Chapter 3: The Best Laid Plans
Oh, right. That was just a fabulous plan. 'How're you at playing sick, Mickey?' Whatever. Why couldn't the Doctor play sick and he play the hero? He folded his arms in front of him and shook his head. "Playing sick? What a brilliant plan!" He rolled his eyes. "That wouldn't work."
Before the Doctor could do more than open his mouth to reply, he continued, "They're just gonna kill us in the morning. Why would they care if we're sick or not?" There went his plans of being the hero while the Time Lord played sick.
The Doctor looked crestfallen. "Right. Which means we'll have to rely on Plan C or, if that doesn't work, Plan D."
"Which are?" He really couldn't understand what Rose saw in the bloke.
"C's for rebels. Places like this? There's always an underground resistance. It's a fact of life. Someone, somewhere, would've taken a look at this way of life and said 'no'. All part and parcel of why I love your species, really. D is our backup plan."
"What's the backup, then? 'Cause I've certainly not seen any resistance movement. Didn't see any sort of graffiti out there either. An' I'd think I would if there's a resistance. Like 'Free speech rules!' or 'Down with the Dictator Whatshisname'." At least, that made sense to him. If he were resisting this particular regime – and, really, who wouldn't? – he'd be plastering anti-government messages across Nova Paris.
The Doctor shrugged. "Prattle." After a moment's thought, he continued. "We were in the street for, oh, what was it? Fifteen, twenty minutes? Barely enough time to realise that something was wrong, let alone giving you enough time to check for graffiti."
He had to be literal, didn't he? He still hadn't seen any markings on the wall. 'V for Vendetta' or anything of the sort.
"Your backup plan is 'prattle'?" he asked, his tone disbelieving. Right, brilliant idea. Fantastic. In fact, to even suggest that scheme was almost awe-inspiring. Or would be, if it had a snowball's chance in hell of working. "Didn't you notice that the guard didn't exactly let you have enough time to prattle? Or that the guard hit you for trying? And, when you did manage to at least get a few sentences out, they ignored you? How's that supposed to get us out?"
"Are you always going to be this dreary? That's what makes it fun, Mickey! You just won't know until you try. Besides, I've got high hopes for Plan C." The Doctor grinned as he pushed himself to his feet.
The Doctor had high hopes. Oh, that made him feel so much better. "And what about Rose?"
A shadow crossed the Time Lord's face. "What about her?"
Surely the Doctor didn't think she'd be sitting back at the TARDIS waiting for them. This was Rose. The instant she realised something was wrong, she'd tear the city apart looking for them. And, of course, get into trouble along the way. He knew it. She'd done it before, even when lives weren't at stake and they were back in their time, their planet, their city. Before the Doctor ever came in and mucked it all up. If she thought he was in trouble, she'd always come running. From what he'd seen that hadn't changed, though it was more if the Doctor was in trouble she'd come running.
He really was the spare part.
"She's not gonna sit still while we're in trouble. You've got to know that. She'll come after us."
The Doctor's jaw clenched. "I know. But she's clever. She'll be fine."
He shook his head. Somehow, he suspected that the Doctor wasn't talking to him anymore. Not with that last sentence. No, he wasn't trying to lie to him. He was just trying to delude himself.
Night slowly crept over the city. Shadows lengthened as the brilliant orange, red, and violet sunset faded into dusk. She couldn't get used to the eerie silence of Nova Paris after nightfall. In her time, though she could hardly specify a time since she truly lived in them all, the city would still be alive with sound and laughter as the denizens celebrated the day's end.
However, that was her Paris, her world, her life. Here, nothing stirred save for a few Constables on their nightly rounds. She gripped the edge of the window frame, balancing herself against it. If she had anything to say about it, this would be the last quiet night that Nova Paris would know.
She caught Rose's reflection in the glass and she could tell that the girl was worried. Of course she was. Nine hours to go until the jailbreak. Just nine short hours.
Rose broke the silence, her voice almost too loud in the close quarters of the flat. "These mourners. Do they have to wear anythin' special? 'Cause I can't see them just, well, bein' let in no matter what. You said they were paid. How'd they be able to get their pay if they don't know who's been a designated mourner or not?"
She smiled. Oh, Rose was a clever one. "Yeah. Badges. Each mourner wears one on their right shoulders – looks sort of like a Fleur de Lys and a swastika meshed together. We get our hands on a couple of those and we'll be fine. I know where the women gather before they walk to the gates, so all we have to do is get there before them and, well, borrow the badges."
"But won't the mourners protest? What's the incentive for giving up their badges if they're getting paid?"
She was about to say that that didn't matter. This was the last night, the last dawn, that they'd see in this twisted up timeline. The badges wouldn't work anymore. It didn't matter. But, looking at Rose, she could see that it did. She couldn't do that. It wasn't right. "That's what this is for," she said, reaching into a pocket in her combat suit to pull out a heavy brown velvet bag and offering it to her companion.
Rose was about to open the bag when she heard it. It was faint, so, so faint that it was barely there. Shouts on the street. A siren. No, several sirens. Pounding footsteps. A knocking on the neighbour's door. Someone saying...
"What is it?" Rose asked, picking up on her sudden tension.
She held up a hand and frowned. It was so hard to hear, but it was there. Just there. Someone said...
Oh, it was so bloody faint, but she thanked the thin walls of the building. She could just hear the woman's words...
"Oui, the young lady had a friend. I heard something about the gaol. I think they're resistance. I am a good citizen, Constable. A loyal citizen. You must stop them before they hurt anyone. Please, Monsieur. Can you do-"
"Cruk!" she cursed, grabbing Rose's wrist and pulling her toward her bike.
"What's going on?" Rose repeated.
"Constables. Should've realised that my neighbour was too nosy for her own good. We've got to get out of here." Cruk! And, of course, the window was out. Damn thing was bolted to the frame, and, unlike the rest of the building, it was tamper proof. Cruk!
But Rose...
Hell. She'd have to risk it. Their only choice was to use the bike, and the only way they could use the bike was to travel through the Vortex. "Bloody hell!" she cursed again. "Get on the bike, Rose." She let go of the other woman's wrist to gather what little supplies she had readily available. A pillowcase would do as a makeshift carryall, and, thankfully, she kept the important items on her person or on her motorbike.
Medical supplies. They'd need medical supplies, possibly some water. She had no idea what condition they'd find their friends in when they got there. She rushed about the flat, throwing whatever might be useful into the sack.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Nova Paris Constables! Open up, mademoiselle! You are in violation of regulation one-victor-alpha!" The voice was punctuated by heavy thumps on the door. "We know you're in there!"
No time.
She ran to the bike, handing Rose the pillowcase. "I'm sorry, Rose," she said as she climbed onto the bike in front of her. She didn't know what this might do.
"Do it!" Rose commanded, her tone brokering no argument.
There was no time, no choice. The door started rattling in the frame from the force of the Constables attempt to enter the flat.
She started the engine.
With a mighty CRACK, she heard the door splinter in its frame.
She twisted a knob on the handlebar. "Sorry we can't stay and chat!" she shouted and, with a squeal of tires, she sent them rocketing into the Vortex.
He suddenly understood one of his former companion's penchant for re-writing events in a more favourable light on yellow sticky-notes in her journal. He could even imagine just what he'd say about the day on one of those notes:
Dear Diary,
Today, I got arrested for asking a question. Through the use of brilliant prattle, managed to escape and save Rose (and Mickey) from a deadly fate. Toppled the government, sorted history, and left before the grateful populace could shower me with more gifts – really, how much bad tea, strong coffee, and pastries could the TARDIS carry? No, don't answer that. Sent the TARDIS drifting for a while, talked to Rose, and all was right with the universe.
For now...
Love,
The Doctor
That, of course, was nothing like the truth. In his mental journal, he knew the facts. They were simple. Obvious.
Dear Diary,
Today, I got arrested for asking a question. Got myself and Mickey sentenced to death and now have no way to escape. Prattle's out thanks to the strange immunity of the Nova Parisians to my persuasive powers. There isn't a handy rebellion and, of course, the sonic screwdriver was confiscated along with my jacket and trench-coat. Oh, and I forgot to mention the best bit. Rose is somewhere out there, free, but I suspect it won't be for long. She's probably going to try and rescue us and get captured in the process. Getting two companions killed in the same day – must be some sort of record. Bah, now I'm getting morbid.
Wonder what the guards'll do when they realise that I'm not human. Regeneration's a bit hard to hide, after all. Provided that they succeed in killing me, of course. Now that's even more morbid. Enough. New new Doctor, right? No more thoughts of death. Think positive.
Right. Positive.
Maybe we'll get a different guard to escort us to 'serenity' and maybe he'll be a member of the rebellion. Either that or less resistant to my prattle. One can only hope.
Love,
The Doctor
That cinched it. He was never getting a diary. And, no, his 500 year diary didn't count.
"So how much longer till dawn?" Mickey asked glumly from his position in the corner. Shadows hid his expression, but he could easily read the other man's body language. He'd given up.
"Oh, don't give up! We've got plenty of time! Six hours is more than enough time to come up with and execute an escape plan. I've done it in under a minute before, and that was with all the hordes of Genghis Khan chasing me." Really, Mickey could at least try to be a bit more positive. They would get out of this.
"Would it help if I yelled at you? Shouted obscenities? Threatened to kill you? Would that get those brain cells of yours charged up enough to get us out of this mess? 'Cause I can't see a way out of this that doesn't result in one or both of us getting killed." His companion shifted on the hard floor, searching for a more comfortable position.
"Have a little faith, Mickey! We will survive. No. Hold on. That's a song. Well, sort of. More 'I will survive', but the meaning's the same. Anyway, we'll get out of this." The only option that he could see was to try talking his way out of their current situation. He couldn't escape without the sonic screwdriver or, at least, getting the shackle off his leg.
"Yeah. Whatever."
He tuned out Mickey's grousing. There wasn't enough time to indulge him. He had to think. Think, think, thinkety think. There had to be something he could do.
Something...
Dear Diary…
Something, that was, other than that.
Oh, she loved her bike. It could get her out of a tight spot anytime. Normally she avoided letting anyone see the Vortex, let alone her disappearing into it, but there hadn't been enough time. It was life or death. And she wasn't just thinking of the Doctor and Rose's friend.
It was simple enough to hop forward a few hours. All it took was another twist of the knob on the handlebar. That should help them give the Constables a slip and still have enough time to make sure that Rose had made it through the journey without any ill effects.
She regretted having to do it. Having to use the bike so soon after Rose's last experience with the Vortex. Hell, she hadn't wanted to do it but there was no choice. They had to escape and the bike was the only way out.
With another burst of brilliant colours and light, the bike peeled out of the Vortex and came to a halt near the tiny patisserie that served as the mourners' meeting place. A quick glance at her watch revealed that they still had time. Not much, admittedly, but enough.
"We made it!" she whispered, shutting down the engine in an attempt to keep their sudden arrival quiet. They were aided by the curfew, and the patrols. No one would be up at this time of night, let alone be outside. The only danger would be from the flats overlooking the street, but from a cursory glance she could tell that no one stirred behind the darkened windows.
Rose didn't answer.
"Rose?" she asked, not bothering to whisper.
Nothing. The other woman's hands were limp around her waist and she was suddenly aware of how heavily Rose was leaning against her. Which could only mean one thing.
She was unconscious.
"Cruk," she muttered under her breath as she carefully eased off of the bike, keeping one hand on Rose and the other on the handlebar. Wouldn't do to have both the bike and Rose fall to the ground.
When she finally got a good look at her, she bit off another curse. Rose's face was shockingly pale, her mouth slightly open, and her eyes wide and staring. It might've been her imagination, but she thought she could see brilliant flecks of gold in her friend's eyes.
"CRUK!" she cursed again, barely managing to push down the kickstand and hold onto Rose at the same time.
Once the bike was no longer in danger of collapse, she put both of her hands onto the other woman's shoulders. "Rose, can you hear me?"
Nothing. No spark of recognition, no spark of awareness in her eyes. Nothing at all.
She tightened her grip on Rose's shoulders, shaking them lightly. She had to react. She had to. But there was nothing. No reaction. Just the same blank stare.
What had she done?
"Oh, god." She gave voice to her despair. "What've I done?"
The unresponsive body of Rose Tyler had no answer.
To be continued...
