Time is Still A-Flying

by chocolatequeen

Part 3 of Being to Timelessness. With a bond and a promise of forever, the Doctor and Rose have managed to escape the trap set for them in Torchwood, but Time is not yet done with them. The Master is still in London and Election Day draws ever closer. He's tried to separate them once; will they survive a second attempt? Sequel to To Make Much of Time

32. Decade Lag

A touch from an Angel sends the Doctor, Rose, and Martha back to 1969, and the jaunt away from the TARDIS has unexpected consequences.

Chapter 32: Decade Lag

"Are you sure about this, Doctor?" Rose stared up at the abandoned house. The weathered wrought iron fence, broken windows, and dilapidated conservatory overrun by ivy made the place look like a horror movie set—not someplace she wanted to spend her Sunday afternoon, unless she had to.

The Doctor checked the sonic screwdriver again. "Yep! This is where the odd temporal readings I've been getting are coming from." He looked at Rose. "You know I wouldn't have brought us here if it wasn't important."

She nodded; they were in London 2007, only a few weeks before ghosts started appearing all over planet Earth. The short phone call she'd been able to sneak in with her mum had only made Rose miss her more. Being in the same city and yet unable to go visit was almost physically painful.

"Any idea what's causing those strange readings?" Martha had her arms wrapped protectively around her waist and she eyed the house warily. "So we know what to expect before we walk into bleak house here?"

"Oh, the two of you!" The Doctor clucked. "You can handle a living sun in the Taraji system and a migration of alien lizards, but I bring you to an old house in London in your time, and you're ready to pack it in."

"Maybe it's because we've seen those things that an old house doesn't look quite so innocuous," Rose suggested drily. "Still, I saw those readings too, and they were bad… so I guess we don't have much of a choice."

The Doctor grabbed the fence and vaulted over the top. Rose looked at him affectionately, then pulled her sonic out of her pocket and unlocked the gate.

He sniffed. "Sure, take the easy way in."

Rose took his hand. "Because you've never used the psychic paper as an easy way to get into places?"

"You have to admit, Doctor, she's got you there," Martha said.

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, this way," he said, leading the way around to the side of the house.

Leaves rustled in a late summer breeze, and Rose caught a whiff of honeysuckle as they slowly circled the house. The boarded-up windows and doors didn't make it look any more inviting than the "Danger, Unsafe Structure" sign that hung on the fence.

"You never answered Martha's question. Do you know what's causing these readings?"

He shook his head. "No, and that's part of what's got me curious. Usually, when the TARDIS picks up temporal anomalies, I can place them, but these are something I've never seen before."

"Oh, that's just what I wanted to hear," Martha muttered. "Something unknown, how exciting."

"Inside or outside?" Rose asked.

The Doctor scanned the house, then shook his head. "The most recent activity was outside." He walked towards the back garden. "This way!"

Rose looked at Martha and winked. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"You didn't just say that," the Doctor whined. "Why do people always have to say that?"

Martha raised her eyebrows, and Rose pointed at the Doctor and mouthed, "For that reaction." Both women chuckled, but quickly hid their smiles when the Doctor spun around.

The aroma of honeysuckle grew stronger as they moved deeper into the overgrown garden. The leafy canopy overhead blocked most of the sun, and Rose shivered slightly.

As the Doctor led them towards a path lined by a tall hedge, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. When she turned around, the only thing she saw was a statue of an angel near the other side of the house.

She narrowed her eyes at it, but before she could say anything, the Doctor froze, then immediately backed up. "Oh, this is not good," he muttered, ignoring Martha's protests as he stepped on her feet.

Rose peered over his shoulder and spotted another angel. "What's not good about it? It's just a statue."

"Don't look away from it," he ordered. "It's a statue as long as you're looking at it, but if you look away, it will come after us."

Dread crept up Rose's back and she spun around, letting go of the Doctor's hand. The statue she'd seen earlier was just five feet from her. Unlike the angel the Doctor was facing, who had its hands covering its face, this one had its arms stretched out, grabbing for her.

"So, if one of these things is not good, how bad would two be?" she asked casually.

"Two?" he squeaked. "Oh, two. Well that's… You keep looking at that one. We need to get away from here as quickly as possible."

Rose felt him fumbling for her hand, and she reached backwards and let him latch onto her, then reached out with her other hand until she found one of Martha's. Hand-in-hand, they started back the way they came, Rose keeping her eyes on the angel in front of her. She wanted to run, but the Doctor and Martha could only move so fast, since they were walking backwards. Once they got past the angel she had noticed first, she breathed a little more easily.

"Not to cause unwarranted concern," Martha said a moment later as they passed an intersection in the maze, "but there's three of them."

The Doctor's anxiety ratcheted up to full panic, making it difficult for Rose to control her own fear. "Right. Martha, you watch that one then. Here's what we're going to do," he said, slowly and deliberately. "We'll keep moving towards the TARDIS, but under no circumstances does anyone let go of anyone else's hand. Is that clear?"

Rose and Martha both muttered their assent. The oppressive fear hanging over the garden made the scent of honeysuckle seem cloying instead of sweet, so Rose was relieved to take a breath of fresh air when they were out of the maze.

Her relief disappeared when they turned the corner at the front of the house. She could see the TARDIS, just on the other side of the gate, but between them and the sagging fence stood another stone angel. She froze, and the Doctor and Martha backed into her.

"What is it, Rose?" the Doctor asked.

"Well. It's possible there are four of them," she said, in as even a tone as possible.

"Four?!" he and Martha exclaimed together.

A moment later, Rose felt a whooshing feeling in her head, and then she landed, hard, in an alley.

The Doctor groaned and put his hand to his head. "Time travel without a capsule—not recommended," he grumbled.

"Time travel?" Martha repeated. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope," the Doctor said. He offered them both a hand and pulled them to their feet. "Everyone okay? Any bumps or bruises?"

When Rose and Martha both shook their heads, he started walking towards the street, lecturing as he went. "As I said, time travel without a capsule. Those statues are known as the Weeping Angels. As long as someone is looking at them, they're frozen in stone, but as soon as you look away, they can come after you. And they're fast, too."

"What do they do to you?" Rose asked.

"With just one touch, they send you back in time. You live out your life in the past, and they feed off all the time you would have lived in the future." He jumped to his feet. "Each Angel sends its victims to a different location, which was why I wanted us to all hold hands."

Rose nodded. "So we'd go back to the same year if we were caught."

"Exactly."

"And that year is…"

"1969," the Doctor and Rose chorused.

"Wait a minute!" Martha said. "If we travelled in time without the TARDIS, then we have no way of getting back home."

The Doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out the folder from Sally Sparrow. "Not quite, Martha," he told her. "That woman we met before we went to Farringham told me I'd need this when we got stuck in 1969. From that, I'd guess that all the information we need to get home is contained right here." He handed Rose the folder and retrieved a wallet. "And after meeting her, I collected some old money I had lying around the TARDIS. We should have enough to get us through the first week."

"Great," Rose said. "Let's go sit down somewhere and look at this while we eat."

Martha smirked. "You mean, let's go get chips," she translated.

The Doctor chuckled when Rose huffed in indignation. "Well, since we need to make our funds last, a cheap dinner isn't a bad idea."

oOoOoOoOo

"It's been ages since I've had fish and chips served in real newspaper," Martha said an hour later when they had settled around a table at the back of a chippy.

"There's one near the Estate that still does," Rose said as she sprinkled a liberal amount of vinegar over her entire meal, and then a little less on the Doctor's. "It's my favourite—they just don't taste right otherwise."

The Doctor pulled the stack of papers out of the folder and spread them out on the table. "Let's see what Sally Sparrow has to say about getting us home."

He ate the salty, sour chips one-handed while he looked through the stack of pictures, raising his eyebrows when he saw the note they evidently left for her under the wallpaper at Wester Drumlins. He wasn't keen to go back there, but according to the handwritten note from Sally on the back of the photo, if she hadn't read their warning, she would have been hit in the back of the head with a pot thrown through a window. None of the rest of the story would have happened, which meant she wouldn't have had the folder to give to them.

Oh, I hate paradoxes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and set the photos down.

He picked up a stack of four sheets of paper stapled together next and quickly scanned over it. Speaking of paradoxes… it's going to be a long couple of months.

"Oh. Well that… that's not exactly what I was expecting," he mumbled.

"What?" Martha said. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?"

"Maybe the frown on your face?" she suggested. "Come on, what is it?"

"Well… From the sound of it, we're going to be stuck here for a while."

"Define, 'a while,'" Martha ordered.

The Doctor squirmed under her glare. "A few months, maybe? But like I said, we've got enough money to live on until—" He glanced at Martha and decided against upsetting her with news of her employment just yet. "Until we can make other arrangements."

"So, what's our first step?" Rose asked. "Outside of the obvious things like finding a place to stay."

The Doctor pulled a photo of a familiar house from the stack and tossed it down on the table. "It looks like we get to go back to Wester Drumlins."

"No," Martha said. "Absolutely not."

"If we don't, then Sally Sparrow will never find out about the angels and collect all this information for us, and without this folder, I don't know how we'd get home."

Martha slouched down in her seat. "Fine," she muttered. "What all is in this special folder?"

The Doctor looked around at the chippy, which was slowly filling up with dinner patrons. "Why don't we find someplace to stay tonight, and I'll tell you about it then?" he suggested.

Three hours later, they were in a tiny hotel room, staring at the contents of the folder which had been spread out across the bed.

"So let me see if I've got this." Rose picked up the typed story of Sally's interactions with Billy Shipton. "After we take care of writing the warning for Sally Sparrow and wallpapering over it, we need to build a video recording system. That way, when the angel sends Billy Shipton back, he can tape our half of the conversation with Sally." She pointed at the transcript. "Then sometime in the future, he's going to become… what, a video producer or something? And that recording will be added as an Easter egg to the seventeen DVDs on this list."

The Doctor nodded. "And I'll program an autopilot routine into the formatting of the video. Once the causality loop is complete and Sally and Larry take the DVD into the TARDIS, she'll bring herself to us."

"You're both skipping over the part where I have to go get a job in order to pay our way here," Martha interjected.

"Oh, come on, Martha," the Doctor said. "It's an adventure! Think of this as an extended holiday in the past."

"Right." Martha pushed herself off the bed and walked over to the door. "Well, if I'm going to be taking a working holiday in 1969, I'd better go to my own room and get some sleep. Tomorrow: flat-hunting."

"We'll give you a shout for breakfast," Rose promised, and Martha nodded half-heartedly as she left the room.

Once she was gone, Rose yawned and started undressing. "Well, she's right about one thing," she said as she folded up her clothes and set them on the dresser. "Tomorrow is going to be a busy day, and some of us are still human enough to need sleep every night."

The Doctor cleared the papers off the bed, then stripped down to his vest and pants and climbed under the sheets with Rose. Having her curled up beside him was the only thing that felt right about this whole mixed up day, and he cherished the familiar feeling.

"Good job, by the way," she mumbled into his chest.

"Good job at what, love?" he asked.

"Not blaming yourself for our extended holiday," she told him. "Just in case though, this really isn't your fault."

The Doctor chuckled. "It might surprise you, but this is one time when I can wholeheartedly agree with that."

She kissed his neck. "Good."

oOoOoOoOo

Even with the psychic paper and a stack of cash, it wasn't easy to find a flat. Apparently, it was easier to convince a guard that you were the King of Belgium than it was to convince a London landlord to let to you without proper identification. Eventually, they found someone willing to let to them and handed over an unbelievable two hundred quid for first and last months' rent.

Rose sighed with relief as she turned the key in the lock. She'd woken up feeling less rested than she had the night before, and hours spent hunting for a flat had left her knackered and ready for a rest. Even so, she took one look at the sheets on the bed she'd be sharing with the Doctor and shook her head.

"Come on, Martha," she said, grabbing her friend's hand. "We need to get a few things before the shops close up. Doctor, why don't you poke around the neighbourhood, see if you can't find any electrical shops or something?"

They returned two hours later, exhausted but victorious, both carrying bags of bedding and a few other essentials. Martha also had food for breakfast, and Rose had take-out curry.

"You bought pillows?" the Doctor asked when he caught sight of the bags.

"If you think I'm putting my head on that old pillow in there, you're wrong," Rose said bluntly as Martha took her purchases into her room. "I don't mind used couches or even mattresses, but used pillows and sheets that might not have been washed in ages? No ta."

The confusion cleared from his face and he chuckled. "I can't argue with that." He took the take-away bag from her and walked into the kitchen. "I'll dish this up while you get the bedroom ready, and then we can eat."

Once the bed was made, the temptation to crawl under the covers was almost too strong to resist. Rose could hear voices from the kitchen, though, and the sound of cutlery clinking as someone set the table. She sighed and took one last look at the plump pillows before leaving the room.

oOoOoOoOo

The next morning came far too quickly for Rose's taste. After supper the night before, she'd fallen asleep on the sofa watching telly and had only been vaguely aware that the Doctor had woken her up so she could go to bed. Now the sun was streaming through their window, and sounds from the kitchen made it impossible to drift back to sleep.

Then she caught the scent of bacon frying and her mouth watered. Finally feeling a little bit like normal, she threw the covers off, pulled on her brand new dressing gown, and shuffled into the kitchen.

"Good morning, lazybones!" The Doctor handed her a cuppa and kissed her cheek. "Martha and I were just talking about our plans for the day."

Rose sat down and breathed in the steam from her tea, letting the familiar fragrance wake her up further. "Really?" she said after taking a sip. "And what have you decided?"

The Doctor flipped the bacon, then leaned back against the counter. "Well, I need to visit the electronics shops. In addition to the recorder and autocue, I want to build a timey-wimey detector."

Martha groaned. "He's been using that phrase non-stop," she told Rose. "Because apparently this brilliant Time Lord can't think of any better explanation than a big ball of timey-wimey stuff."

The Doctor sniffed, and Rose hid her smile behind her teacup. Sure, it had taken her longer to wake up than usual, but she was feeling more like herself with every minute.

"What will your timey-wimey detector do, Doctor?"

He bounced lightly on his toes. "It'll help us track down Billy Shipton, since we only know when he'll show up, not where."

Rose watched him take up the bacon. "An' how are we gonna know when Billy shows up? Will your gizmo ding or something?"

"Oh, that's a brilliant idea! I always like a nice ding."

Her amusement finally broke out in giggles, and he looked at her, affronted, as he sat down beside her. "What's wrong with that?"

She shook her head and started eating. Nothing. Just… I love you.

He grinned and hummed happily. I love you, too.

Martha eyed the two of them. "Absolutely bonkers, both of you," she muttered. "Anyway, Rose, while your husband is off scavenging through London's electrical shops, you and I get to take care of domestics. Stocking the kitchen, setting up any accounts we need…"

"Getting more clothes," Rose added.

"What?" the Doctor protested. He pointed at the two of them in their new pyjamas and dressing gowns. "You bought clothes last night!"

Rose rolled her eyes. "We bought one outfit each, and nightclothes, Doctor. We didn't have time for anything more than that."

"Yeah, and not all of us are keen on wearing the same thing day in and day out." Martha looked pointedly at his brown suit. "Won't that get a little rank after a week anyway?"

The Doctor tugged on his tie. "Nope! I'll use the sonic to freshen it up every night."

She pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head. "All right, but just because you're fine with that doesn't mean we are. So yeah, we'll go clothes shopping, Rose." She scowled. "It'll give me an idea of shops I might apply to, anyway."

Rose took a bite of toast to conceal her sudden guilt. Why'd the transcript state that only Martha worked? She was tempted to look for a job despite what the future/past version of her apparently told Sally Sparrow, but she had a feeling that even if she tried, she'd find out soon enough why she didn't end up getting a job. She just hoped it was a reason she could live with.

oOoOoOoOo

When Rose and Martha returned from shopping shortly after lunch, the flat was littered with electrical parts—but there was no Doctor in sight. Martha looked quizzically at Rose, but instead of answering the unspoken question, she just shrugged and mumbled something before disappearing into her own room.

Martha frowned at the closed door. Sure, they'd done a fair amount of walking as they crossed their errands off their list, but her exhaustion seemed disproportionate to the amount of exercise they'd done—especially since Martha had never really seen Rose tired before.

She sighed and looked around the flat. "Yeah, I'm not living in a pile of junk for however long it takes us to get home," she grumbled. She started moving bits and bobs around, trying to be careful to keep like with like but more concerned with reclaiming part of the flat for herself. "Does your room on the TARDIS look like this? More power to Rose if it does."

Rose still hadn't emerged from her room when Martha was done cleaning, so she set out to make dinner to keep herself busy. The homey smell of shepherd's pie soon filled the flat, and that finally got her friend moving.

"Is it really dinner time already?" she asked as she pushed her hair back from her face.

"It will be by the time the food is done."

Martha started to ask her to tell the Doctor to come up, but before she could get the words out, he walked through the door, looking proud and carrying a backpack.

"I've done a bit of prep work," he said, unzipping the pack. "Look, everything we'll need to do the Wester Drumlins job tonight."

Martha peered into the bag and saw nothing but a few cans of black spray paint. "Ah, except for the wallpapering supplies," she pointed out.

He shook his head. "Nope! I also did a little recon this afternoon and discovered there are old papering supplies in one of the hall cupboards."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "You're sure this place is abandoned already, right? I mean obviously we have to do this whether it is or not, but I'd really rather not get caught by the owners returning home."

"It is completely unoccupied," he assured her. "No humans, and no Weeping Angels."

"Well there's a relief," Martha mumbled. "Go get cleaned up. Dinner's almost ready."

The Doctor dropped the bag on the sofa then paused and looked around the flat. "You cleaned," he said.

"Well, you didn't exactly leave me any place to sit. Or cook," she pointed out tersely.

"Right." He looked at Rose, then back at her. "Sorry about that. I had it all spread out so I could see what I'd found and what was left to get. I didn't mean to make you clean up after me."

She shrugged. "It gave me something to do this afternoon. Just don't make a habit of it, yeah?"

He nodded, then disappeared into the bathroom to wash his hands.

"So I guess I get to go job hunting tomorrow," Martha said when they were all sitting around the table ten minutes later.

"Take the psychic paper and show it to them if they ask for your CV," the Doctor offered. "You shouldn't have any problem getting a job."

"Yeah, that's not really what's bothering me," Martha said bluntly. "That transcript said I'd be working in a shop. Couldn't I do something else, like secretarial work? My typing is pretty decent, though I don't know shorthand."

The Doctor shook his head. "The transcript locks us into a causality loop," he explained. "Sally Sparrow wrote down that you're working in a shop because you said you worked in a shop."

Martha sighed. "I guess it's better than maid work," she said reluctantly.

"I could always be the one paying our way," Rose suggested when she saw Martha's frustration.

Martha shook her head. "Then what would I do? Sit around the flat with the Doctor all day while he tries to build a video camera out of dental floss and chewing gum? He'd drive me mad." She took a drink of her beer. "Besides, I bet it would cause just as much of a timey-wimey problem if you worked instead of me as it would if I did something besides working in a shop."

"I truly am sorry, Martha," the Doctor said. "But you're not the only one who's constrained by what the transcript says. Do you think I wouldn't rather call up some old friends of mine and see if I couldn't track myself down and get us a ride home? I'd love to, but the transcript says I build a video recorder and autocue, so that's what I get to do." He shrugged. "The way time worked, I probably wouldn't have any luck if I did try to get us a ride, and then I'd be right back where I started, making an autocue."

Some of the resentment cleared from her face at that. "Oh, I wish you could just call us a ride home," she said fervently. "But, when you put it that way, I guess I'll hit the shops tomorrow."

oOoOoOoOo

When they finished eating, the Doctor and Rose did the dishes, then the Doctor grabbed the backpack and slung it over one shoulder. "Come on then, let's go."

It was dark when they reached the derelict house, making it easier to sneak in. As the tallest, the Doctor was nominated to paint the message on the wall. Then they worked together to paper over it.

When they were done, they eyed their work critically. "I don't think it really matters what it looks like," Martha said finally. "No one ever lives here again, do they?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I don't think so, not from what Sally's note said."

"So no one is going to be examining the quality of the papering," she pointed out. "And I'd really like to not be here anymore, if it's the same to you."

"Agreed," Rose said. "I know the Angels aren't here yet, but it's giving me the creeps." A huge yawn overtook her. "Besides, I'm ready for bed."

The Doctor eyed Rose. It hadn't escaped his notice that she'd been more tired than usual over the last few days. "Let's call a cab to take us home," he suggested as they left the house behind. "No reason to sit waiting at a bus stop when we've got cash."

Of course, they still had to walk to a more central area to find a cab, and by the time they did, Rose was leaning heavily on him. Once they found a taxi, she rested her head on his shoulder and was asleep in minutes.

Martha met his gaze over the top of Rose's head. "She's not usually tired like this."

He rubbed at his eyebrow. "No, she's not."

When they reached the flat, he was able to wake her with a soft shake and a gentle telepathic nudge. She and Martha waited while he paid the cabbie, and then Rose wrapped her arm around his waist again as they walked inside.

"Well, I need to be up early so I can look for work," Martha said, "so I should go to bed." She glanced at Rose and frowned, then raised her eyebrows at the Doctor. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, all right?"

"Thanks, Martha."

He led Rose to the loo. "Don't you want to wash your makeup off before we go to bed?" he asked, familiar with her bedtime rituals.

She grumbled slightly, but seemed to wake up a little when the cold, damp flannel hit her face. The Doctor leaned against the door and watched her, not wanting her to trip and hit her head on something.

He followed her into their room and turned down the covers while she fumbled through undressing as though she'd been up for two full, busy days. "How long have you felt like this, Rose?" he asked when she slowly pulled a nightgown over her head.

"Hmmm? Felt like what?" she asked as she crawled under the covers.

Real concern knit his brow then, but Rose was asleep before he could clarify the question. He fingered his sonic screwdriver and eventually did the most basic scan possible. It cleared the worst of his fears, and reassured that she wasn't suffering from some fatal disease, he was able to strip out of his own clothes and stretch out beside her.

Normally, even in her sleep Rose would sense him joining her in bed and curl up against him, but tonight, she didn't move. Wanting her to rest, the Doctor contented himself with taking her hand.

He sighed as he stared at up the boring ceiling. Stuck on Earth yet again, and judging by the information he had, it looked like they'd be here for a few months. Even though the transcript and photos didn't confirm that the TARDIS found them, the Doctor had no doubt that the plan worked. Or would work. He rubbed at his forehead; tenses in time travel could be a real headache.

And all that would only be a minor inconvenience if it wasn't becoming apparent that Rose was ill. The Doctor's big Time Lord brain could occasionally be a curse, rather than a blessing, and tonight was one of those times, as he lay awake and pondered all the alien diseases she might have.

oOoOoOoOo

The old, analog alarm clock they'd found in a charity shop blared loudly at 6:00 the next morning, yanking Martha forcibly from her slumber. She swore under her breath as she stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. She supposed there would be fun parts of their stay in 1969, but right now, standing under the lukewarm trickle of the shower with her hair in a shower cap, she couldn't think of any of them.

The morning went from bad to worse. She stubbed her toe on her bed while she was getting dressed, spilled milk on the counter while making breakfast, and then—finally—burnt her tongue on hot coffee.

The cursing that erupted from her lips at that point was enough to draw the Doctor out of his and Rose's room. "Martha? Everything all right?"

"Oh yeah, just dandy," she drawled, laying the sarcasm on thick. "I'm having a brilliant morning—thanks for asking."

He glanced back into the bedroom, then stepped into the living room and carefully shut the door. "Anything I can do?"

Martha was almost upset enough to launch into a sarcastic tirade about how he could stop insisting she work in a shop and maybe do something himself for once. But Martha the peacekeeper, Martha the middle child who'd held her family together after her parents' divorce, reared up just in time.

She scowled into her cup of coffee. "No," she said, her voice sullen. And it was true. There wasn't anything he could do.

The Doctor ran his hand through his hair and looked back at his bedroom. Martha then remembered Rose's odd behaviour. "How is she?"

"She literally fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the floor. "I always thought that was just a saying, but I watched her do it."

Martha frowned. "And she's still sleeping?"

He nodded.

"She took a nap yesterday afternoon after we went shopping."

"And she slept longer on our first night in the flat, too."

"You're afraid she's ill."

He paced the length of the living room. "What else could be causing this? Rose hasn't needed regular human sleep in a year and a half. Four, maybe five hours a night and that's it. And suddenly she's sleeping over ten hours a day and is still exhausted?"

He slumped and rubbed his hands over his face. "What if she's really ill, and I can't…"

And I can't get to the TARDIS to take care of her.

Martha's own complaints about their stay in 1969—though still irritating and valid—paled in comparison to the Doctor's desperation. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Hey, you read the transcript, yeah? Rose shows up in the recording, so we know…"

She shrugged weakly, not wanting to actually voice the possibility that Rose could die, even if she'd be saying it to negate it.

The Doctor nodded slowly. "You're right. Thank you, Martha. I hadn't thought of that."

Martha looked at her soggy bowl of cereal and sighed. "I'd better get going," she said.

"Don't forget the psychic paper." The Doctor rummaged in his coat pocket and handed the slim leather wallet to her. "Just think of what you want people to see, and that's what'll appear."

oOoOoOoOo

Rose groaned and rolled over when the sunlight hit her face, pulling the duvet over her head. She'd been asleep for… eight hours, she figured, but she felt like she hadn't slept a wink.

"Rose?" the Doctor said. "How are you feeling, love?"

"Like I've been run over by a lorry," Rose grumbled. "Lemme sleep."

To her displeasure, he pulled the duvet out of her fingers and down over her face. "I wish I could, Rose, but I'm getting worried about how tired you are. I'd like to do some scans with the sonic, if that's all right with you."

Rose pried an eye open. "You managed to sit there all night without scanning me?"

He tugged on his ear. "Well, I might have done one, just to make sure you weren't dying. But I wanted to wait until you were awake and we could talk."

"'M not awake," she mumbled, trying to burrow back underneath the covers.

"Come on, Rose," the Doctor cajoled. "Wouldn't you like to find out why you're so tired? If we figure out why, we might be able to fix it."

That did sound appealing, so she reluctantly let go of the covers and pushed herself into an upright position. "Fine," she agreed. "But only if it means I can go back to sleep when you're done."

The Doctor pressed his lips together, and Rose realised he was more concerned than she'd picked up on. That cleared some of the grogginess from her mind, and she managed to smile at him.

"It's probably something like jet lag," she told him as he scanned. "How many decades did we pass through when the Angel sent us back here?"

"Almost four," he replied as he ran the sonic over her in multiple passes.

"Decade lag, then," she decided, then yawned so big her jaw cracked.

The Doctor set the sonic down and looked at her. "Except why is it only affecting you and not Martha or me?"

She waved his concern off. "Well, you're a—" Another yawn interrupted her. "—A Time Lord," she said. "The Gallifreyan, two-hearts kind. An' you're ancient."

"Thanks, love," he said drily.

Rose rolled her eyes and pushed her hair out of her face. "I just mean you've centuries more experience at this than me."

The Doctor chuckled and kissed her knuckles. "I know what you meant, but it was too perfect an opportunity to pass up."

"Are those tests done yet?" Rose asked. "I wanna go back to bed."

The Doctor glanced at the sonic screwdriver, and his eyes widened. "Oh. Well. Oh. I guess that does make some sense."

"What? What makes sense?" She peered over the Doctor's shoulder, but couldn't make heads nor tails of the results. "It's decade lag, isn't it?"

"In a manner of speaking," the Doctor said, typically vague. "It's the TARDIS."

"What do you mean, it's the TARDIS? She isn't here."

"And that's the problem," the Doctor agreed. "You and her… I have a feeling you're more connected than she's ever let on."

Rose rubbed at her forehead. "Please, Doctor, just explain it to me. I'm too tired to follow your cryptic rambling today." She felt badly when his shoulders slumped, but he was making her nervous and she just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Well. Remember when we met Donna? Or rather, why we met Donna?"

Almost a year had passed, but Rose quickly figured out what he meant. "You mean, the… hu— huon particles?"

"That's right. Yours came from the heart of the TARDIS, and as long as you're somewhat close to her, she helps hold them in stasis. When you aren't together…"

Rose's mouth went dry. "Doctor! You told Donna huon particles were deadly!"

"Oh no, love."

The Doctor sent a wave of reassurance over the bond. After Rose relaxed, she realised the Doctor would have been much more upset if her life were at stake.

"Okay, so what is it then?"

"Huon particles take a tremendous amount of energy to maintain. When we're at home, or at least close to her, the TARDIS lends you some of her energy. Without her…"

"I'm having to do all the work myself," Rose finished. She sank back into her pillows. "So does that mean I'll be tied to the TARDIS for the rest of my life? Not that I ever plan to leave, but what would happen if we were separated somehow?"

The Doctor nodded soberly. "I think we're about to find out exactly what would happen."

It was the first side effect of Bad Wolf that was truly a downside, and Rose looked for the silver lining. If there's always TARDIS energy in me… Martha teases that she listens to me better than she does to the Doctor. "This is why I can talk to her so easily, isn't it?"

The Doctor winked at her. "Go ahead and say what you're thinking, Rose—this is why you're closer to her than I am. Why you're a better pilot than I am," he admitted.

His dramatic sigh pulled a giggle from Rose, but then another thought occurred to her, and she frowned. "Hang on. Does that mean I'm going to feel like this the whole time we're in 1969? Because I'm not gonna lie, Doctor—I feel horrid."

He brushed her hair back over her ear. "I know you do, love. I'm afraid you'll be pretty low energy as long as we're here. There isn't really much we can do about that."

oOoOoOoOo

Martha sat down at a small table in a teashop and let the fake smile she'd been forcing drop. She'd been out for four hours and hadn't even gotten a nibble. The Doctor's idea of using the psychic paper for her CV had sounded good until she'd realised it would only take one phone call for a manager to discover it was a pack of lies. Without experience or references, even the few shops that were hiring hadn't been interested.

"What can I get you, love?"

The kindly voice pulled Martha out of her morose thoughts, and she looked up at the older black woman smiling down at her. "A job?" She laughed weakly.

The waitress held up her order pad. "Let's start with lunch, and then we'll see where we can go from there."

Martha glanced at the menu quickly and ordered a sandwich and tea, and the woman smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. To Martha's surprise, she returned a few minutes later with a pot of tea and two cups.

"Do you mind if I sit with you for a minute?" she asked. "I might be able to help you find a job, but I'd like to talk with you first, before I send you off somewhere."

For the first time since they'd arrived in 1969, genuine hope crept over Martha. "Oh, that would be brilliant," she said, trying to sound grateful but not desperate. "My family are travelling, so I'm on my own for a few months and I need to find something fast."

"Well, introductions first." The woman held out a ring-laden hand for Martha to shake. "I'm Gladys."

"Martha. Martha Jones."

After they shook hands, Gladys turned the two cups right side up and set them on their saucers. "How do you take your tea, Martha?"

"Lemon and honey, please."

Gladys poured the tea, adding milk to her own cup, then looked at Martha. "What kind of experience do you have?" she asked.

Martha sighed. "I've never had to work before," she explained. "My family are pretty well-off, but like I said, they're gone right now, and I'd like to save money for when I move out on my own…" She sipped at her tea and tried to think of life experiences she could translate into work. "My mum does a lot of entertaining," she said slowly. "For my dad's work. And I'm always there with her, talking to people, keeping the conversation going."

Gladys smiled. "Being good with people translates well into lots of lines of work," she encouraged Martha. "What about what you'd really like to do, if you could do anything?"

Martha sat up. "I want to be a doctor," she said. That zeal hadn't diminished in her travels with the Doctor. If anything, the unique physiologies they'd come across had only fed the desire. "I like being able to come in and help people."

"And do you know what kind of work you'd like to do right now, until you get through school?"

Martha managed a small, but genuine smile. "I thought I'd work in a shop. I can't be too choosy if I don't have anything on my CV, can I?"

Gladys laughed. "You've got a good head on your shoulders," she praised. "I happen to know of a manager that's hiring. If you're interested, I could give him a ring and get you an interview for this afternoon."

"Oh, that would be fantastic, thank you!" Martha said. When she left an hour later, it was with a full belly, a job interview, and a genuine smile on her face.

oOoOoOoOo

Her positive attitude had drooped by her second day on the job. It had only taken one snooty customer in ladies' apparel to remind Martha that this was not the life she'd planned for herself. Tidying up the blouses after the woman flounced out of the store with an attitude to match Annalise at her worst was enough to sour her mood, and then she had to listen to the other shop girls talk about their boyfriends and their plans for the weekend when she didn't have anything to share.

"Hey, Martha," one of them said as they walked out of the shop. "You should come with us tonight. It's gonna be a blast."

Martha was half-tempted, but finally shook her head. "My flatmates would worry," she said truthfully. "We don't have a phone, so I couldn't let them know where we are."

"How do you not have a phone?" another asked incredulously. "Look, let me write down where we'll be, and if you get home and change your mind, you can come out with us."

Martha dutifully accepted the note, then waved goodbye and headed off in the opposite direction. She was halfway to the bus stop when she changed her mind and walked past it to the tube station instead, taking a very familiar route. A voice in the back of her head told her she would regret what she was about to do, but she just needed to see something that looked like home.

The sun was setting forty-five minutes later as she walked from the tube station up the long hill to the house that would one day belong to her parents. At first, she was too caught up in the way the late evening light hit the leaves on the trees and the roofs, casting a golden glow on everything. But halfway up the hill, she felt eyes on her and realised every person she'd seen so far had been white.

She straightened her shoulders and continued on, but the joy in the journey seeped out of her with every questioning look. To these people, a black girl didn't belong in a middle-class neighbourhood. No one seemed threatening, but there was a very obvious vibe of, "you shouldn't be here."

In the end, she only took a quick glance at the house she'd grown up in. It didn't look like home. Her instincts earlier had been right—she regretted coming. With a sigh, she turned and walked briskly back down the street. At the foot of the hill, she caught the bus that would take her back to the flat she shared with the Doctor and Rose.