf ears of a man who was accustomed to scolding children on a daily basis. He raised his chin in defiance, "Are you, now? Interesting. I wonder, do you address this… imaginary Doctor of yours with such insolence?"

"Well, since 'that Doctor of mine' is you, I would have to say yes," she answered, mocking his pompous tone.

John nodded pleasantly. "I see. Are our personalities so similar?"

His patronizing was bound to earn him a heartfelt Tyler slap. "No. You are annoying in an entirely different way from him," she answered, seething.

John went to scratch behind his ear, but remembering the Doctor's similar mannerism, went for his chin instead. "This is troubling, indeed."

She rolled her eyes, "Indeed."

It just dawned on his that his beloved Rose might actually be beyond saving. He might have to send her to one of those… institutions. He might have to let her go. His stomach gave a painful twist at the thought.

"Your mental condition is far worse than I imagined," he suddenly murmured, nearly retching.

"Oh, don't start that again," she huffed impatiently.

John stared at her, pondering, 'But otherwise she seems so lucid.' Maybe there was hope!

He halted abruptly, taking hold of her hand. "Please, my darling," he begged, his tone devoid of all its earlier bite, now morphed into a desperate lover's plea. "I urge you to see reason."

"I am seeing reason!" she cried, her eyes boring coldly into his, studying him. Her face held no barriers; he could see every trace of disappointment, of contempt. He almost felt as if he were betraying her by not buying into her sickening fairytale.

"Please, Rose, it's not too late. Be reasonable. You can't possibly believe-"

She kissed him then, deeply, passionately. For just a moment he forgot her madness, forgot they were running for their lives. And then she slapped him furiously, the sound rippling through the forest. "There," she said, panting. "I think that's prettyreasonable."

John clutched at his reddened cheek, his lips swollen and pounding. He wasn't sure which line of reasoning was more bewildering. If she wanted to shock him into oblivion, she certainly succeeded. "Why I never…"

"Save it, Johnny," Rose snapped, holding out a hand to stop him. "You don't wanna believe me? Well, fine. Do what you like, I don't even care anymore. We'll just go back to the TARDIS, free the Doctor, and get the hell out of here."

John examined her face, looking hopefully for any signs that her mental health could be salvaged. He found none. "Truly, this is peculiar…"

Rose dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "I don't know why I even bothered. You're not even real. You don't exist."

John heart fell to the bottom of his stomach. Another deterioration? Now she was questioning his own existence? "Pardon me?"

She turned to him sharply, completely fed up. She knew she was being too harsh, but God, would it ever end? She was so tired and they weren't even halfway through with this. "Right. Listen carefully now, alright? You? Are made up. Do you understand me, Mr. Smith? Remember that Blue Box? She imagined you. You're not even a shadow, you're just… nothing."

Her words stung more than he cared to admit. "Rose, there is no call for this. I know you are upset, but…"

"Shut up!" she shouted. "Didn't you just hear me? You are nothing. You're just baby-sitting the Doctor's body. You're like a coat rack. And bugger if I'm gonna listen to a coat rack. It's bad enough I've been taking orders from one, for months." She took a deep, final breath. "This ends right now."

"Talking to inanimate objects now, are you?" he spat vehemently, trying to ease the pounding in his ears. "You insufferable, vulgar, deranged woman."

Rose's blood rushed to her head, working hard to create the physical traits of fury that her mind demanded. She needed to breath, punch him, cry, leave, run- and all those took more blood than her exhausted body could offer.

She opened her mouth to answer, but her knees gave in and she tumbled.

John caught her out of instinct, though his body protested piteously to the extra weight. "Rose?" he nudged her, very aware of her labored breathing. "Rose!" he called, more profusely, shaking her a bit.

Nothing.

He crashed to his knees, supporting her gently. "Rose… please, say something."

Her eyelids fluttered. She looked at him for a long time, focusing gradually on his eyes, and murmured, "Doctor?"

John winced noticeably. "Ah, yes. It's me. The, uh, Doctor. What's wrong?"

She clung to him, and he tightened his grip around her. "I'm dizzy," she whispered. "What took you so long? It's been ages." She counted her fingers absently. "You said five and a half hours, not weeks. Doctor, you promised."

John felt her forehead, doing his best to ignore whatever madness she was spewing out this time. It wasn't real, and she was ill – he had to remember that. "Darling, you're burning up!" he suddenly noticed. A smile spread across his features. "That explainseverything! The fever's made you delusional!" He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. "Oh, my Rose, thank God."

She pulled away from him, as if remembering who he was. "I'm not delusional, you freak," she snapped. "I'm just dehydrated, and how does a fever explain living scarecrows and a box that's bigger on the inside to ya?"

She made a move to release herself, but her knees buckled again. He caught her effortlessly, every muscle in his body rejoiced with a jolt of force. He was so relieved, he didn't care. It was over and explained.

"Doctor," she whispered against his chest. "I wanna go 'ome. Can we? I wanna… wanna see mum." Her body finally caved completely. "She's been calling, you know. She… she calls." John carefully gathered her in his arms, as if she were the frailest china doll in all of creation. He was the picture of the perfect gentleman, but it hurt that it wasn't him she was seeing.

"Hush now," he whispered. "I'll take you somewhere safe."

:-:

Rose woke up with a start. "The Judoon!" she gasped.

John nearly dropped the glass of water he had prepared. He looked around, alarmed, "Where? Where? Wait, what?"

She clutched at her head, her eyes foggy. "I don't know, space rhinos."

Space rhinos. Well, naturally. "How are you feeling?"

Rose stared at him harshly. Her face was drained of color, eyes hollow, and God, she looked so exhausted. "Which one are you?" she spat.

The contempt in her voice made him want to shrivel into the floor and disappear. "John Smith," he croaked.

Her face fell, just for a second but he caught it.

"Well, I'm sorry," he murmured bitterly.

"No, I'm sorry," she softened, hand grazing his shoulder with hesitation.

He handed her the glass, and watched as her eyes widened almost indecently. How long has it been? He couldn't remember if she had anything to drink at the dance.

Good Lord, the dance. Such blurry flashes of colors and twirls. If it wasn't for Rose's dress, now ripped and muddy at the bottom, he would have stamped it as another one of his elaborated fantasies which got him into this world of trouble. If he had that damned diary in his hand, he would have burnt it to bits and maybe the crackling sketches would snap Rose back to sanity.

She finished the water and examined their surroundings as he rushed to get her another glass. "Where are we?" she wondered.

"Lucy's family lived here, I believe," he answered, not looking at her.

Oh, Rose, they're all dead, a deep, tortured voice cut into his consciousness.

He almost dropped the glass, his stomach contorting in alarm. What was that? What was that?

"I thought we were lost," Rose mused, cutting off his reverie. "Where'd this place come from?"

John shrugged, "No forest is complete without an abandoned cabin. Tea?"

She blinked. "Tea?"

"Excellent against fever," he explained casually. "And bound to be found somewhere around here. We are in England, after all."

Rose narrowed her eyes. "You're more of a nutter than the Doctor, you know? And that's not easy to achieve."

John scoffed with annoyance. "Well, it is often said that reality surpasses fiction."

"Ugh, don't start that again," she said, and not too kindly. "If you hadn't run out like a little girl, you'da seen… I have so many photos of so many places, and the TARDIS… well, you can't close your eyes to it. All you 'ad to do was just stay."

He slammed the kettle down, a little too forcefully than he would have liked, and winced when Rose was startled into silence. This was not how he liked to conduct things. He handed her a steaming cup almost apologetically, and cradled his own, choosing his words carefully.

"Rose," he started and trailed off, unsure. "Alright, you're right," he started again. "Too many things have happened, things beyond the realm of possibility. It would be mindless to ignore it." He chose not to comment on her triumphant stare. "I suppose, if aliens could take the form of Mr. Clark…" He took hold of her shoulders, willing her to listen carefully.

"You suppose… what?" she asked.

He took a deep breath and said slowly, "I suppose… an alien can take my form as well." She made a move to protest but he stopped. "No, Rose, listen. It wasn't me. Do you understand? That Doctor, whoever he was, was not me. I am John Smith; I was born in a village not far from here, where I lived for most of my life, until I moved to London, and then here. Do you remember? I told you this."

With every word he said, Rose looked more devastated. It broke his heart, but he had to make her see.

"I am human," he continued. "We've met – truly met – just a few weeks ago, in the school where we are both employed. I have never been to outer space, nor the future or the past. Do you understand me, Rose?"

It's not that he's not you, she thought, seizing him carefully – the fatigue and straight hair and strain. It's just that you're not him. Which sounded ridiculous in her head, but she couldn't help it. She knew he was the Doctor, but with every passing minute, she saw less of him in this plain human man.

The Doctor was slipping from her fingers and leaving behind… John Smith.

And this John Smith, he was a nice bloke. And if she didn't know a better world, she wouldn't have minded… staying. For a while, maybe. Not… indefinitely, no. Definitely not. But maybe just a little. Maybe they could have taken him on, as another Companion. The Doctor would be jealous but he would have liked him eventually, she was sure.

Rose almost slapped herself. What was she thinking?

John cupped her cheeks. "Rose?" he nudged her gently. "Rose, are you listening?"

"Yes," she choked.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked carefully.

She took a deep breath, looked at him closely, examined every inch of his face, his plain brown eyes, his neatly combed hair. "Mr. Smith. John Smith." And then she broke down in tears.

"Oh, Rose…" he took her in his arms and stroked her hair in long, soothing motions. "Please don't cry. It's alright now, we're safe." She cried harder, as if protesting. Maybe even accusing. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not who you want me to be. Rose, I'm so sorry."

Hearing those words obviously made it worse. She cried harder, her sobs painful and choked. John held her desperately, unsure of what he did wrong, and she clung to him for dear life.

A while later, it was uncertain how much time passed, she pulled back carefully. He looked hopeful and confused and terrified. Slowly, she ran a tentative hand through his hair, mussing it. He didn't move, barely breathed. She narrowed her eyes and thought,his hair is ruffled and he wears a brown suit, so what's the difference?

But there was a difference.

He was this man who was sort of her boyfriend and apparently her fiancée. John Smith.

And then she did the Unthinkable.

She kissed John Smith.

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Tim was being chased by a rabid family made of pure evil. He'd been so desperate, he had even tried going back to that deathly terrifying Blue Box, only to find it locked. He pounded on the door, screeched for help, but there was nothing.

If anything, the ruckus might have hinted the Family of his whereabouts.

He ran until he couldn't run anymore, and crashed on the ground.

"What do I do?" he asked the Watch. "What do I do? What do I do?"

Beware.

"Beware of what?" his voice did not waver anymore.

Her.

He saw the red balloon before he saw her. She sniffed.

He hid the Watch behind him and commanded, "Keep away."

"Who are you?" she demanded, like the spoiled brat she was.

"I saw you at the dance. You were with that Family, you're one of them," he had started coolly but the front didn't hold.

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing."

"What have you got there?"

"Nothing."

"Show me, little boy."

He straightened. He was taught how to deal with spoiled brats, aliens or no. "I reckon whatever you are, you're still in the shape of a girl. How strong is she, do you think? Does she really want to see this?" he opened the Watch and aimed it straight at her, showing her what he hadn't the courage to see.

Fire and rain.

The little girl spun around and fled.

:-:

"Time Lord!" the Son gasped.

"It's at the device," the Mother agreed.

"He is concealed away in the hand of a schoolboy," the Son smirked. "But now we know it's all we need, to find the boy, the Watch. What are we waiting for? Attack!" he yelled, and the scarecrows sprang into action.

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Time Lord.

John gripped Rose's waist and sucked in a breath, accidentally biting her lower lip. She moaned and forcefully deepened the kiss, oblivious to his turmoil. It was doubtful if she knew who he was or even realized what she was doing.

How long are you gonna stay with me?

Images flashed before his eyes. Stars and creatures, Rose and the universe. Memories that weren't his, memories he didn't want. He pulled Rose closer to him and wrapped his arms around her, longing for proximity.

Her eyes flashed gold and she was dying.

Her breasts were pressed against his chest and he felt something feral and foreign but not really. He was not exactly John Smith, but she was not exactly anything he'd ever thought she was. This Doctor was invading him, piece by piece. His memories, his happy childhood, were slipping from him.

"Know her? She's my-"

He didn't know who he was, he couldn't locate his inhibitions. He lowered his lips to her neck and raised a tentative hand to cup one of her breasts. She sighed into his ear, causing him to shiver. He felt as if he'd been on the verge of wanting this for solong.

She grasped at the lever but she was slipping.

Her eyes were wide and terrified and gnawed at him. He felt hell itself pull at him and didn't even want to imagine. He found himself considering turning the whole thing off. He'd find a way to deal with the Daleks. Another way, any other way. A Cyberman wheezed by her, shaking her balance. Her hand slipped further.

His jacket had been removed, he wasn't sure when or how. They were both breathing heavily into each other's mouth. Lost. His hand traveled down her back, lowering the zip of her dress in the process. The Doctor was finally fading away, but he could no longer deny it. For a few moments, he had been invaded by an alien presence.

Nothing made sense, and he was tired of making it seem like it did.

His hand slid under Rose's dress, traveling up her leg. Higher and higher. Her skin was soft and slick and inviting. The zipper was almost undone. If there was an opportunity to turn back, he had missed it weeks ago. Rose gripped a handful of his hair, seemingly without realizing, and moaned deeply. "Who are you?" she breathed.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I may be either."

She crashed her lips against his.

How long are you gonna stay with me?

Forever.

John Smith succumbed.

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Can anyone say nau-ghty? For those who noticed the rating jumped up a bit, now you see why. Still not assmutty as some of you might like, but nevertheless, I hope it was…enjoyable

I'd love to know what you think!