Plan B
As always, thanks for reading. You guys are great. And I still own nothing. Sorry if 10 starts sounding like 11. I just watched Flesh and Stone.
Warning: Doctor emotional whump. I'm tired of torturing Jack for now.
"Now what?" said Owen acerbically, folding his arms and glaring at the Doctor.
"Plan B!" replied the Doctor with his regular exuberance. "Well, plan C, really."
"And what is that?" asked Owen. "'Cause from where I'm sitting, we're trapped in a concrete cell with no Jack, no tools, and no weapons."
"Never needed any of those before." The Doctor crouched down in front of the heavy metal door, examining the seams. "Ianto, I'm afraid, has made one very crucial mistake. It will be his downfall, I assure you, for although he is clever, he is very, very foolish and has made a most grievous mistake."
"What mistake?"
"He has constructed an elaborate trap, a genius trap one might say, but there is one flaw, one glaring flaw, because if there is one thing in the universe you should never, ever put in a trap if you value your continued existence. If you have any intention of seeing tomorrow with the same eyes you have today, there is one thing you really should not ever put in a trap."
"What?" asked Owen skeptically.
The Doctor paused dramatically. "Me."
Owen scoffed.
"Oi!" said the Doctor. "I've been in worse. I've been in much worse." He stood up and faced them, looking each of them in the eyes. "And I promise you, I'll get you all out of here. Understood?"
Tosh and Gwen nodded, looking reassured, and Owen folded his arms, but refrained from making another pejorative comment.
"Well, then. That's settled. Now, assets. What've we got?" He began pacing rapidly back and fourth. "We've got four people. Eight hands, eight feet, five hearts, six kidneys, two pairs of earrings, two belts, and of course-" he broke off and froze, head cocked to one side.
"Wh-" Gwen began.
"Shh!" The Doctor pressed a finger to his lips. "Do you hear that?" he whispered.
And now that they listened, the three remaining Torchwood members could hear a soft constant hissss.
"Cover your mouths and noses!" the Doctor cried, clapping his sleeve to his face. In a muffled voice he added, "Take shallow breaths!"
Gwen pressed her arm over her mouth immediately, eyes wide and frantic, but Tosh only stared at the floor, and Owen scowled.
"What are you doing?" said the Doctor. "Cover your faces!"
"What's the point?" Owen snapped. "We've already breathed it in. Face it, we're screwed."
Tosh slid down into a slumped sitting position against the wall. "Owen's right," she said mournfully. "We're going to die in here. It's over, Doctor."
The Doctor gaped at the pair of them, shot a look at Gwen. "What! This isn't you. What are you doing?" Tentatively, he lowered his hand and took an experimental sniff. "Oh no," he muttered. "Oh no, I am so, so sorry. Oh, he didn't." He squinted up at the tiny vents set into the wall just below the ceiling.
"What is it, Doctor?" Gwen asked, hand still over her mouth.
"It's Deterrent Gas. Standard for the Shadow Proclamation - space police- used to transfer and detain particularly manic or energetic prisoners.
"But what does it do?"
"It cancels out endorphins. Basically, it's a chemical depressant, but a thousand times worse than anything you've got on Earth. Prisoners become so melancholy they just wallow in self pity, making them much easier to move. We're doomed." Silence met these words. The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, there's really nothing I can do." More silence. Then he smacked himself hard on the forehead with his palm.
"What am I saying! The gas! We have to fight the gas. You guys are strong. You're intelligent, independent, brave. You've faced the impossible before, you can do it again." He took Tosh's hands and pulled her to her feet. "Come on! Smile. You're beautiful and smart and loved."
"By who?" Tosh mumbled.
"By him!" The Doctor pointed at Owen. "Come on, don't tell me you haven't noticed. Be happy! Come on, you two. Hold hands, be cute and intimate. Hold onto something happy. Gwen!" He spun around. "What was the best day of your life?"
"Umm," said Gwen, taken aback. She dropped her hand to her side and shook her head. "Nothing. I'm sorry I can't think of anything."
"No, come on! Think!" cried the Doctor.
With a flicker of fear at his wild expression, Gwen answered, "Our weekend in London, last summer."
"Good! Now go there. Relive every minute of it. Recreate every single detail in your mind. All of you. Go to your happy place and stay there. Don't come out for anything. Do you hear me, anything. The gas can't get you if you're not here. Stay inside your mind until I come up with a plan." He dropped into a crisscross position, propped his chin on his fist, and stared intensely at the floor.
Two days later
"Aw," Gwen groaned as she closed the door to their flat behind her and dragged her suitcase through the front hall. "I don't want to go back to work tomorrow."
"Well," said Rhys. He pulled her to him and she felt his hand on her backside. "It's not tomorrow yet."
Gwen's eyes snapped open. The Doctor did not seem to have moved from his cross-legged seat.
"Doctor, have you got a plan yet?" He didn't move. "Doctor!"
"I've just remembered!" he said, grinning ear to ear. Her beautiful face turned toward him, positively radiant in the soft golden light of the TARDIS. "I can dance!"
And did they dance. They spun and spun and all time melted together and became one moment, one shining, glorious moment with his hands in hers and her hands in his and everything was perfect and-
"Doctor!"
He jumped and twisted around. "Have you got a plan yet, Doctor?" asked Gwen.
"I'm-I'm almost there." He closed his eyes again.
Cold salty wind swept through his hair, making it stand even more on end. Close by he could hear the slow swoosh…boom! Swoosh…boom! of waves crashing against the shore. The ground beneath his feet was soft and gave way when he took a step. The Doctor opened his eyes. No. Not here.
The grey beach stretched, flat and empty. All around rose low, craggy cliffs. Out behind him, if he turned he could see the infinite iron-colored sea, completely smooth, calm as a duck pond.
The Doctor had long since accepted that his brain was smarter than he was. Sometimes it did things he didn't understand, but most of the time it would explain itself shortly afterward. Usually they got on quite well, but on occasions like these…on this occasion, the Doctor wanted nothing more than to kick his mind ferociously in the backside and scream at it until his throat bled. He wanted to scream 'why'.
Why? Why of all places would his mind bring him here? His memory lane was long and crooked, dotted with pot holes, lined with corpses. But the path to Rose ran straight and true. He wouldn't forget her for a long, long while.
But of course, the memory wasn't complete until she stood before him herself in all her lovely splendor. Strands of golden hair blew across her face, fluttering gently. She stood as she always did with her hip cocked and her weight resting on her right leg. The Doctor felt a stone the size of a bowling ball drop into his stomach. He couldn't do this. Not again.
"Took you long enough." The Doctor blinked in surprise. Her voice was strong, almost sassy, not at all the tearful tremble it had been the last time he'd been here. This was not a memory.
Rose Tyler folded her arms. "I've been waitin'."
"I'm sorry," said the Doctor, not sure what else to say.
"So," sighed Rose. "What's the problem?"
"I-what?"
Rose rolled her eyes. "God, you're thick for a genius. I'm not Rose Tyler, numbskull."
"Then…who are you?"
"Your friend of course. So tell me what's wrong so I can help. Your mind wouldn't have called me here if you didn't need me. And we're not going to get anywhere if you keep gaping like a fish. Come on then, speak up."
The Doctor closed his mouth, not having realized how far his jaw had dropped. "Why do you look like Rose?"
"I'm your friend," said Not Rose impatiently. "I can read your mind of course. I took the shape of the person you wanted to talk to most, in the hope that you would actually listen to me this time. Obviously it was in vain."
"What?"
"No, no more 'what.' I ask the questions now. I don't have unlimited time. I have work to do, you know. Got to prepare. Got to repair. So, how's about you tell me what's going on." She was definitely not Rose. That much was painfully clear. But still she was the same, and the Doctor found himself paralyzed, staring drinking in every detail of her, like a desert wanderer come upon a sparkling oasis.
Swoosh…boom!
"The tide's coming in, Doctor," said Not Rose. "I can help you, but you have to tell me where you are. We only have until the waves reach us."
The Doctor looked toward the water and received a shock. The edge was only ten meters away, and drawing visibly nearer with each wave.
"Alright, fine. We're trapped in a cell beneath Ten Downing Street, and the air is full of Deterrent Gas. And I lost my sonic screwdriver," he added.
Not Rose nodded, mulling this over. "Ventilation," she suggested.
"Sixteen centimeters across. No one's crawling through that.
"Fine. Food delivery."
"Teleport."
Not Rose's brow wrinkled, exactly the way the real Rose's did when she was puzzled. The waves were only two meters away. The lump in the Doctor's stomach seemed to doubled in size. Regardless of whether this Rose was real or not, in only minutes, e was going to lose her again.
Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. "I know. What about the pretty brown one? Where is she?"
"Pretty brown what?" said the Doctor, bewildered.
Not-Rose rolled her eyes. "You know. The new Rose."
"Martha?" said the Doctor. "She is not the new Rose. Rose will never be replaced, especially not by Martha. not by anyone. Don't you-"
But Not Rose interrupted, "Yes, her, that's the one. Where's Martha?"
"I sent her away," said the Doctor grimly. "She's safe. I hope."
"There's your answer," said Not Rose. "She'll come. Martha will save you."
"How do you know?"
A wave lapped at the sand inches from their feet. "They always come." The next wave washed all the way over her battered sneakers, and immediately she began to fade, until the Doctor could see the craggy cliffs through her face.
"Wait," he begged. "Who are you?"
"You know me," sighed Not Rose. "You live in me."
"I most certainly do not!" cried the Doctor.
"I make that noise," Not Rose tried. "I go-" she opened her mouth wide and out came an inhuman, grinding wailing, exactly like-
"You're the TARDIS?"
"I'm your friend," said Not Rose. "See you soon, Doctor."
And even with the small seed of hope he'd been given, the Doctor felt his hearts once more shredding themselves into tiny bits, because for the second time, he was watching Rose Tyler disappear from his sight forever.
"Doctor?" He was back in the tiny, cramped cell. He could still smell the damp salty air, still feel the sting of the mist on his face.
"We wait," he said.
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