Beta-ed by the fantastic YouCleverBoys.
Penultimate chapter. Buckle up.
"John Smith. Of course." Matt's voice was flat. "It's only his most well-known alias, which he used while at the home of two people that I knew to be former companions of his." A dimple appeared in one cheek as he dug his fingers into his eyes. "God, I must be an idiot, not to have put that together."
Wincing, Rose put a hand out, then decided it best she not touch him. "No, you couldn't have guessed. I should've said something long ago, 'm so sorry-"
"Okay, okay." Mickey leaned in, his elbows thumping on the table. "Save the apologies and self-recriminations, we need to focus. Although Matt makes a good point: there was enough evidence there for him to figure out the truth, and apparently, somebody did. But we're onto him, and he's not getting anywhere near you."
Matt lifted his gaze to Mickey. "You honestly believe that someone we work with is actually helping those weirdos?"
"Yes, and long story short, I say it's Daniels," replied Mickey, shooting the man a quick, daggered look over his shoulder. "Has to be. After all, it's only logical to..."
Rose quit listening, aware only of time being wasted, steadily trickling away like fine sand through her fingers. Rationally, she understood that the Doctor wasn't missing- the agreed-upon time for his arrival was seven, which wasn't for twenty minutes yet, and him not answering his phone was typical. But there was something -something- about this whole thing that made her palms sweat, and Rose couldn't go another minute without hearing that he was okay.
She looked down to her lap, where her mobile was clutched in one hand. One swipe of her thumb and two taps later the small screen read "Calling D".
It rang and rang and rang, on and on, until the lack of voicemail greeting made her suspect that the call had not connected. She tried again, and then a third time, becoming so incredibly frustrated that she didn't notice Matt shaking her shoulder until he did it hard enough to hurt.
"C'mon," he said, as Rose turned to him blankly, lowering the phone. The backlit screen caught his eye and he stuck a finger out, pressing end call. "You can try that again later. But for now we have to go."
"'Go'?" Her entire being rebelled against the word. "No. He's coming, and I need to be here."
Mickey spoke up, authoritative and trustworthy. "Rose. Those people are coming too, and they're after you. The Doctor'll kill me if I don't get you out of here. Now listen, yeah? I'm not going out on the patrol I've been assigned; Mar and I are staying right here. Gonna keep an eye on Kyle, an' if we can't get ahold of the Doctor before he shows up then we'll be waiting to warn him. Having you gone and safe makes all that other stuff simple, cause then when those idiots finally do show their faces they'll get no reward for it but a roomful of UNIT soldiers, yeah?"
He grinned at her, nodding big and slow until she slumped and nodded back. "Good. Now get outta here, you're gonna ride along with Matt while he does his patrol."
Matt was already on his feet, waiting for her. His arms were crossed, partially obscuring the quote on his tee (she could still see parts of "Bears" and "Battlestar Galactica"), but his stiff posture made her nervous, gave him a very soldier-like air in spite of geeky shirts. But then, out of nowhere, he gave her a small, real smile. "I'll buy you a coffee, if you're nice," he offered, with a trace of his old humour. "But I get first dibs the radio station."
As they walked the Doctor rambled, hardly pausing for breath whilst dodging pedestrians and navigating tricky intersections. Though his story was intriguing enough, Clara devoted more of her attention to his body-language, giving him a long, side-long look as she sipped her Starbucks. The twitchiness was worsening by the second, his hands in constant motion- wringing together, touching his chin, the back of his neck, his bow-tie. Must've realised that now or never time was fast approaching, as the block of flats her dad lived in was about to come back into view.
Out with it, you giant baby, Clara mentally snapped at him. Could he actually be so ridiculous so as to show up on a weekday afternoon, not even two days after she'd last seen him, take her out for a coffee, and then disappear back into time and space without offering a single reason for the unexpected pop-in?
The twisted filaments of his coppery wedding ring caught the sunlight again, glinting and bright and obvious as a beacon. Clara swallowed and glanced away, hurt rising up again. There was no way he'd forgotten he was wearing the thing. And -it hit her- wasn't it just like him to expect her to notice and mention it, thereby saving him from the discomfort of unveiling the news himself?
She looked down, watching her smart, heeled boots click against the rough pavement. Actually, now that she thought it through, wasn't it even more like him to expect her to notice and not mention it? One of his special talents, really, finding ways to cleverly reveal pertinent information while avoiding all the messier bits. The Doctor hated explaining himself; especially hated having to justify his actions. Like why he'd rushed off and gotten married the very minute he'd got rid of her.
Like why he hadn't wanted her there.
They rounded a corner and Clara paused, a spot of blue tucked between two skips catching her eye. "Oh, so that's where you parked the TARDIS," she said, interrupting something about a cyber assassin as she snagged his elbow. "I was wondering why I didn't see it on the way out." Crooking her arm through his, she abruptly changed their course, directing them toward the ship.
"Yes, I couldn't get her to land any closer today, she's in a mood for some reason." He gestured to the left with his thumb. "Your dad's flat is that way, you know."
"Right, but I need to run into the TARDIS for a second. Left my nice warm peacoat onboard, and I can't be sure that I'll see you again before I need it in a month or so."
The Doctor nodded, so Clara didn't know if he was oblivious to her implication of future neglect, or merely ignoring it.
Another snarky comment sat on her lips, but then shame warmed her cheeks as they arrived at the TARDIS. Wasn't she better than this? Better than all of this... passive-aggressiveness? As the ship's door creaked open, Clara brought out her nicest, kindest voice. "Um, so is Rose home? Be lovely to see her."
"No," he replied, waiting for her to precede him onboard. "She's at her job, but thankfully it's her last day-" His green eyes sharpened. "Why would you think she's living here?"
Clara crafted a sweet smile. "Saw your wedding ring, silly."
Bemused, he peered down at his left hand. "Right, I should've realised. Not used to the fact that I'm wearing one yet, I suppose." He met her eyes again, and she saw wariness there. "Are you...surprised?"
"Why would I be?" she said airily, swanning away through the console room. "You two were engaged, so it's not that much of a leap to guess that you'd get married sometime." At that moment, her eyes fell upon actual, visible evidence of his major life-change- Rose's scuffed pair of Converse lay on the floor under a jump-seat, a coat and a yellow striped cardigan of hers slung over the railing. She swallowed, heat filling her chest.
Nope. Whole sharing thing was still not her strong suit.
One step up to the catwalk his voice stopped her. "Right, but. You're not surprised about any of it, then?"
As she turned, Clara tried to tamp down a flare of impatience. She was trying to be a big girl, so why couldn't he just bloody let her? "What do you mean, 'any of it?' That doesn't even make sense."
Wandering around the console, the Doctor idly poked his finger into what looked like the dial of an old rotary phone. It clicked as he spun it. "Well, maybe not to you, but that's because you're human."
Her eyebrows knitted and she forgot all about being nice. "What the h-"
"We're from different planets, yes? We're different species, down to the DNA. Can you imagine how strange my planet's cultures and traditions might seem to you, were you able to visit? Hell, even I found most of it nonsensical."
Noticing her scowl, he smirked and came over, propping his body against the stair railing. "Take marriage, for example. A nearly universal concept, that. But weddings, now they're a bit of a different story. Not that the Time Lords didn't have them, but if you believe that they were all love and romance, and music and dancing and cake..." He exhaled a laugh, as if the mental picture amused him greatly. "Now humans...yes, you've got the love bit right, but your problem is that you need to do all this...gathering. Surrounding yourselves with practically every person you've ever known, well, maybe not exes, and-"
Clara gasped a little as she finally found a crumb of meaning in all this gibberish. "Wait. You're saying you didn't want me there because you're worried I might still have a crush on you or something?"
The Doctor blinked. "That's not what I said at all, I thought you were paying attention? I was merely explaining why Rose and I didn't have a wedding- well, we did, but in our own way." He cleared his throat, finger hooking in his collar as he looked away. "It was personal. We didn't invite anyone."
"Oh." Somehow, Clara felt even smaller than she had earlier. "So this whole time you were worried that I'd...you know what, it doesn't matter. I'm just...happy you're happy."
That, at least, was true.
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"Thank you," he said, snatching her into a quick hug. "Good chat. Off with you then. Go find your coat."
She skipped off, nearly made it to the corridor when a few low-spoken words floated up and caught her ear. "...humans," was one. Followed by, more clearly, "So fickle sometimes."
Marching to the railing, Clara glared down at him. "I heard that. Do you mean me?"
The Doctor's gaze lifted, his expression unreadable. "Oh, I don't know." He shrugged a shoulder. "Never seen anyone get over a crush quite so fast, is all."
With an indignant huff, Clara spun on her heel. "Oh my god, you need to get over yourself," she threw back at him with heat, stomping away.
His laughter followed her all the way down the corridor.
The TARDIS rumbled unexpectedly. As it stilled, Clara jogged the final leg of corridor to the console room. The Doctor was gone, door hanging open.
She beelined for it, dumping her coat on a captain's chair on her way, and found him waiting for her in some kind of corridor. Unadorned concrete block walls, cold and staunch and bunker-like, the exact definition of nondescript.
Clara recognized it immediately.
"We're beneath the Tower of London. What, did Kate Stewart ring you?" she said, quickly putting pieces together.
He nodded, briefly glancing back at her as he started off at a brisk pace. "Left a message. Must've done while I was out." His voice echoed, and the clack of their footsteps seemed loud in the empty corridor. "They've escaped," he added, his tone dark.
As this place was inextricably tied in Clara's mind to the memory of her abduction, she instantly knew who he meant.
"What? When?" she gasped out, increasing her speed as his strides seemed to lengthen.
"Days ago, apparently. Kate didn't find out until now."
"How could she not know they escaped? Surely the guards-"
"It wasn't a break-out, not in the way you're thinking. They were released. From how Kate made it sound, there was a bloody bookkeeping error or something." He shook his head. "I'm afraid to think of what might have happened if I hadn't popped by to see you today."
They came to a utilitarian lift, "Level 9" marking its wide metal doors. The Doctor unearthed the sonic from inside his coat and aimed it at the keycard reader. It took less than five seconds before the doors clanged dully and began to slide apart, but he was already bouncing on his toes, practically vibrating with nerves.
No, not nerves, Clara surmised, once she was standing in the lift alongside him, the close quarters finally affording her a good look at his face. Annoyance.
Yes, it was sulkiness, not worry, etching fine lines in his forehead and tightening his lips; and she should know, she'd certainly seen it often enough. Magnanimous as he could be, he conversely had precious little patience for being inconvenienced in any way. And here on his face, right now, was the look he usually reserved for evil overlords, or for cups of tea that took too long to steep.
Clara crossed her arms, annoyed that he was annoyed. Only thing you're afraid of is possibly having to keep me onboard again, she almost spat but didn't, biting back the bitter words as the doors scraped open, revealing another corridor, identical to the last one.
As they hurried along, she managed to tame the irritation. Be nice. You wouldn't want a friend tagging along on your honeymoon either.
The door he stopped at was plain, eggshell white like the walls, with Lab 2 stenciled on it in small black letters. It was also unlocked, and made not the smallest squeak of objection to the Doctor's barged entrance. With a sigh Clara followed, blinking in the room's semi-darkness. All the overhead lights were off, the only illumination coming from a lamp on a desk in a far corner. A woman's form was slumped there, in front of a glowing laptop.
"Kate," the Doctor's voice rang out, shattering the quiet and startling even Clara. Though she felt worse for the poor woman who'd had no idea of their presence, watching her chair screech backwards, her hands slipping against the desk. A few sheets of paper fluttered silently to the floor.
Kate ignored the papers. "Doctor!" she said, coming toward them. "How on earth did you get in here?"
"Door was unlocked," he replied, as if it was obvious. Though he no doubt knew as well as Clara did that Kate meant the Tower as a whole, not just her lab.
Kate sighed. "No matter. Hello, Clara. Good to see that you're safe."
The Doctor tapped his foot. "So. A bookkeeping error? Really?"
"Well, that was the initial conclusion, but now..." She flushed a little. "Your timing is good, Doctor; I have news. Mr. Jenkins is back in our custody, after being detained at Heathrow this morning. We not even an hour ago finished questioning him. According to him, their release wasn't an error at all, that it was purposefully done by certain individuals who are current members of our organization. Old associates of Steven Morgan, who are allegedly conspiring with him."
"Certain individuals?"
"Well, specifically, we're checking into the two dozen or so people in our employ who, like Morgan, have ties to old Torchwood One. Most were recruited by UNIT soon after its fall in 2007. Jenkins believes they carry a grudge against you."
The Doctor absorbed this silently. "Did you learn anything else from him?"
"Well." She tucked a lock of chin-length blonde hair behind her ear, looking apologetic and somewhat embarrassed. "He certainly said a lot, but I'm not sure any of it is worth much. I'm sorry, Doctor, but I'm nearly positive the man got himself caught on purpose; as he tried to pass through airport security with a handgun in his carry-on luggage. And for the last two hours, he's willingly offered us the most unbelievable information, most certainly designed to send us out on a wild goose chase. Very little of real value. The assumed names the others are traveling under, for example. Of course those are the details he claims he's not privy to."
Blowing out a breath, the Doctor wandered over to a bookcase, inspecting its contents. "What sort of unbelievable information?" he asked, taking a book from the shelf and thumbing through it. "Did he say they flew off for a tropical holiday or something?"
"Oh no, it was far more interesting than that. According to Jenkins, they have a foolproof plan in place to capture you." Kate smiled, a glint in her eyes as she delivered the punchline to this joke. "Tonight."
He snorted, shoving the book back into place. "Blimey, bit scared now. Shall I lock the door?"
"Oh, I'd say you're safe enough. Unless you plan to head to New York City."
The Doctor went preternaturally still, his finger still pressed against the spine of a leather-bound volume. Ever so slowly, his gaze panned over, his eyes sharp and strange.
Kate frowned, heels of her pumps tapping as she shifted on her feet. "Is something wrong, Doctor?"
"Jenkins said New York?" In direct contrast to his eyes, the Doctor's voice was calm, normal. "Why would he think I'd be there?"
"Well...it's silly, really." There was relief in Kate's voice but Clara held her breath, already certain that it wouldn't be silly at all. "Although, I will admit that some of it is quite creative. The man says you're in New York quite frequently these days, visiting a...well. A girlfriend. A woman he claims you're romantically involved with," she modified, as if the Doctor might be unfamiliar with the first term's meaning. "They're going with the same old plan, use her to lure you in-"
Kate took a long, uncertain breath, obviously thrown by the ominous darkness that had clouded his face, and tripped the last bit out hastily. "Which we might have taken seriously, if the name he'd given us wasn't of a former companion who died-"
Quicker than a lightning strike, he came toward them and thrust out his hand. "Phone!"
Clara did feel better after turning a few more lights on, and she returned to Kate's side. The other woman kept close watch on the Time Lord, who continued his erratic pacing at the far side of the room, a mobile to one ear while his free hand churned up his hair. "There were rumours, years ago," Kate murmured, breaking a long silence, and Clara looked at her in surprise. "About that companion. It was before my time here, so I never saw them together myself, but some of our people who did swore that..."
"That what?" prodded Clara, curious to see what exactly she knew.
But Kate shook her head. "Probably best if you don't ask him about it. As you can see, he's very touchy about his past."
The Doctor's voice drifted over, clear and distinct. "Rose," he said into the mobile, body hunched over a stainless steel bench, "I've been trying and trying, and I know you're at work, but there must be something wrong with your phone since this is the first call that's gone through and..."
He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Okay, never mind that, but listen. They've found you, they're in New York, that group of xenophobes who'd abducted Clara. I'll explain it all later, but for now will you please, please get Mickey, have him take you somewhere safe, okay? Don't trust anybody else. Then ring me back and I'll come...no, on second thought, ring me straightaway so I know you're all right."
He paused, dragging a hand down his face, and when he spoke again his voice was soft and tender. "Please be safe. I love you."
"Oh," exhaled Kate, going limp. "Oh my."
Clara took pity on her. "Your intel is good," she explained, touching the older woman's arm. "That's why he's acting this way. Rose Tyler's not dead. She's his wife."
Thunk went Rose's head, hitting the passenger seat headrest. "I give up. All it does is ring." But a second later she was sitting straight again, her eyes on back on her mobile.
"He's okay." Matt's hand fell over hers, preventing redial number seven. "He got a call through."
"Right, and I don't get how I missed it because-" All at once she was thrown forward against the seatbelt, the Jeep screeching to a quick halt.
"Sorry," he mumbled, and nodded toward her window. "There's um, another white Explorer. Can you make out the plate by chance?"
"Yeah," she said, peering out. The numbers and letters were grainy in the dark, but legible. "It's not them."
Foot on the gas, Matt eased them back into motion. "I'm sure...he's probably on the phone with Mickey, is all."
"But I should at least get voicemail-"
"Rose. Take a deep breath, okay? Just...just relax for minute."
She looked over. Matt's gaze was fixed firmly on the windshield, his jaw tense, curls more unruly than usual. He'd thrown his black UNIT-issued jacket on over his tee, and it looked odd paired with jeans.
Rose took an audible breath and slumped back. "You're right," she said, readjusting the strap of her seatbelt. "Don't know why I'm freaking out like this. When I...way back, when we traveled together before, it seemed like somebody was tryin' to kill him every week."
Street lamps and passing headlights illuminated Matt's profile at sporadic intervals. "That doesn't seem right," he said at last.
Rose gave a small smile. "Yeah, well, finding trouble's sort of his specialty."
He glanced over, and did not smile back. "So I hear. And that's all well and fine for him. But, and please correct me if I'm wrong, I also hear he's practically impossible to kill. Whereas people, humans...I mean, what makes it okay for him to expose humans to that lifestyle? To all that danger? We're mortal, you know."
"You're mortal," she translated, going by the worry in his tone. Rose rested her head against the seat, gazing at him with understanding. "That's true. But those of us who decide to travel with him, we go in knowing the risks. It's...it's hard to get it, when you haven't seen what's out there, seen how amazing it is. God, my mum felt like you did when she found out what I was up to. She absolutely hated it, was always sure that I was gonna end up dead. But eventually, she realised how good it was for me. It's not just about the traveling, it's about helping whole planets and people an' lots of other things. It's a better way of living life. It's worth the risks."
The Jeep had slowed to a crawl, Matt more intent on her words than actually driving, and Rose felt a long-held weight begin to slip from her shoulders. They were finally talking about this. "And for me, personally, the Doctor is worth the risks," she went on, opening the door for a deeper, more personal discussion. "I belong with him."
His Adam's apple bobbed. "You could travel the Earth your whole life too, and never see all of it," he replied, pointedly ignoring her last statement. "And if I were him, there'd be nothing more important than making sure you were safe. Doing what's best for the other, isn't that the right thing to do when you really love someone? Even if it hurts?"
Licking her lips, she looked out the window, at the tall brick buildings and fire escapes. Matt couldn't know, of course. How the Doctor's determination toward that very end hadn't kept her any safer. Had resulted in heartache and regret and a long separation.
"Look. I can tell you think he's being selfish, but he's not. I'm not gonna get upset, cause you don't really know him, or much of anything about our story. But what I will say is that for me, being with the Doctor is the safest-"
"Oh," gasped Matt, and hit the brakes again. They'd been moving so slowly that this time the forward momentum was minor, and Rose looked to see what he was staring at.
Three people, two men and a woman, stood in the middle of the street, not five feet from the front of their vehicle. The woman was blonde, bespectacled, and one of the men was so large and muscular that the second man seemed rail-thin in comparison. He was also the only one of the group not pointing a rifle at them.
"Oh," Rose echoed.
The thin one approached, indicating that Matt ought to roll down his window. Compliance earned him a nod, and then the man glanced back toward his armed compatriots. That was when Rose noticed the scar- a creepy, unbroken white line that began at one temple and ran round his head, circling through his hair.
"Pull over," he demanded in an accent from her old home, confirming the truth for Rose- this was no random robbery. These were criminals from London she was meant to be avoiding, the alien-haters. And this man didn't think much of her either, going by the way his eyes roamed her form, a curious inspection like she was some sort of specimen. It made her skin crawl.
Several long minutes, a few blocks, and a half-dozen flights of stairs later, Rose and Matt found themselves handcuffed, seated together on the dingy, faded duvet of a double bed. The hotel room was awful, smelling like it was coated with the residue of a million cigarettes, and she was careful to avoid taking breaths through her nose. This place was probably on the list of Brooklyn's top ten most cockroach-friendly.
Though if truth be told, it wasn't the worst prison she'd ever been in.
"No," Rose told the scarred one defiantly, not sparing him her best glower.
Matt jabbed her with his elbow, to remind her that these people had guns. "Rose," he muttered. "Just give him your passcode."
"Yes, Rose," the man sing-songed, tossing her mobile in the air. "Not that I need his number; your friend Mickey was kind and stupid enough to provide it to me earlier. But for expediency's sake, it's really best if I ring from your phone. Since not even an alien's too likely to ignore a call from his lover, yeah?"
She rolled her eyes, though his first comment had made her heart skip. So UNIT hadn't called Mick; it had been this lunatic? Somehow, this was a set up?
A tinny rendition of Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick burst from her phone's speaker, its upbeat sound raucous in such an atmosphere. Rose clenched her eyes shut. It had to be him. Who but her Time Lord could have such lousy timing?
"Oh, what an accommodating fellow," she heard Scar-head comment, with a delight that made her shiver.
"Twenty-three hundred hours?" said the Doctor, giving Kate's mobile a shake, squinting at it again before looking over with disbelief in his eyes. "Please tell me that's not right."
"Well," she replied slowly, obviously reluctant to further upset him. "With Jenkins being brought in and everything else, it was bound to get late-"
"But I didn't time travel," he interrupted, staring at Clara almost pleadingly. "Half hour ago it was mid-afternoon, yes? Made a short hop across London."
He was looking for her calm reassurance, or for her to step on his toes and tell him he was being stupid. It was on her tongue- "stop it, Doctor, it's just a coincidence. It only seems like everything's going wrong, but the truth is that you're a horrible driver."
But all she could manage was an apologetic look, and hated herself when he looked away. "She won't be at work anymore," he added. "New York is five hours behind...she'll be at that bloody party by now. If she even..."
Letting the thought hang, the Doctor shook himself, eyes a bit wild as they snapped to the door. Clara tensed, half expecting him to dash for it.
Instead, he stilled, his eyes falling shut. Tiny lines appeared between his brows and deepened, concentration becoming frustration. "Must be too far. I can't get a read on her feelings at all."
"Doctor," said Clara, deciding it best not to ask what that meant. "You haven't been in New York since this morning, so couldn't you just go back early enough-"
Anger flashed in his eyes. "No, I can't. I can't go to warn her earlier, because I didn't. At least not until I left that bloody message five minutes ago, like an idiot." The mobile in his hand was glared at, like he blamed it as well, and he drew his arm back, like he meant to hurl the thing against a wall.
Instead, he took a long breath through his nose, regaining control, and before Clara could think he'd shoved the phone into Kate's hands and was out the door.
"I'll keep you posted," said Clara to Kate, the words thrown hastily over her shoulder as she made to chase after him.
The Doctor reappeared in the doorway, radiating urgency. "Kate, think. Someone from UNIT's New York branch knows Rose's true identity. Did Jenkins tell you who it was?"
The TARDIS rocked, her rotor pulsing too bright and too fast, as if she were as worked up as the Doctor. He was scaring Clara a little- she hadn't seen him this agitated in a long time, though she was consoled to know he was still thinking clearly. His unwillingness to muck with the timelines proved that.
Then again, she re-thought, watching him rush away down the paved, moonlit street, he was currently surrounded by well-spaced houses on wooded lots and somehow concluding Manhattan.
"Doctor!" she shouted, hating to break it to him. "This isn't the city!"
Her words penetrated and he spun around, just as Clara recognised the gabled house directly across the road from the TARDIS. "Isn't this Martha and Mickey's neighborhood?"
Looking left and then right, he cursed and began to run back, snapping his fingers. But although the TARDIS' top bulb brightened for a moment, there was no telltale creak of the door swinging obediently open. Clara tugged the handle. It was locked.
The Doctor crashed into the door. "Ow," he said, rubbing his jammed shoulder as he looked up with a betrayed expression on his face. "What are you playing at?" The handle was yanked, then he swore again and began rooting through his pocket for a key.
That's when it caught her eye. The badge advert for St John's Ambulance had been covered- a sort of sticker, maybe? making it appear as if the TARDIS was wearing a round name-tag.
Proclaiming her to be, of all things, the villain of a rather dark children's story.
Bad Wolf.
Weird.
Clara opened her mouth as she turned to the Doctor, then shut it on seeing the jut of his jaw, his neck muscles straining as he tried forcing the key to turn in the lock. Not the time.
Except there it was again. That name, stuttered repeatedly over the instruction panel, also lacking the Big. A chill crept over her skin as she closed her eyes, gathering a modicum of strength before looking up.
"Bad Wolf," she read out loud, eyes locked on the black and white sign that had always, should always, say Police Public Call Box.
There was a small, metallic clink. The Doctor had dropped his key, and was gaping wide-eyed at the strange words.
"No," he whispered, stumbling back a step or two.
Oh, that really scared her. "What is it? What's it mean?"
Without answering, he ran away, straight up the Smith's driveway.
"Doctor!" she panted, catching up as he peered through cupped hands into a garage window.
"I need transport...car's gone."
Yet another thing gone wrong in what was now quite the laundry list, but inexplicably, he sounded brighter than he had in hours. He took off again, forcing her to chase him around the house, all the way across the back garden to the small white shed. He hauled the door open, revealed a glowing interior.
"Hello," said the Doctor, laying his hand flat on the front of the tall blue box. Pull to Open, read the sign on the left, and Clara sighed in relief as he pushed, the door swinging open easily.
"Rose's TARDIS," he explained, hands in motion as he circled the console. Clara nodded, taking in the strange interior, all grated floor and roundrels and vinyl seats. Support struts branched out at its edges, organic and life-like.
"Doctor. Do you know what this Bad Wolf thing means?"
Slamming down a lever, he didn't look up. "Yes, mostly. It's complicated. Let's just say that in spite of the name, I'm taking it as a very, very good sign."
Had Clara known what the Doctor was planning, she would have strongly suggested he park the TARDIS outside the pizza parlour.
At least then there might've been a smidge of doubt amongst Rose's work friends as to his actual identity, in spite of the purple coat and the bow-tie and the fact that he wasn't trying to play human at all anymore.
"Do any of you lot know where Rose Tyler is?" he asked again, his manner no less intense, though this time he did slow his speech for the gobsmacked crowd.
It didn't seem to help much.
Clara might worry they'd landed in the wrong place, again, but it was definitely a private party. Probably around a dozen people total, most of them grouped around a single long table that'd been cobbled together from smaller ones. The place was small, brick-walled and charming, the air humid and scented with cheese and spices.
The jukebox took a breath, launching into the second refrain of Across the Universe. By now everyone had begun to dart glances at each other. A few indulged in long, slow blinks, no doubt trying to absorb the night's strange development- yes, the Doctor has crashed our party.
"We know a Rose Prentice," ventured one of them, a young man with intelligent blue eyes and dark stubble.
The Doctor's nose wrinkled. "Yes, that's right, I suppose she's been calling herself that."
The man tugged his ear, darting a quick look over his shoulder to the small group hovering around the pool table. "Um, this is her party, sir."
A huge, exasperated sigh escaped the Time Lord and a fine-boned blonde woman hurried to the rescue. "She might be in the bar area," she suggested in a southern accent, thumbing to a door at their left. "With Mickey Smith and Martha...you're friends with them, right?"
Clara nearly collapsed into a puddle of relieved gratitude when said friends chose that moment to come scurrying in.
"What in the world!" exclaimed Martha, her eyes disapproving as they took in the Police Box. "When did you get here? We've been trying and trying to phone you-"
"Where's Rose?" the Doctor interrupted, hands pulling at each other. All the command in his voice had gone, leaving him sounding young and scared. "Mickey, where is my wife?"
A low murmur rippled through the room as comprehension dawned on a dozen faces. Oh, this was not good. His second slip-up today, and this time, it would do damage. Kate Stewart was one thing, her discretion could be trusted, but now the news would undoubtedly spread through UNIT like wildfire. Clara did not care to be there once he realised.
"She's safe," Mickey assured him. "We heard about the threat, so I got her out of here. She's riding along on patrol with one of our lieutenants."
"Doesn't she have her mobile?"
"Course. Like I said, we've all been trying to ring you."
Chin tucked, he studied Mickey, and then his hand poked into his coat for his screwdriver. Clara couldn't help but be amused at the way all eyes riveted to him as he slowly rotated, shoulders round and arm outstretched, scanning it over every wall and corner. The guys at the front of the table outright grinned, like this was the coolest thing they'd seen in ages.
On reaching the jukebox, the sonic's whirr pitched higher. Pocketing the tool, the Doctor strode over, plucking a small black device with a short antenna from behind the machine. "Hello...here's why no calls were connecting."
"What is it?" asked Mickey.
"A scrambler." The Doctor tossed on the floor. The plastic casing crunched as he stomped it with his heel. "Cheap one, too."
"What's a scrambler do?" an eager voice piped up.
A scowl was turned on the poor soul who'd spoken. "It scrambles. Blimey. You people deal with alien tech, surely a little spy stuff isn't beyond your comprehension. And now Martha, I'd like to try your phone."
"We think we know who put it there, Doctor," Martha told him in an undertone, drawing him aside as she handed over her mobile. "There's a mole."
"I know," he replied darkly, holding out the mobile for Martha to tap in her passcode. "Clever enough to not show his face here, I see."
Martha frowned. "No, he's here- look over at the pool table. Recognize anyone?"
"Only that football bloke," he said, after a perfunctory look. "The one with the mouth."
"Right," emphasized Martha, like he was being thick.
He went still as a statue, finger hovering over the mobile's touchscreen. "What about the skinny one? Curly hair? The one Jenkins saw on video chat...Clara, what's his name?"
"No way," stated Mickey, before she could answer. "Matt wouldn't."
That was the name, and the Doctor knew it. "Please," he begged, "tell me he's not the lieutenant you... "
Mickey put a hand over his eyes, looking sick, and Martha gave an anguished nod.
He was never going to listen.
Of that Clara was certain, almost from the moment they'd stepped from the TARDIS. Morgan's eyes were cold steel, so unyielding and full of hatred that even the Doctor's sharpest, best aimed points of logic had no shot at altering the man's twisted ideals.
And his smile, his mocking, maddening smile, made Clara's fists clench until her nails bit into skin.
Give me a metal death machine any day, the Doctor'd said on the way over. Stupid, emotional humans are the worst thing there is.
As usual, he was right. Morgan was already victor here and he knew it; even if he ended up outgunned and outnumbered. Because when push came to shove, he had nothing to lose. And the Time Lord? Everything.
"Saviour of the British Empire?" the Doctor was saying, his tone respectful, carefully free of sarcasm. "The way I remember it, greed brought Yvonne Hartman alarmingly close to destroying all of reality."
"She started the ghost-shifts, so all those deaths are on her," Rose ground out. "Blaming the Doctor's just stupid-"
She broke off with a pained hiss as Morgan angrily tightened his grasp on her upper arm and hauled her up onto her tiptoes, digging his revolver into the thin flesh between her shoulder blades as if reminding her it was there.
"Oi," growled Mickey, taking a single step forward, his own gun trained on the man.
"Don't," said the Doctor, low. From her position behind him, it was hard for Clara to say if he was speaking to Mickey or to Rose's captor. Maybe to Rose herself. She was furious, simmering with scarcely contained rage. Clara worried that before too long some reckless action of hers would be the spark that sent the delicate stand-off up in flames.
There were so many guns.
Silence reigned, and Clara drew a long breath of the stale air. This room looked like it had borne witness to a thousand crimes. Lit only by a single bare bulb overhead, the corners were shadowy and spooky, hiding who knew what, and over the double bed in the far right corner, moldy plaster peeked out from beneath peeling wallpaper.
To the left of the bed, drapes were drawn over a single window, and Morgan stood in front of it, his grip iron-like on the handcuffed Rose. They were flanked by two other goons, the Big Guy and Blonde Girl that Clara recognised from back in London, both of whom were armed with scary automatic rifles. Matt, exposed as the mole, was on the bed, staring resolutely at the threadbare carpet and rubbing his recently un-cuffed wrists. He looked so ashamed that Clara almost felt sorry for him.
If the small digital clock at the bedside was to be believed, only fifteen minutes had passed. Escape seemed hours away, even with the TARDIS emitting warmth at her back, light from its slightly ajar door spilling at her feet. Martha was hidden onboard, waiting for Mickey's signal, a cue to summon back-up. At this point, it was hard to say if the soldiers' possible arrival would be a good thing or very, very bad.
Morgan relaxed his grip on Rose, and her voice instantly rang out again. "This is ridiculous. The Doctor's already promised to get you access to Torchwood One's old bank accounts; there should be more than enough funds for you to rebuild it however you want. Give me one reason why you can't just do it in Hartman's honour?"
He laughed. "I'll give you four-hundred and sixty-seven reasons. That's how many of my old colleagues, people who were truly devoted to protecting this planet, lost their lives that day. So you give me one good reason why this alien -who you've so eloquently described as good and kind and reasonable- isn't willing to go back and save even one." He gave the Doctor a once-over, disgust in his eyes.
The man on the bed looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "What do you mean, 'one'? What about Lisa, or Rajesh? What about my sister?"
Morgan turned cold eyes on him, his scar clearly visible in profile. "I didn't forget about them, Barclay, I was making a bloody point."
"What about you?" asked the Doctor quietly, stalling for time. "Tried to cyberize you, eh? Never seen anyone escape that before."
"The human race needs protection," said Morgan, ignoring the question. "Torchwood will rise, and it needs a strong leader. Yvonne Hartman deserves this, to see her vision for this country realised at last." He took a look at the clock. "Time's up. Now here's what's gonna happen. Monica and I will accompany the alien to 2007. We return here within one hour, all necessary individuals alive and accounted for, and then old Anderson here won't kill the girl." His lips twisted. "Your wife."
Breaths uneven, fidgety hands, the Doctor's careful veneer of calm was rapidly melting away. Clara's heart pounded.
"But...okay, thing is, you don't understand. Please, let me explain it again." The Doctor's eyes locked on Rose, and Clara knew he was wholly unwilling to let her out of his sight. No way would he leave her alone with that cold-eyed man and his gun, when it was ever so clear that Morgan was not bluffing. "Like I told you, it's not that I don't want to save those people, it's that I literally can't. A person's death is a fixed point, fixed, in that it cannot be changed. I swear I'll help you in any other way, afterward I'll surrender myself to your custody just as you like, but you can't ask me to change established events. I can't rescue someone who's already died."
Morgan's gaze was distant and calculating. "I don't believe you."
The Doctor closed his eyes.
"Why would I?" Morgan continued, smooth as silk. "You're powerful and clever and dangerous, and it's high time somebody stopped you. Time someone showed the world what you really are. Abruptly he gave Rose a shove, so that she stumbled forward. "There's nothing you can do to save people's lost loved ones, you say?"
With clear eyes and a steady hand, he raised his gun. "Then prove it."
Everything after that was muddled, like drowning in murky water, all adrenaline and noise and frantic motion, snatches of light and air. Clara's ears rang, her nostrils burning with the acrid scent of gunpowder, temporarily deaf and blind to the chaos circling all around her. All she could see was the Doctor.
He was knelt at the eye of the storm, gathering Rose into his arms, her brown eyes wide and shocked on his. A horrible red stained the front of her soft blue cardigan.
As Rose's lids fluttered closed his chest heaved. "Rose," he gasped, voice strangled, as he pressed the heel of his hand to the wound. "Rose, love, please hang on, okay? Open your eyes, baby. Hey, hey, honey, please. Rose..."
Martha appeared, her face wet but urgent as she crouched beside him, speaking, rapidly working Rose's buttons, and then Clara could not see or hear either of them anymore, as shouting, thundering soldiers swarmed everywhere.
A gentle hand took Clara's, and through a blur of tears she looked up at Mickey. But before he could speak a shout rang out, piercing through the clamor.
"Do it!"
Everyone quieted, their attention drawn to the obnoxious man. Morgan looked a bit worse for wear, his nose bloody, upper lip split and swollen, pinned belly-down to the floor by Barclay.
"Do it!" he roared again. "Go back in time and save her!"
The Doctor got to his feet, Rose in his arms. He stared at the man with eyes like burnt-out stars, cold and black and lifeless. Morgan's triumphant sneer wilted away, colour wicking from his cheeks.
"This is the part where," the Doctor drawled, "were I any other man, I'd swear that if she dies, I'll make you wish you had never been born." His gaze hardened. "But as you so often reminded me tonight, I'm not just any man. I'm a Time Lord. I'll simply make sure you won't be."
Turning on his heel, he strode away, carrying his precious burden into the TARDIS.
The medbay was big and brilliant, full of super-advanced tech. Surely there was no illness or injury that could best it, or so Clara told herself. But the great, big, wrenching knot in her gut only grew. They were too foreboding, those little beads of perspiration on the Doctor's forehead, popping out as he tried to insert an IV line into Rose's forearm.
Even worse was Martha's quiet despair. She smoothed a hand over Rose's hair, occasionally checking her pulse at her throat.
Clara stood back with Mickey, out of the way, and gripped his hand tighter.
"For god's sake, do something, Martha!" the Doctor exploded out of nowhere, making all of them jump. "Set up the bloody heart-rate monitor or something!"
Martha bit her lip, clearly reluctant. "Doctor...maybe it's best if you-"
He made a small sound of triumph, having finally got the line in.
"Doctor." Martha tried again. "Come hold her hand, yeah? Here, let me start the drip."
He shot her a quick, fierce glare. "Stop it."
Tears streaked down her cheeks, but she didn't back off. "I'm sorry, but Doctor, you must know...all that internal hemorrhaging..."
His nostrils flared, face contorting in pain as his glass bubble of denial finally shattered. "So," he told the floor. "Back to Plan A, then." His eyes, full of a new, scary resolve, found the door.
Clara read his mind.
Without a second thought, she blocked the exit. "You can't."
Her heart thrummed at his predator-like approach, a sense of disbelief clouding her senses. Had it really been only a couple of hours since they'd walked together, sun on their shoulders, while she struggled with petty jealousy? Now, she'd give anything, anything, for him to keep his Rose...though risking all of reality was where she drew the line. "You know you can't save her by carrying out that...that threat. It's wrong."
Wasn't it? Why, on saying it, did she suddenly feel like a gun was trained on him now, her own itchy finger on the trigger?
His laugh told her he was already lost. Already the second casualty of the day.
As he made to push past her, Clara sent Mickey a silent plea for help. In a rush Mickey grabbed his arm, and like a striking snake, the Doctor hauled off and punched his friend in the jaw.
Then he was gone.
"Would Rose want you to do this?!" she shouted down the corridor after him, a last-ditch plea. "Would she?"
Amazingly, his footsteps faltered.
"You won't be the Doctor anymore, if you do," she pressed. "You know that. Would Rose want you to sell your soul in order to save her?"
His head hung, and it was a hollow victory.
Soft words squeezed past the huge boulder in her throat. "This isn't fair, of course. It's horribly, horribly wrong. God, if anyone deserves to have their dream come true, to have a life of...of perfect endless bliss, it's you two, but-"
A crackle of electricity lit the air as his head snapped up. He whipped to face her, and she caught a glimpse of something- something like hope, gleaming in his eyes as he raced back into the medbay.
"What are you doing?" she rasped out, watching him climb onto the small mattress, settling beside his pale wife.
His eyelids fell, his fingers lodged at Rose's temples. "Promising her a happy ever after," he murmured, and kissed her.