As promised, this one's done sooner. :)
The four-years-and-counting visit was much like the one before. Torchwood had lost a member and gained two since the Doctor's previous appearance. Maci had been killed in an exchange with a vigilante group—killed by the aliens she was trying to help. Ambrose hadn't been able to save her.
Jack had found a new weapons technician and, a few months after Maci's demise, a computer genius.
"It is a bit grim," Martin admitted to the Doctor one night. "I'm the only one left that remembers Jane and Dez. Besides Jack, of course. We've accomplished so much, but… it seems like we've lost too much. Like it's not worth it anymore. Three lives instead of hundreds sounds like a good bargain, but when you know those three…"
"I know," the Doctor said solemnly. "Sometimes I think I'd give whole worlds to get back the people I miss so much."
"Could you do that? If you really wanted to?"
"Maybe, if I were very selfish. But it would go wrong. Things like that always do. It's best not to think about it."
They were silent for a while, staring at the dark water of Cardiff Bay.
"Sometimes," Martin said at last, "I imagine I can hear the Tetrapi as if they're still out there. I studied their language a lot, even after they were gone. I wonder if I could speak to them better now."
"I'm sure you could."
"How is it that you speak everything?"
The Doctor thought this question over carefully. "It's a bit difficult to explain," he said at last. "It's a technology of sorts from my people. But it's sort of telepathic. I mean, you've got to have a living Tardis working on your side." He noted Martin's bewildered expression. "Like I said, it's complicated." He laughed apologetically.
After another silence, Martin said, "I don't feel that I've wasted my time here. But I can't help wondering—if all these things and people and…stuff keep coming through the rift—how much more is out there? How many more civilizations and languages and habitable planets are there? Will I live long enough to see many of them? I don't give much for my chances now."
The Doctor stared at him. "Martin, what age are you?"
"Thirty-two. If you don't count Jack, Ambrose and I are the old-timers."
"What's life expectancy?"
"For a Torchwood agent?" Martin laughed dryly. "Three to five years, I guess."
"Hey, you two," Jack called from behind them. "I don't mean to be all mother-hen here, but my agents are no good to me in the field if they don't get their sleep."
"Oh, I'm just your liaison," Martin said carelessly, "and I can talk in my sleep."
"Don't I know it," Jack said with a devious smile.
"Hey!" Martin exclaimed. "Don't listen to him, Doctor. I maintain I'm one of the few that's never been his lover."
"We'll have to stick together," the Doctor told him in a low voice so Jack couldn't hear.
Martin smiled, relaxed once again. "Good night," he said, pushing off the railing and heading down the sidewalk.
"Good night," Jack and the Doctor called after him.
"Jack," the Doctor said, watching their friend's departure, "Martin's all alone."
"What do you mean?" Jack approached the rail and leaned on it next to the Doctor.
"Jane, Dezzie, Maci… they're all gone. He gets on all right with the others, but it's not the same."
"He'll adjust. It's all we can do."
The Doctor turned back toward the bay. "Maybe he's not as strong as you are."
He knew he'd struck a chord then, and his conversation with Dezzie came back to him again.
"…He seems so lonely, living so long and everyone he cares about dying—except you."
"He may not want to be your lover, but he needs you."
The silence stretched out between them until finally, Jack broke it. "If you were anyone else, I'd say you didn't know what you were asking of me."
"I do know," the Doctor assured him.
"Then why—" Jack stopped himself abruptly. He sighed.
More silence. This time the Doctor spoke first.
"I think I should leave. Things are getting urgent, and…" he broke off, not knowing what other excuse he could make, and not wanting to make them to his friend. "You'll say goodbye to the others for me?"
Jack nodded.
"Jack, I'm sorry." The Doctor gripped the railing and tried to think of something encouraging to say. Finally, he gave up and resorted to hugging Jack.
He had expected Jack to say something—something to express his frustration, at the least. But his heavy breathing suggested that he didn't trust his voice for speech.
"I am so sorry," the Doctor repeated. He stroked the hair at the back of Jack's head once and pulled away.
This is it, the Doctor thought. This is the last visit before the adventure. This is when we'll have the big row. He wondered if he really wanted to go through with this visit. I won't rewrite it. This has got to be. One little change and Tsukiga might get away with his plot. He steeled himself for whatever was ahead.
And was startled out of his senses by a sound like the wailing of a banshee.
"WHAT?" he cried, whirling around to face his viewing screen.
The screen was flashing mauve and Gallifreyan writing was flashing across it. Then a face faded through the commotion. It was the face of a light-haired, middle-aged man. The man seemed to look straight at him and say urgently,
"Doctor, help me!"
It was a Gallifreyan distress signal—no doubt about it. Did the face belong to another Timelord? But as quickly as his hopes rose, the Doctor crushed them down again. Of course, it wasn't. One good look at the man's eyes made it clear: This person had never looked into the Time Vortex.
He shook himself from his stupor and sprang into action. "I'm coming," he said, though he knew the man couldn't hear him. He rushed around the Tardis' core and did all he could think of to track the signal. However, the Tardis needed little encouragement. The signal grew stronger exponentially, and before long the blue police box struck some surface and came to a halt.
"Doctor!" the same voice was calling from outside the Tardis' doors.
The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and rushed outside.
His surroundings were white. The middle-aged man was standing just to his right. A few masked figures looked at the Doctor with obvious surprise showing in their eyes.
Behind the shocked people, a battered figure lay on a hospital bed.
"Doctor," the man repeated. Then he added, "Thank God, you're here at last."
The Doctor turned to him and studied his face carefully. The man was familiar, but the Doctor was sure he'd never been one of his regular companions. Suddenly, he realized.
"No… Steven?"
"Yes, Doctor. You've got to help me." Steven leaned closer. "Mum's been killed in an accident. I need you to bring her back."
The Doctor blinked. His head was spinning. Alice was dead. Steven wanted him to save her. To break the laws of time. He turned back toward the hospital bed as he realized whose was the battered figure. Alice Carter was pale, in stark contrast to the blood smeared across her skin where hundreds of tiny bits of glass had pierced it.
"Oh… Steven," he whispered.
"What the hell is this glorified phone box doing in my operating room?" an angry voice demanded.
The Doctor snapped out of his numbness and turned toward the white-coated man who was looking at the Tardis with such great disapproval. "Sorry about that. I'll move it just as soon as we're through. Now, clear the room."
"Who do you think you are?"
"I'm the Doctor."
"Oh, really?" the medical doctor scoffed. "Let's see your credentials."
The Doctor held up his psychic paper. "There. See? I'm the Doctor around here. Now go away and play with a defibrillator or something, there's a good boy."
The doctor read the paper. "No one said anything to me about bringing in a neurologist! The patient is gone—there's nothing we can do."
"I'll be the judge of that, thanks—now, clear out. I work alone."
The doctor led his orderlies out of the OR, muttering curses about what idiots he'd have to deal with next.
Once they were alone, the Doctor told Steven, "I'm not supposed to just decide who lives and dies, Steven."
"She's not meant to die! She's not even sixty."
Not sixty? Alice hadn't been forty the last time the Doctor had seen her.
"Please, Doctor—I solved the puzzle because I knew you would come help me. You promised. You were great when I was a kid, but now I really need you. Please!"
The Doctor walked slowly to the hospital bed and gently took Alice's cold hand. She looked so different. Age and death had changed her, but he still saw the beautiful woman he had become so fond of. Tears formed in his eyes.
"It won't change the course of history," Steven went on. "I just need her a bit longer. I didn't even get to say goodbye."
The Doctor closed his eyes and the tears slipped through. "The signal's only good for one call, Steven. This is the only time I can help you."
"I understand."
When the Doctor looked back, Steven was holding the completed puzzle out to him.
"If you're able to recycle this, I'm sure someone else would love to have it one day."
The Doctor walked back across the room and took the puzzle from Steven. "I'll fetch the nanogenes," he said.
Minutes later, Alice opened her eyes. Steven was holding her hand and the Doctor was pocketing the tube of nanogenes behind her.
"Mum, you're all right."
"Yes, dear," Alice said immediately, though the Doctor thought she sounded disoriented. She sat up and hugged her son.
Steven held her tightly and looked at the Doctor over her shoulder. "Thank you," he mouthed silently.
The Doctor nodded and crept into the Tardis. As its core began whirring, he saw on the viewing screen that Alice had jumped up from her bed and run in her hospital gown to the blue box.
"Doctor, wait! Please!"
He stared grimly at her shaking form and watched Steven put his arms around her. He took the Tardis away, back to Cardiff Bay.
Short again, I know. I hope to work on it more soon. Let me know what you think. Corrected spelling; if you spot any serious errors, feel free to point them out.