.

Love, Laugh, Die

Quick Author's Note: If anyone has any suggestions as to how to improve the characterisations of Nine and Rose, please let me know, as I tend to worry especially about how I write for the various Doctors. All tips/advice/constructive criticism are hugely appreciated. Cheers! Reviews are also greatly appreciated. They can be used to help fuel the TARDIS. That's not a hint, by the way.

ESTIMATED STORY LENGTH: 10-12 chapters (based on current outline)

Chapter 1

…

Rose stared, still astonished, out at the view. It was, truth be told, one of the most beautiful views she had ever seen, and she had seen a great many in her travels with the Doctor. The deep dark forever of space was dappled with glinting stars and the distant glow of planets. There was another planet in close proximity to them, a colossal sphere that seemed to be made mostly of rock judging by the grey that covered its face, and Rose wondered if it was inhabited.

"It's a cruise ship," the Doctor explained to her. "Travellin' across the Milky Way galaxy. It'll go far, this ship – all the way to the Andromeda galaxy. 'Least, that's the scheduled course."

"2095, though," said Rose slowly, without tearing her eyes from the view, "it's not all that far off, is it? I mean… a spaceship – for holidaying – that can travel across two galaxies? All that progress in less'n a hundred years?"

"The year 2037," the Doctor proclaimed. "The Second Great Technological Revolution. A young genius by the name of Rajit Dara came up with a form of energy sufficient to carry enormous spacecraft – nearly as big as the Titanic – as far as the edges of the galaxy, while also supporting human life. By 2045, he and his team of research scientists had improved Dara's discovery: mankind could now travel as far as the Andromeda galaxy, through advanced forms of energy conservation. The next several decades were devoted to making an industry on this revolutionary discovery: some scientists and doctors headed off on the ships, but Dara wanted to extend space travel to the civilian population. It took until 2085 to complete a ship that would be able to across the stars under the most luxurious conditions. A real cruise ship for the rich of Earth – these tickets came at no small cost, you know. They've made a few since then. The Bad Wolf's the smallest one, but even this one's more than half the size of the Titanic. It is, however, the first to have third-class cabins. For a much lower cost, tickets were delivered to England's working class, won through raffles and contests. Cabin conditions are rubbish, so's the food, but the decks and lounges are open to all passengers."

"But it must take an awful lot of fuel," Rose continued, only half-registering this information. The Doctor, had, after all, just gone off at lightning speed – again. "I… how much could a ticket cost?"

The Doctor stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Fair bit," he stated bluntly. "This is much better, see. The TARDIS is capable of producing honest replicas of any currency in the universe, if I ever need to pay somethin'. Money isn't really necessary when you're travellin' with me."

Rose grinned and ticked them off on her fingers. "Let's see – there's the free transportation, the luxury living space, the unlimited food, the equally unlimited adrenalin, and the travel benefits. Yeah, I reckon it's a bit better'n goin' on a cruise ship. Just a mite." She paused and frowned. "Why're we here, then?"

"Well. Thought you might appreciate a bit of relaxation is all. Besides," he added, "there's a view."

Rose took a small step closer to the glass, wondering vaguely how thick it must be. At the same time, she found herself taking a step closer to the Doctor so that her head rested against his broad shoulder. She took in the view a moment longer, and then from behind she heard a small beep and the sound of an electronic door sliding open. She and the Doctor turned in tandem to find a middle-aged man in a khaki caretaker's uniform standing there, mop in hand. He took in the sight of their trunk and a frown built over his weary-looking features. "Who the hell are you?" he asked at last.

Rose looked to the Doctor. From the corner of her eye she saw one hand slide casually, into the breast pocket of his leather jacket, and pull out the psychic paper. With an easy smile she was unaccustomed to seeing on his face, he flipped open the psychic paper and offered the caretaker a hand to shake. The puzzled man took it.

"I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose Tyler. We're passengers. Just got on. Less'n an hour ago, in fact. My friend and I were just takin' in the view, and haven't even found our cabin yet. Here are our tickets… and our… confirmation of booking and payment."

The man squinted at the paper for a minute and nodded slowly. "Stragglers, then? From the last waste disposal stop?"

"That's right," said the Doctor, nodding. "We'd been doin' some work at the station as researchers and arranged to be picked up there. Much easier for us than haulin' all the way back to Earth."

Rose stepped forward and smiled hesitantly, offering her own hand, which the caretaker took. "Nice to meet you. I'm Rose."

"Alfie," replied the man, seeming a bit surprised. "Well… I reckon I'll take your trunk, then. One of the staff can show you to your cabins. Not my authority to do so meself." He crossed the room and pressed a button on a small panel on the wall, then made for the door again. "Enjoy your trip, sir, miss." He nodded his head briefly and was gone.

Rose gave the Doctor a sidelong glance. "Two cabins?" she asked, frowning.

The Doctor looked puzzled. "Well, I assumed – I mean, the paper assumed – both of us, that is – mostly me – that you'd want your own… room." He shuffled his head, his puzzlement giving way to awkwardness. "Sorry. Cos, you know, you've got your own space on the TARDIS and all. And Time Lords don't usually – I mean, if you'd prefer; I'm sure we could just ask – "

"No," Rose cut in, looking away. "No, two rooms are fine." She smiled, rather sheepishly herself. "Thought it might be easier to get one, is all. Cheaper, no?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but in that moment the door slid open and a blonde girl who looked to be Rose's age, clad in a maid's garb, entered. She inclined her head briefly. "Welcome aboard," she said. She spoke in a gentle Irish lilt. "I'll just be showing you to your cabins. You'll be on Deck J, second-class." It was all the girl said. She reached for the trunk, making as if to take it, but the Doctor stayed her hand.

"Are you sure, sir?" the maid asked nervously. "I… I'm meant to take your things; I can do it. I'd be more than happy to, sir." Her eyes – a penetrating dark, chocolate brown – betrayed her as she spoke. She had taken in the size of the trunk and it was clear she did not want to lug such a heavy, cumbersome item halfway across the ship. There was a gleam of relief, a hope that the Doctor would be stubborn and insist.

The Doctor was stubborn. He insisted. "S'alright," he said in a jovial tone that Rose wasn't sure she had ever heard coming from his lips. "You just lead the way."

The maid nodded. "Very well, sir. Miss." She turned.

Rose stepped forward, holding out a hand. "My name's Rose, by the way, and this is the Doctor. What's yours?"

She stared at Rose's extended hand in astonishment as if unsure what to do. "Maria," she said at last. "My name is Maria. I… I'll be your personal staff assistant here aboard the SS Bad Wolf, and your deck's laundry-maid." She hesitated, then, looking flustered, quickly turned on her heel and led them from the viewing gallery and down the passageway towards the lifts. "We're just two decks above your own," she said over her shoulder, scanning an access card over a small panel. With a ding the lift doors opened. "Unfortunately lifts are only available to first-class passengers, staff, or those with special needs. But we'll be using this one just now; I wouldn't want to haul that trunk about more that needed."

It was a lift unlike any Rose had imagined. She'd ridden in the austere block lifts in van Staten's bunker in 2012 and the sleek steel lifts, well-decorated with modern architecture, on Satellite Five in 200,000. She'd taken rides in early lifts at the dawn of the 1900s, which were her personal favourites, but the lift aboard the SS Bad Wolf was unlike anything she could have imagined, at least within the claustrophobic confines of a mere lift.

Although no bigger than a lift of her own era, this one had walls lined in what appeared to be deep violet velvet and its small floor was covered in a shag carpet. The only space on the floor that was not soft and fuzzy was a metal panel covered in numbered buttons, each clearly representing a deck. In one corner sat a small plush armchair. Maria pressed the button labelled J (2) and with another ding the doors slid shut. Musack began to play dimly in the background and the next moment, Rose felt the lift losing height. The ride was surprisingly slow – given the unnecessary luxury and the apparent extent of technological feats at the end of the century she'd assumed that the lift ride would take place in a matter of about five seconds. Instead, the lift ride lasted approximately fifty and once a cool, metallic female voice rang out, Deck J. Second-class cabins, deck viewing gallery, vending machines and toilet facilities.

"This way, then, if you please, sir and miss." Maria led them down a plain-looking passageway and stopped before cabins J12 and J14. "These will be your cabins. The doors will be open for now. Inside your cabins you will find your key cards, which grant you access to your rooms, as well as your welcome packages and personal loos. If you have need of anything, you can request for me or another staff member using the panels on the walls in the passageway. Enjoy your cruise."

…

The cabins were small but luxurious. Inside both Rose's and the Doctor's was a cot cramped into one corner, on which lay fluffy white towels and a soft blue duvet; a chair; and a small oak desk that doubled as a bedside table. Against one wall was a door that led to the loo.

Rose flopped back onto the bed and was surprised to discover how very soft and comfortable it was. She nestled into the soft folds of the blankets, which welcomed her. They smelled clean and fresh, a trace of a citrus odour clinging lightly to them. She did not know how long she lay there, though briefly it struck her that she had never been able to simply relax over her travels with the Doctor when not aboard the TARDIS. Shortly after this, it occurred to her that she was bored, and that she might as well explore the ship.

She knocked on the door to the Doctor's cabin, but, upon receiving no response, went ahead on her own. He'd probably returned to the TARDIS, so as to gather as many items as he could with which to tinker. It would be just like him to do something like try and assemble a toaster in his cabin.

Deck J was pleasant but largely un-extraordinary once you got over the splendour of it. Rose ran up and down stairs, eager to explore every deck. She was disappointed to discover that she would need a special access cards to get to Decks C, B, and A, and a signpost warned her that these decks were engine rooms, and that passenger entry was strictly prohibited. A fine of ₤6,000 was applicable to any offended.

On her way up to the uppermost decks, the resounding echo of a door being closed too quickly (or perhaps slammed) filled the stairwell. Rose jumped and turned. She leaned over the banister, idly curious. She could see no-one down below, and with a shrug to herself, Rose pulled away and continued trotting on up the stairs. Normally, running up and down so many flights of stairs would have exhausted her – or anyone, really – but Rose had been travelling with the Doctor for nearly six months now (or perhaps a while longer; it was easy to lose track of time when travelling aboard the TARDIS) and had long since grown accustomed to sprints. In comparison, running up and down many flights of stairs was a light morning jog.

The highest two decks, M and N, were home to the ship's dining and entertainment services. Such services included a library, a gaming room, a swimming pool, a gym, a playroom, an indoor playground, a billiards room, a room filled with ping-pong tables, and an onboard pub. Everything was lavish. Everything was beautiful. Everything was like falling into a dream.

Rose ordered herself a hot chocolate at the pub and sat on one of the high barstools, swinging her legs and sipping at the rich, sweet drink contentedly. She watched the mini marshmallows float around on the surface, then, slowly, melt into themselves.

She was just considering stopping for a game of ping-pong when the door to the pub room opened and shut, and a maintenance manager entered, making a beeline for a far corner table. He did not approach the bar to place his order; in fact he did not seem to want to place an order at all: when a young waiter approached him, the maintenance manager waved him away. Rose glanced over at him, but could not see his face from where she was sitting. She tried to pay him no mind, and yet as she sipped at her hot chocolate she could not shake the feeling that she was being watched. A strange feel took root in the pits of her stomach. Rose frowned, biting her lip. Quickly she drained what was left of her hot chocolate and hurried from the pub. Shortly after she left the pub, the door opened again and the maintenance manager began to shadow her footsteps.

Rose picked up speed. So did the maintenance manager.

She made a sharp turn into the stairwell at her immediate left despite her previous intentions. The caretaker turned into the stairwell too. Rose hurried down three flights of stairs, this time acutely aware of the sounds of his footsteps, following her down. At the landing of Deck L, Rose stopped and waited, making scuffing noises and quick footstep sounds on the ground with her shoes. The maintenance manager continued to following her. Just as he rounded the corner into her immediate line of vision, Rose straightened her back and suddenly exclaimed at the top of her voice, "Oi!"

The caretaker simply stopped.

Rose moved forwards, mounting onto the first step. She narrowed her eyes and pointed an accusatory finger at the caretaker's chest. "You're followin' me."

"I'm not." She recognised him now – it was Alfie, the maintenance manager they had first encountered. "What d'you mind if I was havin' a pint same time as you?"

Rose did not break her gaze. "And you just… happened to have been wanderin' the ship same time as me, in all the same places, just behind me?"

She was surprised how quickly he broke. He looked down and scuffed his feet, looking momentarily like a scolded child. When Alfie raised his head again he met her gaze, and there was a desperation in his eyes. "I'm sorry, all right!" he burst out. "It's just, y'know. It's bleedin' weird, what with you and your boyfriend showin' up midway through the ship's route and all. No-one does that as a rule, y'know, not ever, on all the ships I've worked on! And the board's so stingy and all, Lord knows how you arranged that late pick-up point. Ain't normal, you and 'im. And what with the recent events, it's just... weird."

Rose frowned. "Recent events?"

"Well – weird stuff, y'know. Spooky. Not that it's a concern of the passengers, 'course."

"Oh, come on. You've got my attention now. I like weird. Spooky. Sort of my, I dunno, thing."

"Well," Alfie looked nervous. He gulped and looked around briefly, removing his hat and raking his hand through his hair. "All right. Just so long as you don't go spreadin' this stuff around. No need for the passengers to know; though a handful know already. Er, unavoidable… " Alfie took a deep breath. "Listen. Something's not right on this ship. There've been… disappearances. People gone missing and that."

"Missing?" Rose repeated. "Aboard the ship?"

Alfie nodded. "One of my partners, Head maintenance manager. George, he was called. And someone else, too. An old woman. Passenger. They just… vanished." He hesitated. "This cruise lasts three weeks. It's been ten days, and two people have gone missing. The woman, she disappeared yesterday. A Mrs Griffiths. She's got a son with her on the ship, so he knows of course, and he's very upset. The board's worried he'll sue."

Rose continued studying Alfie, who now looked near tears. She took a few steps towards him, small and hesitant, making to place a hand on his shoulder, but he turned sharply away.

"Anyway," he muttered. "Better get back to work. 'Scuse me." And the next moment he turned on his heel and hurried back upstairs.

Rose watched him go, then turned herself and hurried back down to Deck J. She pounded on the door to the Doctor's cabin, and after a moment, he opened the door.

"What?"

Rose stood on tiptoe in an attempt to see over his shoulder, expecting to see the desk surface covered in wires and scraps of metal and God-knew-what-else. This suggested that he had been doing nothing, which surprised her so much that she momentarily forgot what she had come down to tell him. "What're you doin'?"

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Nothing."

Rose hesitated, because it was quite possible he had been "doing nothing"; he did that sometimes, aboard the TARDIS, when he thought she wasn't looking. He called it doing nothing. She called it brooding. "Can I come in?" she asked at last.

He didn't answer her right away, but at last he nodded gruffly and stepped aside. Rose entered his room and dropped down onto the bed, making herself comfortable. Indeed, he had not taken any measures to personalise the small space or make it utterly bizarre at all. The cabin room did not look as though a nuclear bomb had just gone off under the bed. "So you've just been doin'… nuffin'?" she asked at last. Her eyes skirted to a small pamphlet sitting near the pillow and picked it up.

"All right, I was reading the welcome package." He said it like he was ashamed, and Rose held back a laugh as her expression grew more serious.

"Doctor, listen. When I was explorin' the ship, there was this caretaker. Same one that we first met, Alfie. He was followin' me, and I confronted him and… " She hesitated, not missing the way his brows knit in concentration, forming a grave expression. "… well, he told me, that something's not right on the ship."

"How d'you mean?"

So she told him everything Alfie had told her. When she was finished, he nodded slowly, the grave expression never faltering. At least, not until, after a long silence had passed, Rose prompted somewhat awkwardly, "So… what d'you reckon, then?"

He had been leaning against the desk, now he pushed off and began to pace the small area, hands folded behind his back. "Well, we've got almost nothin' to go on, for one thing, other than the fact that there aren't any bodies. People've just gone missing… "

"But we can gather they're – dead, then, right?"

"Probably," mused the Doctor. "Unless they're being held captive somewhere."

"What for?"

"Anything," the Doctor returned dismissively. "Information, slow extraction of life, threat, eventual ransom, eventual meal, scientific purposes… anything."

"Any aliens you know… prone to kidnapping people?"

"Oh, half of 'em."

"Or… taking them and killing them?"

"Oh, most of 'em."

"Brill," Rose muttered under her breath, then looked up sharply. "Hang on. What about cameras and that? Wouldn't they be able to catch where people've gone?"

"CCTV was outlawed on long-term transportation vessels such as these in 2073 due to privacy concerns," the Doctor replied dully. "Thickest law you humans ever passed, you ask me. Well, except for all the segregation laws, anyway. 'S why the ship is covered in emergency stations instead. If something goes wrong, you just press a button."

Rose sighed. She opened her mouth to speak, but the Doctor cut her off sharply. "Hang on. You said the old woman that disappeared had a son?" Rose nodded. "What was his name?"

"Dunno. He didn't tell me. Her name was Griffiths, though."

"Hmm. Well, everyone eats meals in the same dining hall, yeah?"

"I think so."

The Doctor beamed. "Feel like makin' a friend or two?"

…

Frankly, Rose had expected to find the typical staples of British cuisine at the buffet: steak-and-kidney pie; meat and potatoes; pea soup; and suspicious lumps of green things. Rose, then, who had been raised on a diet consisting largely of steak-and-kidney pie; meat and potatoes; pea soup; and suspicious lumps of green things claiming to be good for her, was pleasantly surprised to find a variety of exotic dishes, including asparagus in some kind of Asian sauce and strips of succulent pork tenderloin. Rose, who didn't think she had ever had asparagus before in her life, served herself a generous portion of the dish.

The Doctor, serving himself his supper next to her, glanced over at Rose's selection with a cocked brow. "No beans on toast?"

"'S not breakfast." Rose served herself a small heap of mashed potatoes. She nodded at his own choice of dinner, a small piece of steak and heaps of lettuce. He had not put any dressing on his salad. "Bit bland, that, no?"

He took a piece of lettuce and popped it into his mouth with a shrug. "The stuff's good plain. What is it with you humans needing everything to be dripping with flavour?" His own voice dripped disdain.

Rose flashed him a dirty look and marched over to settle down at a table, but the Doctor followed her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned, looking irritated, but her expression morphed into one of puzzlement as he nodded to a passenger sitting at a corner table alone. He was young, under 30, sitting chin in hand. He picked at his food and did not touch it. "That bloke," said the Doctor in low tones. "Something's upsettin' him."

"No, really?"

"Yes, really," the Doctor either missed or chose to ignore her sarcasm. "And it's not just by lookin' at him that I can. He's worried, and depressed. 'S practically rolling off him. I can feel it, all the way from over here."

"You can feel people's feelings?" asked Rose, surprised.

He shrugged in modesty. "Sure. Time Lord. Psychic. Low-level telepathy."

"So… you can read my thoughts?"

"Oh, no, nothin' like that. Can't usually tell what people are feeling unless it's strong, and either very long-lasting or real new. Think of it like a smell. It's like a strong whiff in the air. You humans, your noses are rubbish. Can't smell nothin' unless it either smells particularly good or really reeks. Same with Time Lords and emotions."

"Oh," said Rose, relieved. Knowing that the TARDIS got inside her head to translate languages had been enough of an invasion of privacy.

"Anyway," the Doctor carried on, "there's room at his table. What d'you reckon?"

They crossed the room, settling down across from the young man, who started. "Oh. Hello." He offered both a shaky, uncertain smile, then looked back down at his food. Perhaps because the Doctor and Rose were looking at him, the man forked a small amount of mushrooms into his mouth, then returned to picking at his food.

"I'm Rose, and this is the Doctor," Rose smiled. "We're on Deck J. Just got on; we were picked up at the, er… waste disposal stop." The man lifted his eyes to look at her. "Is it nice here?"

He lifted a shoulder. "It isn't bad."

"Lots to do?" asked the Doctor with one of his ridiculously broad, toothy smiles. Rose cast him a sidelong glance.

"Oh, yeah. Sure," said the man vaguely. Then, at last, he seemed to remember himself and he looked up, shaping his features into a sad shadow of a polite smile. "My name's Stephen, by the way. Stephen Griffiths."

The Doctor inclined his head. Then he said quite suddenly – far too suddenly in Rose's opinion, and she cringed internally, "Here with anyone, then?"

Stephen had been in the middle of forked some more mushrooms into his mouth. The fork stopped in midair, and he seemed at a loss of what to say. He tightened his jaw and didn't answer, his gaze wandering sideways. Rose was suddenly reminded of the same look she had seen far too many times in the Doctor's eyes. It was a look that came up whenever she made an offhanded remark about, say, family – not hers but family in general, or anything else that she had come to realise triggered memories in the Time Lord.

Rose glanced over at the Doctor and nodded her head briefly. He sat back, allowing for her to lean over the table and placing one hand over Stephen's. She smiled at him, kindly, and the young man looked up, looking a little frightened. "Listen," said Rose, gently, softly. "We… know about your gran. And we're sorry. But the Doctor and me, we're going to do what we can. Find out what happened. Maybe we can still help her."

Perhaps it was the way she'd said it, truly meaningfully. Even in that moment Rose suspected that the staff on the ship had been rough in their sympathies. Perhaps he sensed that she and the Doctor might actually try and help. Or perhaps it was just the fact that she'd said something of real substance. Either way, Stephen's lips curved upward into a small, tremulous smile. He looked close to tears. "Thank you," he whispered.

"But… to help you," Rose went on, "we're going to need you to tell us everything you know."

Stephen nodded, quickly pulling his hand away. He straightened his spine, trying to recover. "Right. Well. Nothing much, really. That's the worst part of it. It's all very suspicious. She and I share a cabin; couldn't afford two separate ones. And… well, early in the morning she woke up, you see. She was shuffling around putting on her robe, and then I woke up and I asked her where she was going. We're in second-class, so we have our own private loo and all. She said she had to go out. I asked her why, was she feeling okay, did she need some air, water, that sort of thing. She just said she needed to step outside. And then… she didn't come back."

Rose glanced back at the Doctor. His brow was furrowed, in the way it got when he was concentrating very hard.

"Just… please try to help her," Stephen said suddenly. His voice had gotten small. He sounded a little pathetic. "If you can. Try and find out what happened."

"Don't worry," said Rose soothingly, as she might have done a frightened child. "We'll do everything we can."

…

A high-ceilinged room.

Concrete floor.

Towering contraptions of metal and pipes and cords and rust.

Shadows.

Voices, whispering.

"They were weak. Useless, and not even tasty. I am disappointed." The first voice cut through the darkness, low and guttural. Although it had but one source, it had almost an echoing effect. It could have been ten voices or twelve or a thousand.

"We sought out those we understood." This voice was higher, softer, but angrier. It, too, spoke in a voice woven of many layers. "We caught them and their fear was more than enough. It shall soon be time."

"No! You are foolish. If we are to succeed, then we must gather more. Your youth betrays you. You are naïve, ignorant, and if not for your talents then I would have you sent back."

Shrieks, cries, sounding like many frightened or injured small children. The voices spoke as one, about a dozen of them. The effect of all their voices together was terrible, and it was beautiful. "No! No! No! We cannot go back. We do not want to go back. We want to move forward. We want to the beacon, the source, the glorified. We shall not go back."

The guttural voice again. "I apologise. That was not right of me."

"We miss the golden times," spoke several of the creatures, whatever they might have been, at once. "We miss the days of red grass and peace and strength and plentiful meals. We want the golden days back."

"They are past. There is no way to return to the golden times."

"But we may have one last taste," spoke the high voice. "I look forward to it. He is here now. He has arrived."

Giggles. Laughter. The sounds filled the engine room, bouncing off every inch of concrete, curling and crawling and swirling around every bit of rusting metal. The others picked up the high voice's words and repeated them like a mantra. "He has arrived… he has arrived… he has arrived… "

They kept saying it all through the night.