An: Ok, thank you to I Am Bad Wolf (of for beta reading, and thanks to Devan.Snape for just being a friend and telling me the story's good. I don't own either Doctor who or Torchwood (Airs this Sunday on BBC 3, can't wait!) This story is mainly a tribute to Russell T Davies who does such a good job on the shows. Oh, and Doomsday never happened (in this story at least).
enjoy-
2006-
Bronte walked ahead of her sister and Devan, trying to get her head around the sick worry in her stomach. Devan called out to her and she stopped to wait for the two girls.
"So, what did you say your imaginary Police Box people looked like?" Devan giggled. Bronte glared at her.
"You don't believe me, do you? Is it so much to beli…." She stopped short. There in the trees, behind the school was a 1960's Police Box. Seeing Bronte's reaction, Blaire and Devan turned around.
"Oh my god." Blaire whispered.
Bronte ran ahead, impatiently running to the big blue box. She looked around the outside and tried to open the doors.
"It won't open." Said Devan, stating the blind obvious.
The three girls looked in awe at the structure, each with a different theory of its existence.
A rustle of trees brought them back to reality as a low growl sounded from the site.
"What was that?" Blaire quipped.
The growl came again, this time louder as if closer.
"Now, I didn't imagine that." Bronte clasped her sister's hand.
They stepped backward, just in time to see the creature jump out at them.
2018-
The microwave beeped, signalling that the instant meal was done. Bronte picked up her oven glove and pierced the film, while balancing the cordless phone on her shoulder as she spoke to her sister.
"Yes, Blaire, you heard me correctly, I'm going to New York to be the second assistant to the editor-in-chief of Vogue magazine." She rolled her eyes at her twin's enthusiasm at the subject.
"I can't believe it! If I knew you get assignments like that, I would have joined MI6 with you!" Blaire's shrill voice squeaked in glee.
"Well, you can have it! I hate my job! I don't WANT to go to Paris Fashion week, I don't want to have to be both an undercover agent and the lackey of someone they nick name 'The Devil Woman'!" Bronte picked up a fork at took a bite of the ready-made lasagne.
"Oh, come on! You know Anna Wintour left Vogue years ago!"
"You're not helping." Bronte looked over her files, as her sibling nattered on about the latest models and designs. She tuned her out until something was said the left alarm bells ringing in Bronte's head.
"What did you say?" Bronte asked.
"About Beauchamp? I was just saying that they're neck and neck with Chanel and Prada in the winter fashions range. They're the fastest growing designer known. Not even the greats became such bets sellers in such little time."
Bronte and Blaire spoke for a while longer, finally hanging up around Midnight.
Bronte sat down on her bed, thinking in detail about the events of years before, about how nothing had really changed in the term of homes, televisions, phones, and food…. Some things had changed; they now drove eco-friendly cars, smoking was less common and blistering cold winters were guaranteed. She thought about the latter as she slipped into a memory filled sleep.
'2006 –
The next thing I knew, I was running, separated from the other two, I was on my own. I didn't really know where I was going; all I knew was the creature was chasing me.
I ran behind an oak tree, tripping over a fallen log as I went, twisting my ankle. The creature saw me, lying on the ground and I froze. It was like no earth creature. The size of a bear and the width of a gorilla, it loomed over me, a hungry look in its blood red eyes. There are no words to describe the terror I felt, the way those eyes bore into my soul and punctured my very being. I knew what was coming. I was going to die. My life was going to stop. I would never meet the people I wanted to meet. I would never experience my first kiss; I would never be in love or be married. I would never see my sweet sixteen, I would never have children and I would never grow old.
I closed my eyes for the blow, the searing pain that was inevitable, the stopping of blood flow. But it never came.
Opening an eye, I sat up. The Creature was frozen, it's eyes a bright yellow. Slowly, I looked around to see a pair of Converse trainers.'
(2018)
Bronte was woken suddenly by the sound of her mobile ringing.
"What the fuck?" She groaned and reached out to silence the phone.
With blurred vision, she checked the name displayed on the screen. 'JACK'.
She flipped open the phone and answered abruptly.
"What the fuck do you want? Do you know that it's Three fucking am?!" She yelled down the small device.
"Whoa. Easy there Bronte, some of us are just as tired as you." Jack's voice sounded drained, yet he kept up his openly flirtatious tone.
"What is it, Jack?"
"That's Captain Jack to you. Anyway, you need to get down here, we leave for New York in eight hours and you need to file your fake visa."
"Can't I just do that later?" She asked, fiddling with the switch on a table lamp.
"No can do, you have to get your rather cute butt down here now."
"You're a charmer, Jack, a real charmer."
"Don't ya know it. See ya in a bit." And he hung up.
Throwing the phone down onto the bed, Bronte quickly ran to grab a shower.
Half an hour later, Bronte Jennings stepped out of the lift onto the third floor, walking straight past personnel and down the corridor to the observatory. The building was quite spooky with no one about. Dismissing the eeriness as trivial, Bronte straightened her skirt before she typed in the access code. She had quickly dressed in a dark denim skirt and a purple blouse. She leant back on her stiletto heels as she waited for the code to be processed. The door unlocked and she walked in to find Jack once again hunched over some paper work at the main desk. He looked up to greet her and stopped. She felt self-conscious, as his eyes very obviously looked her up and down, resting in places they shouldn't. She looked down at herself. Maybe her skirt was a little short… and her blouse was unbuttoned a fair way, showing much more of her neckline than she usually did. Eagerly wanting to break the awkward silence, she coughed.
"See something you like?" She laughed.
"Maybe." Jack replied. Almost too seriously.
Jack grinned and presented a wad of documents.
"These are your visa forms and here" he picked up a file " is your description." He flipped the description open as Bronte sat down on one of the desks.
"You are a trained fashion adviser, with journalistic ambitions. You were born in London and you moved to Cambridge when you were eleven. You love Vogue magazine and have read it since you were thirteen and your daddy bought you your first pair of Jimmy Choos."
"That's not true!" Bronte quipped "I was twelve when daddy bought me my first pair of Jimmy Choos."
Jack smiled again. This smile unnerved her a little. It wasn't a smile she recognised – and she wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
"Your name is Bronte Isabella Johnson."
She merely nodded and picked up a pen to fill in the visa. Leaning the paper on the desk, she started to fill in the required information. Still a little unnerved by Jack, she wrote as quickly as possible, yet found her mind wandering to the man behind her. I what was he thinking? Why was he moving around? What did he mean by 'Maybe'/I
Her thoughts started to drive her crazy, until finally all came to a climax when her pen leaked.
'Twice in one bloody day!'
"Shit!" She swore, trying to prevent the ink from ruining the document. From somewhere behind her, she heard Jack turn around.
"You okay?" He asked, moving a step forward.
"Uh, yeah. My pen just leaked." She grabbed around for a tissue. 'Where's the Doctor and his bloody tissues when you bloody well need them?' Bronte instantly regretted her thought. She heard Jack shift and walk towards her.
"Here." He handed piece of tissue to her.
"Thanks" she replied meekly.
Dabbing at the paperwork, she carried on until her forged documents were complete.
As she and Jack left the tower block, she noticed the light of daybreak twinkling out across the river. She checked her watch. It said 5 am. Sighing deeply and trudging to her car, Bronte tried to drown out the realisation that she had to be on a seven-hour flight to New York in five hours.
A small ball of tension flared in her stomach and she suddenly craved nicotine. Although smoking wasn't normal for Bronte, It was her sister who smoked like a chimney; she did smoke a lot when she was stressed. Most of the time she was cigarette free – but at extreme times in her life, her Army training for example, she had leaned heavily on her sister's habit.
Thinking about where she could find some form of legal cigarette at 5 in the morning, Bronte pulled out of the car park. She saw Jack on the right, obviously walking to the Torchwood accommodation provided for transferred specialists. She often wondered what was up with him. It was a demanding job, too true, yet he always seemed to be unnaturally angry and dark. He was flirtatious and could crack the odd joke, but there was some unidentified darkness about him that made him so…sexy. Deciding that she needed to get home, she dismissed her thoughts, ready for then to be reconsidered tomorrow. At the present time however, she had to pack for a two-week operation and get some sleep –picking up cigarettes on the way.
2006-
It was him. The man on the Powell estate, the man who had appeared in her room the previous night – the man who had named himself 'The Doctor'.
The Doctor was holding a small silver device that glowed blue at the end, pointing it at the creature.
I shuffled behind him, as he moved forward, never breaking eye contact with the creature as he did. Moving with unbelievable speed and whispering in a forgotten language, the Doctor leapt forward – just not fast enough to get the creature. It dematerialised before my eyes, completely baffling me. Brain working overtime, the pain in my leg had been numbed by my confusion. It was only when the Doctor turned around to look at me in noticed the blood drenching my left leg.
"Who are you?" He asked.
"Who are you?" I asked. He looked at my leg and helped my up, calling out to someone in the meantime.
A blonde haired girl wearing a rather tacky hooded top came running over to the Doctor's aid. I remembered from our encounter a few days prior that she was Rose.
"Oh my god, what happened?" Rose screeched.
"A Kelpkoff decided to try and make her lunch." The Doctor explained.
"A WHAT?!" I shouted, trying to keep my balance between the two strangers.
They ignored me and helped me to the pavement.
"I remember you now!" Rose exclaimed "You were at the Powell estate the other day! Bronte was it?"
"Yes, that's correct." I spoke through the pain.
"Ah." The Doctor stood fixated at nothing in particular, yet seemed distant to the two girls.
I turned suddenly as I heard two petrified screams. My sister and my best friend ran out of a collection of trees –terrified. One of those creatures was following them and it was gaining on them.
The Doctor suddenly sprang into action and ran in the direction of the trees. It was at this point the pain sharpened and my senses dulled. It was a matter of seconds before the lights went out and I passed out.
(2018)
Bronte was once again awoken abruptly. This time it was by her alarm clock telling her it was 7am. Sitting up in her bed, Bronte swore quietly, cursing the fact that once again morning had come. Quickly remembering that she had a plane to catch in three hours, she clambered out of her warm bed and padded to the kitchen. Putting a piece of bread in the toaster and pushing down the lever then picking up the kettle and moving it to the sink where she filled it with water, Bronte looked out of the window and sighed. In retrospective, her life wasn't so bad. She had a nice home, a job and a caring family. On the other hand, her dreams were haunted by the terrifying events of her early adolescent years and most of her co-workers hated her. At least today she didn't need a cigarette. Looking up at the clock over the sink, Bronte dropped the kettle and ran to grab a shower, cursing herself at her wasted time.