AN: So sorry for the wait! Would you believe we moved twice in one year? Not ideal. This chapter brought to you by the invaluable help of knight. Also thanks to my incredible beta, lastincurableromantic. And thank you to everyone reading, following, favoriting, and suffering the long wait.

WARNING: This chapter contains violent content and a scene of attempted rape. If these things are triggering for you or too unpleasant for your taste, you may want to skip this update.


"Well, they're off," the Doctor says. "The remaining crew of the Sanctuary Base, on their way home."

An unnecessary narration to fill the darkened silence of the console room, to lighten the heavy coldness that's settled into Rose's heart.

She swallows, squeezes her eyes shut, and holds in an unsteady breath. She's afraid to tell him. But perhaps more afraid of letting him find out on his own; at least from her lips, the sin would be acknowledged.

"I killed him." Rose doesn't turn to face him, just lets the words hang in the chilly air of the recovering TARDIS. "Toby… I…"

She trails off into a stifled sob, and the Doctor turns her around to face him.

"Rose, he was already gone. The person that Toby was had already disappeared."

Rose shakes her head, blinking against the tears that threaten to fall. "I know, but…"

"You did what you had to do." He squeezes her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. "To survive. You saved Zachary and Danny. And if Toby had returned with all of you… who knows what could have happened."

She nods, then braves a look into his eyes. "But do you still…" Rose licks her lips nervously. "I mean, you don't hate me now, do you?"

The Doctor's eyes widen at her assumption. Then he closes them, sighs, and presses a kiss to her hairline.

"Rose." He leans his forehead down against hers. "Far be it from me to judge you for doing what you must to survive. I know I've done the same." The Doctor takes a deep breath. Lets it out. "When there was no other choice. I did the same."


Rose awoke to sunlight filtering in through the branches of their shelter, an abrupt change from the constant rain of the past few days. She shielded her eyes from the unwelcome intruder. With the constant haze that had surrounded her, induced by the improvised plant-based antibiotic given to her by Ridgely, she found that the light seemed to pierce through her senses. As she blinked her eyes a few times, adjusting, she found sounds filtering in bit by bit as well: the singing of a bird outside on a nearby branch, and the sound of the surf breaking on the beach in the far distance. She moved her fingers experimentally, wincing only slightly at the result. Deciding to test herself further, she gingerly eased her arm out of the sling, finding that she could almost rotate her shoulder completely without a shot of intense pain.

Slowly she rose to her feet and found that she could stand without wobbling. The canvas flap, recently affixed to the shelter, opened and she watched a silhouette enter. "You're awake...and on your feet. You must be hungry." Ridgely stated the last more to get her attention than as a statement of fact, testing her ability to speak.

"Actually, I'm fam..." Rose's words were cut short by a loud grumble from her stomach. Ridgely smiled, and Rose blushed. "Famished," she finished sheepishly. "I'm surprised how hungry I am."

"Good. That means you are getting your strength back. I'm sorry, I'm afraid we only have fruit, but I'll give you a double helping." Rose hoped Ridgely did not mean to give her his portion. They had to be running low on supplies. "Now come outside. We need to change your bandages."

Ridgely unwrapped the bandages, surprised to find would nearly closed up and scabbed over. "You'll have a nasty scar."

After their meal, Rose excused herself to take care of some business and wash up in a nearby stream. The cool water felt heavenly on her face and she knelt there for a while, letting the waters rush over her hands and contemplating the merits and risks of taking a quick dip. In the end, she eyed her rapidly healing arm and decided a full bath would have to wait until tomorrow.

As Rose stood, she distinctly heard the sound of tires, an engine, and the slam of vehicle door. She crouched and headed towards a clearing, mindful to keep hidden among the undergrowth.

Through the bushes she saw an old Jeep... relatively speaking, as it was a model well beyond her lifetime but looked as though it had seen better days. The first man piled out of the driver's seat; from the mask that hung loosely around his neck she recognized him as Butch, the man who dragged Sarah away on the beach. From the other side of the vehicle she heard another unfamiliar male voice.

"Butch, what are you doing? We have to get back to base. The boss doesn't like it when oranges aren't fresh picked."

Rose thought she had misheard the voice that had spoken, sounding whinging and almost scared, like that of a child complaining while on a road trip.

She carefully crawled to the left, trying to get a view around the Jeep. Eric! That was Eric, the chef's assistant from the cruise. Ridgely had told her he had drowned before they reached shore.

Butch's harsh voice brought her attention back to the scene in front of her.

"Shut up, you little prick," he grumbled. "The boss won't care about oranges; we didn't come out here for oranges! He's gonna wanna go right for the melons in the back when we get back to base. I gotta drain the lizard. Stay here. Keep an eye on her."

Rose's heart jumped in her chest. Her mind spun in panic. Did he mean her? Her eyes darted to the open rear of the vehicle. She could just make out a female figure with a canvas bag over her head. Sarah!

She had no plan and no back up, but Rose had a golden opportunity to get Sarah back right now with minimal collateral damage. She had to take it. As Butch began to lumber away from the clearing, she wondered briefly if Eric was a captive too, but no, he was armed. They wouldn't trust him with a gun if he were merely a captive.

As if to confirm her thought, Eric hollered after Butch. "When the boss is done with her do think she can help us with the woman's work? You know, cleaning and all that?"

Butch stopped, looking back over his shoulder as he headed toward the underbrush. "Kid, when the boss is done with her, she won't be able to walk. Where the fuck do you think we are, a resort island?" He continued grumbling under his breath as he moved deeper into the forest.

With Butch gone, Eric was the one obstacle remaining between herself and Sarah. He had a handgun but overall seemed rather timid about his role as villain. Rose wondered distantly if he joined the raiders voluntarily or just in a last-ditch effort to survive. Her first instinct, born from her years by the Doctor's side, was to try and reason with him. If he really was coerced, she might be able to bring him back with her. And if not, she might at least be able to stall him long enough to come up with a better plan.

Rose stepped out of the underbrush slowly, purposefully rustling the branches around her to create noise indicating her approach. As predicted, Eric whipped around to face her direction, clumsily raising his pistol to chest-level. She crawled into his line of sight and stood up slowly with her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. It probably should have unnerved her how comfortable she'd become with being at gunpoint.

"Rose," Eric blurted, somewhere between confused, relieved and crestfallen.

"Yeah," she murmured encouragingly, moving forward in small, careful steps. "Table seven with the Doctor, remember? Autumn salad, no pears."

He stepped backwards, keeping his gun trained on her but shaking his head frantically as his face contorted in distress. "You've gotta get out of here. They won't think twice; if they see you they'll kill you."

"I know," Rose assured him. "But I can't just let you take her either."

She gestured towards the back of the Jeep, stepping sideways, closer to the vehicle.

"Stop!" Eric clicked the safety off his firearm. "I don't want to shoot you, Rose. But I will have to. They'll kill me if I let you take her."

"Eric," she pleaded in soothing tones. "Let her go. You know this is wrong."

He swallowed purposefully. "I know… I know this is wrong, but… Look, I'm sorry. It's me or her, okay? I choose me."

Rose nodded to herself, lowering her head feigning defeat but instead taking a deep breath in readiness. "I'd choose me too."

Another small step forward, a plan taking shape shifted in her head. Eric shook his gun threateningly.

"I'm serious, Rose!" Eric advanced on her before she could alter her plan, spinning her forcefully away from the Jeep and digging the gun threateningly into her back. He pushed her back towards the trees where she'd entered the clearing. "Move!"

She pretended to relent. "Okay, okay. Look, I'm leaving."

She took a step forward and he followed, pulling the gun back just a fraction so she could no longer feel the muzzle pressing between her shoulder blades. Rose knew she needed the element of surprise to catch him off guard; it was the only way she could hope to incapacitate him.

Her heart pounded, fear rising up in her throat, but then she scrambled to remember a few of the self-defense lessons Jack had given her forever ago. Underneath his desperation to survive, Eric was a good person. She could use that to her advantage, force him into the role of protector rather than guard. Unwittingly, he had put himself just where she needed him.

Rose pretended to faint, going limp and falling backwards. With a surprised curse, Eric scrambled to catch her, dropping his pistol in the process - a rookie move that would cost him. Rose forced her body to stay still, dead weight in his arms for one tense moment. Then, without warning, she propelled her head forward from its resting place on his shoulder, head-butting Eric right in the jaw. Her forehead crashed into the place where his upper and lower jaw connected with a sickening crack.

Eric went down hard, falling around her before collapsing to the ground below. Rose's hands flew up to her head.

"Fuck—" she cursed between gritted teeth, trying to bite back the noise, but the expletive tore from her throat reflexively with the pain radiating through her skull.

She was lucky the blow connected where it did. Her head swam for a moment, vision blurring, and she dropped to her knees as a wave of dizziness crept up on her.

As bad a shape as she was in, beneath her she saw a trickle of blood leave Eric's mouth. She hoped she had just caused him to bite his cheek and not broken a tooth or caused other permanent damage.

"Sorry," she whispered regretfully.

Sparing a thought to how much time she had before Butch came back, Rose stood up on shaky legs, hopping up into the front passenger seat of the Jeep as quickly as she could. She leaned over the back of the seat, pulling the canvas bag from Sarah's head only to find… it wasn't Sarah. The girl beneath the hood was a little younger than Rose, darker skinned, and with long black hair. Rose guessed she was native to the island. The girl stared at Rose suspiciously but otherwise remained still; out of fear or instinct or probably both.

"You're free now," Rose told her quietly, wondering if the girl could even understand her. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Rose held her hands up slowly, repeating the supplicant gesture she used with Eric, and nodded her head indicating the ropes around the native girl's wrists and ankles. Her intentions seemed to be clear, because the girl nodded hesitantly in response. Resolved, Rose rounded the vehicle, opening the back door and going to work on the bindings around her legs. Just as the knot was coming loose, she heard Butch's approaching voice and footsteps from the woods.

Panicked, she managed to free the knot and the girl thankfully kicked her legs, allowing the rope to fall loose around her feet. With no time for her hands, Rose helped the girl down from the vehicle, pushing her along and telling her to "Run" in a hushed but commanding voice. The girl obeyed, but stopped right at the tree line, glancing back worriedly. Rose shook her head, about to call out to tell her just to go when she was grabbed roughly from behind.

"What's this?" Butch growled, turning Rose in his arms and smashing her back against the side of the Jeep. She yelped, the breath knocked out of her lungs. "Traded in a mutt for a Thoroughbred, eh?"

He leaned all of his weight forward, pinning her to the vehicle with a muscular arm pressing heavily just below her neck and a knee planted firmly between her legs. She struggled, testing his hold, but he just leaned in harder.

"Where's Sarah?" she spat when she had enough breath to speak.

He raised an eyebrow, his dirtied face the very picture of smug. "The other blonde bitch?" He leaned in close, his lips curving up into a sadistic smile and odorous breath blowing across her face. "Honey, she's the least of yer worries."

Rose grimaced: at the false endearment, his proximity and the stench of his breath all at once. She turned her head away towards his shoulder, trying to retreat into herself where she could search desperately in her own headspace for a plan. Instinctually, Rose shifted her body again, fighting against the feeling of being trapped. It seemed hopeless, but she'd try anything to break his hold.

Undeterred, Butch chuckled darkly. "Betcha think yer real brave taking out the weakest link, dontcha honey?" He looked down at Eric's unconscious body with disgust, pulling his shotgun from its holster with the hand not holding her.

"No!" She cried out - but it was too late.

Butch fired the shot, buckshot tearing through Eric's body as blood spattered around them. The acrid smell of gunpowder permeated the air. She turned her face away, squeezing her eyes shut and fighting off the tears that threatened to fall. She would not let Butch see her cry. He didn't deserve the satisfaction.

"Useless." He snarled at the ruined corpse, then turned his attention back to her. "Now that we're alone…"

Butch sheathed the shotgun into the holster on his back. Rose squirmed violently in an attempt to struggle, but as probably she should have expected, that only encouraged him. He laughed as his sidearm replaced the shotgun, the barrel of the pistol pressed snugly against Rose's temple. She heard the safety click off, the noise jarringly loud so close to her ear.

"…where were we?"

With the threat of the gun at her head, Butch was free to remove his weight-bearing arm from her neck. His hand moved down to start the process of disrobing her. His thick fingers found their way to the zipper pull on her jacket, dragging the garment open slowly. Though his actions were leisurely, the knee still situated between her legs and the pelvis angled heavily against her hip made his intentions clear.

Rose's good hand was fisted tightly at her side, nails digging painfully into her palm, keeping her attention sharp. Her injured hand snuck slowly in small incremental movements up the outside of her hip towards the knife at her waist. She probably couldn't get the drop on Butch with a gun pressed to her temple, but at least she could hurt him before he really hurt her.

Butch finally loosed her jacket with a throaty chuckle. The leather parted, revealing the vest top beneath. He leaned closer, trying to look down her shirt at her cleavage.

"Not the biggest tits I've had," he rumbled. "But they'll do."

With her head turned far to the right, Rose had unintentionally given him access to her neck. She grimaced as she felt hot breath puff against her skin there, recoiling into vehicle behind her as far as she could. He inhaled a long sniff of her hair before she felt chapped lips make contact beneath her ear. Rose could tell that Butch's full attention was no longer focused on the gun barrel pressed to her temple as she felt the pressure lessen.

He made a deep grunt and widened his stance to accommodate his excitement, the dirt scratching audibly beneath his boot. She realized the space that was created the moment his leg ceased to press between hers, even if Butch did not.

In a quick movement she brought her left knee up solidly into his crotch.

Butch let out a great puff of air like a deflated balloon. Stepping back a pace, he groaned, holding his wounded manhood with his left hand.

Rose tried to cease her own heavy breathing and still her whirling mind. Where was the rest of her plan? Her hand scrabbled mindlessly for the knife on her hip, but Butch was faster.

His free hand abandoned the injury for his own blade, a menacing looking survival knife. With a guttural growl he rushed her, arm outstretched for a wild swing. Rose prepared to dodge but he stopped short. Suddenly, Butch was cradling his left arm in the crook of his right elbow and wailing, the knife fallen from his hand and replaced by an arrow spearing right through flesh and bone.

Butch and Rose both turned, gazes flitting to find the source of the arrow. A part of her knew that her attention should remain on her immediate attacker, but the deep, primal part of her sought out the source of the saving blow. She locked eyes for the briefest moment with the intense stare of a young man, still holding his bow at the ready, with coloring matching the native girl; dark skin and black hair. His eyes were sharp and piercing, a hunter's eyes, and the raw anger in them lit a fire in her blood.

"Bitch," Butch was growling; he seemed unsure of where his fury should be directed. Bringing his attention back to her, he raised the pistol in his right hand, aimed, and formed a wicked smile, "You don't have to be alive for me to enjoy it."

Rose stilled, finally resigned to her fate. Her eyes closed reflexively, braced against the pain that was sure to come.

Click.

Butch squeezed the trigger, but the magazine was empty. The firing pin fell on a spent primer and nothing happened.

Rose opened her eyes. She wouldn't get another chance.

Butch snarled, throwing away the pistol. She was already diving for the discarded knife on the ground between them. He bent but this time Rose was faster, already there grasping for the blade as if it were life itself. For her, it was.

Without looking, acting on blind instinct, she plunged the knife into his gut as far as it would go. Butch let out a terrible howl. Rose watched his eyes turn from disbelief to anger as he stared down at her.

Rose lifted her head to catch his eye and begged him to stop. She didn't need to kill him. She just wanted to survive. His movements were slow but determined as he tightened his fist, bringing it up and threatening to smash it down on her head like a hammer.

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and with her hands still gripping the handle of the knife, she jerked it across his middle. Butch exhaled a pathetic, gurgling breath and slumped forward. Rose scuttled back quickly, but the force of him falling knocked her to the ground, legs trapped beneath his shoulders. Kicking frantically, she freed her feet from underneath his body just as blood was pooling on the ground beneath his body.

When she looked down, she found herself almost surprised to discover the blood. She stared wide-eyed at the thick, tacky substance covering her skin. Her blood-stained hands became a focal point as the rest of the world faded. A nauseating wave of disorientation hit leaving her lightheaded, as though it was her own blood soaking into the dirt below. Silence was replaced by a high-pitched ringing in her ears, and she began to hyperventilate. Her lungs burned as though the very air was poison. She was drowning. Drowning in the blood she'd spilt.

She heard Ridgely's voice in her head saying 'Breathe. Breathe.'

Later, on a dark and rainy night huddled under the rocky overhang at her base camp, she would wonder why it was Ridgely's voice she heard trying to comfort her and not the Doctor's.

Now, she doubled over, bloody hands fisting in the grass as she coughed and gagged, her stomach and lungs both protesting. She didn't retch, but she still felt the spasms rack her body as she fought to gain control. Finally, she closed her eyes and managed a few deep breaths without coughing.

With a shuddering sigh, Rose rested her back against the tire of the Jeep. She opened her eyes to see the thicket where she had seen the archer who saved her with his well-timed distraction, but he was gone. Rose forced herself up on wobbly legs, lumbering towards the spot as though driven by some unseen force. The underbrush was disturbed where he had stood, and when she got close enough, she learned why. The young man had left his bow, presumably for her to find. She grasped the weapon gratefully, scouting the quiet forest for any sign of its owner.

When a twig snapped behind her, she whipped around with a hand already at the knife on her belt, adrenaline quick to flood her veins again after struggling for her life. She deflated instantly when she saw Ridgely and Frank enter the clearing.

"What happened?" Frank asked. He took in the devastation of the clearing but Ridgely had already spotted her.

Rose let her legs carry her intuitively across the clearing and into Ridgely's arms. He gathered her in the comforting embrace just as he had the day of the massacre on the beach. She gasped and sobbed her relief but squeezed her eyes against the tears that threatened. Butch didn't deserve her tears. Ridgely simply stroked a hand up and down her back soothingly as she calmed.

Inhaling deeply, she pulled back. "They had a woman. I thought she was Sarah, but it was someone else. A girl from the island." Rose's eyes drifted over the bodies, and she shook her head numbly. "He killed Eric, but Butch - I…"

She hedged, unable to continue, and felt Ridgely's hand squeeze her shoulder. For the first time since her allies showed up, Rose looked to Frank. The young man had already peeled the jacket off Eric's body and was shuffling through the items in the back of the Jeep.

Rose furrowed her brow in confusion. "What are you— "

"Here." Frank tossed Rose the canvas sack that had been on the native girl's head. "I have an idea."