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Love, Laugh, Die

A/N: Apologies for the late update. (She said, like she says at the beginning of like every chapter). But I actually have an excuse that DOESN'T boil down to procrastination this time! I'm off to my first year of uni, so I've been doing a lot of meeting up with my friend/preparing/packing for residence, and other things. I also got distracted by a oneshot plot bunny that came to my mind, which I immediately had to write because it was hopping around in my head making a lot of ruckus and demanding my attention. The story's not for Doctor Who, but I'll be posting it in the next fortnight or so; the little thing's just going through editing phases right now. I have no idea how much free time I'll have to work on the next chapter at uni, but I don't think you'll have to wait TOO long this time. Hopefully. I don't know.

Chapter 2

…

Rose woke up early the next morning. She stretched as she sat up, happy to enjoy the feeling of soft covers and fresh sheets, of her own enclosed little room. It struck her that she had never been able to bask in such peace in a long time. It was always too chaotic aboard the TARDIS to relax, really, and too exciting besides. She didn't want to relax when she was aboard the TARDIS. And back home in London, the concept of relaxation, of sleeping in in the morning, was laughable.

Rose ran a hand through her sleep-mussed hair, then flopped back onto the pillows with a contended sigh.

Then again, there were the disappearances to deal with. So maybe there wouldn't be quite as much time to do nothing as she'd have hoped. Rose could not let herself be terribly upset. After all, what was life with the Doctor without adventure and risk? A trip with the Doctor without life-threatening stakes would be like visiting Piccadilly, only without the traffic. The only thing to worry about, she thought lazily, were the disappeared people. And they'd figure it all out in the end, she and the Doctor. They always had, always would. She would think and worry about them, George and Mrs Griffiths… right… after… breakfast…

She only lounged about a couple more minutes before she began to feel bored. She got up, entered the lav to wash her face. She changed out of her nightie into some jeans and a jumper and brushed her hair, tied into a couple of braids. Then she knocked on the Doctor's cabin door. There was, at first, no answer. She rapped on the door a little louder. "Oi," she called, not too loudly. "You up yet?"

The door swung open. The Doctor stood there, fully dressed. "Good, you're awake," he said by way of a morning greeting. "Come on, then."

They headed to the dining hall for their breakfast, without saying much really. Rose sipped her tea and picked at her kippers, surprised by the lack of hunger she felt. The Doctor didn't seem terribly hungry either, nibbling at his toast remarkably slowly. At last, with her kippers half-finished and all but abandoned on her plate, she leaned forward over the table. "Y'know," she said, "I think we ought to ask around, find out if anyone else has figured out anything weird's goin' on. Noticed something, maybe."

The Doctor had been in the middle of taking a long drag of coffee – it was rubbish coffee, truth be told; half-stale and still too sodding hot. He drank it anyway, even as it singed his tongue. That was okay. It was good to feel something once in a while. Now he broke into a wide grin and set his mug down on the table. "There you go, Rose Tyler. Fantastic, you are." A pause. "Why wasn't that the first thought that popped into my head?" he added in a mock-annoyed tone, and Rose laughed.

"Come on, you," said Rose, swatting his shoulder. "Let's head on. Tell you what. I'll hang around by the pool and talk to some people, and you do… " She shrugged. "I dunno, whatever it is you do. I guess."

The Doctor nodded curtly. He didn't need to say anything more. The pair got up then, dropping their dishes off near the kitchen.

Rose had woken up later than she'd realised; the dining hall was nearly empty. She supposed the rest of the passengers must have already headed off to their activities.

Out in the passageway, a crowd had formed in a circle around something. Rose could hear whispers, all of them laced with concern and fright. People were pushing and shoving to get closer to the front. A few gasps.

The Doctor's brows knit together into a severe frown, and he arched his neck, trying to see over the heads of the crowd. Rose stood on tiptoe, trying to get a view herself, but with no such luck. Suddenly the Doctor's eyes widened, just for a moment, and he began to shove and shoulder his way to the front of the crowd. "'Scuse me, sorry, professional comin' through." At the front of the throng he stopped dead, looking down at his feet.

Next thing Rose knew, he was calling her name, reaching out a hand. She hurried forward, clasping his rough, calloused hand in hers, muttering apologies as she pushed past people. Once she was by his side, she looked down, too, and froze.

Two bodies lay at the heart of the crowd; one, a birdlike old woman, the other a middle-aged man in caretaker's uniform. Their eyes were open and cruelly blank. The man's mouth remained wide open as if he had been screaming when he died, and his back was arched. He lay more stiffly than the woman; his body felt colder. Clearly he had died a few days before her. Despite this, he did not release an unpleasant smell, and showed no visible signs of rot.

Rose glanced up at the Doctor, wide-eyed. He showed no signs of noticing her, or any of his other surroundings save the two bodies on the floor. Around her, she could process the whispers and mutters of the other passengers; the lot of them were frightened and confused, but nobody had begun to panic – not yet. To Rose this seemed remarkably strange; if it had been her (before the Doctor, anyway), or anyone else she knew (namely her mum), the screams and shouts and panicked demands to speak to someone would have started by now.

"'Scuse me, 'scuse me, is there some kind of problem?" Alfie's voice sounded from down the corridor. The passengers seemed to recognise his authority; making way for him. Alfie pushed forward, then looked down.

Alfie blanched, swayed on his feet slightly. "Jesus bloody Christ," he whispered. "Jesus… " Then he straightened his spine and cleared his throat. "All right, everyone out, please! This is not passenger business. Everyone, please clear out, this deck is closed for today! This matter will be dealt with by our onboard staff! Everyone out, please; this deck is now closed!" He dealt with the matter so efficiently that Rose found herself gaping at him for a few moments, rooted dumbly to the spot.

Around her, the people began to do as they were told, happy to have instructions to follow. They shuffled out, making for the stairwells. The first-class passengers made for the lifts.

The Doctor pushed forward against the surging crowd towards Alfie, and after remembering herself, Rose followed him. Alfie was speaking into what appeared to be a walkie-talkie attached to his wrist, although Rose could not see one. She supposed people must have figured out how to make very small walkie-talkies over the course of a hundred years if such a period was enough to haul a shipload of people beyond the reaches of the galaxy. The caretaker's voice was thin and frightened. "All right, yeah, all right. I'll do that then. Over and out." He turned and jumped at the sight of the Doctor looming over him. "Excuse me, sir, 'fraid you'll have to clear out; this deck is now closed."

The Doctor made no move to oblige. "Listen. Can I ask you a question, mate? How do you intend to deal with this… matter?"

"'Fraid that we can't deal with questions at this time, sir. Every passenger's just as concerned as you are."

The Doctor seemed to stand taller, and Rose hovered uncomfortably beside him. "D'you remember me?" he demanded.

Alfie was surprisingly blasé. "Oh, sure. You and your lady friend here came on late and all. Bleedin' weird, that. But the same rule still applies. Can't share any information." The Doctor remained rooted to the spot. Rose felt embarrassed for him. "Look." Alfie sighed. "I get that the both of you's used to solving problems on that station o' yours. Like being a couple o' Good Samaritans. You're probably high-ups or somethin', am I right? But we haven't even dealt with this ourselves yet, for cryin' out loud. This isn't passenger business. Now if you don't mind, Sir" – and there was no missing the twinge of sarcasm on this last word – "you'll both of you clear out of this deck and leave it all up to the ship management and staff personnel."

The point had been made. The Doctor and Rose made for their cabins. Rose had been hoping to debrief, as they tended to do, but the Doctor was in such a bad mood that she decided her best move was to head over to the pool and see what she could find out, effectively avoiding him by the widest margin possible.

He spoke to her as she went out, without looking up. He was writing notes down, stray thoughts and observations, in that strange language of his composed all of circles. "Oi. Do talk to some people, yeah? Don't just spend the day loungin' about with a pool noodle."

She raised one eyebrow. "What d'you take me for?"

He smirked, looking up to meet her eyes now. "Well, you know what you humans are like."

…

Rose had been expecting a large, deep pool, maybe with a diving board. She had been expecting a spacious deck with, perhaps, a few fold-up lounge chairs on which to sit. Maybe a Jacuzzi for the first-class passengers.

The pool was about as large as she'd imagined, which was in all honesty quite big. What she had not imagined was a three-tier diving structure, two slides, a Tarzan rope, and a bin the size of her bed filled with pool noodles, floatation devices, and other pieces of pool equipment. One door on the far end of the deck led to a smaller, children's pool, with child-sized slides and a rope.

Rose selected a floatation device and lay upon it. She had eaten too recently to swim laps just yet. She would, she figured, sit about and wait for someone to turn up. Her hopes for relaxation were gone, replaced with an intense curiosity, excitement. There were questions to address, questions of which she hungered for the answers. She couldn't remember ever feeling this curious before.

She lazed about on the floater for a good while longer, then began to swim laps. She had done nearly a dozen and only stopped to rest a couple of times when she heard, in a moment of lifting her head above water for breath, the sound of the mechanical door sliding open. Automatically her head slid underwater, making her swallow of mouthful of water, then she came back up again, coughing.

"… you all right there, Miss?"

Rose rubbed the chlorinated water from her eyes, and blinked hard a few times. Maria the laundry-maid was standing on the pool deck, her expression a mix of concern and amusement. Rose swam over to her. "Yeah, fine, thanks." She frowned as she reached the deck, recalling what the Irish girl had told her yesterday. "Thought you only did the cleanin' on Deck J?"

"I do," Maria explained, "but, well, we lost our Head of Maintenance a while back, and this was his job. We take it in shifts now."

"Oh." Rose pulled herself from the water, sitting on the edge of the pool deck with her feet in the water. "You got a time limit or somethin'? D'you want a hand?"

She looked embarrassed at the notion; perhaps she thought Rose was making fun of her. "You're a passenger, Miss. You came here to relax, enjoy yourself. I came here to make a bit of money to live on."

Rose shrugged, standing now. "But there ain't any rules sayin' I can't lend you a hand if I fancy, are there?" When Maria still looked sceptical, Rose said flatly, "Listen. You can tell by my accent I'm not used to all this livin' in luxury. You look like you could do with some help, and I feel like helping." Nothing. "Listen, before my, er, latest job, I was working in the shop. And before that I was cleanin' the floors of the local bank after hours."

She'd broken a barrier. Maria smiled, timidly but genuinely, then nodded. "Well, all right, then. If you really want to, Miss, I could do with a bit of help. I've never done the pool before." Another pause. "My cleaning cart's just out there. Would you mind wheeling it in while I got get a mop? I just need to mop it, really, and wipe down the lounging chairs. Net out the water. It's not a very big job."

"Sure." Rose wrapped herself in a thick, fluffy towel wheeled in the cart as Maria approached a small storage cupboard a short ways down the passageway. Rose had noticed one on her deck as well, and, now that she thought about it, on the deck she and the Doctor had first entered. Maria opened it with a swipe of her access card.

Maria gave Rose a damp cloth and showed her how to wipe the seats and armrests, how much cleaning solution with which to douse the cloth. She mopped while Rose wiped, and as they worked, Rose stirred up a conversation.

"Pool's empty, isn't it? Thoughts loads of people'd be hangin' about. I didn't think I'd be able to get a break."

Maria blinked. "Miss, don't you know?"

"I dunno. And it's Rose, remember? If I can call you by your name, only makes sense for you to call me by mine."

"About… " Maria looked, for a moment, like a frightened child. "… well, this morning… "

"Oh, that." Rose nodded. "Wasn't sure how far the word had been spread, but… yeah. I was there."

"Everyone knows." Maria shrugged. "Nearly everyone is shut away in their cabins. They're frightened. And, er, we're not to start encouraging passengers to enjoy their cruise and not to fret until tomorrow. Captain's orders."

Rose frowned. "Have you figured anythin' out yet?"

Maria had stopped mopping the deck. Those dark brown eyes of hers were wide, and for Rose the impression of a frightened child only grew stronger. "Nothing. No-one can understand it, you see. We have experts onboard, medical staff. They haven't told us cleaning staff very much, but no-one can even figure out how those people died. And George – he was our Head of Maintenance – died well before the woman, but he's in nearly the same state! No signs of decay at all." She shook her head. "No-one understands."

Rose cocked her head to one side, thinking. "D'you reckon they'd accept passengers' help? Not anyone, I mean. But er, me and the Doctor, we were working in those sorts of fields," she said, inwardly praying the psychic paper would be able to produce useful credentials.

"I don't know. I doubt it."

"Well. Tell you what. I'll be seein' you around, yeah? Maybe we could help some. Least share some ideas." Rose paused. "Y'know, if you find anythin' else out… "

Maria bit her lip. "I don't think I'd be allowed to do that." She paused.

"How old are you, anyway?" Rose asked.

"Twenty," Maria answered.

"You're not even much older'n me," said Rose, frowning. "Just by a year." She had meant to ask what got a girl like Maria stuck in a job like this one, where she was overworked and under-respected. But, she supposed, she already knew the answer.

Maria just shrugged.

"Listen," said Rose, "it's just… you're smart. You're nice. We'd appreciate your help."

"I might be in trouble," Maria muttered, but then she nodded. "But I'll see if maybe I can do a thing or two to help you." She smiled, for the first time not timidly but earnestly. "Besides, not many passengers are very polite to the staff, not even the second-class. Even the third-class passengers can be rude. You're something entirely new."

Rose nodded. She'd gotten that a lot.

…

The Doctor patted his breast pocket, double-checking for the psychic paper and his trusty sonic screwdriver. The passageways were quite deserted – no surprise there. A few corpses showed up, and what else were the rich little apes supposed to do? Retreat into their hidey holes and sulk and tut about the inconvenience of it all, and you'd think that the security would be better, wouldn't you dear?

He'd spent an hour or so pacing his small cabin room, his mind turning. He'd actually tried, at one point, to head on up to the deck on which the bodies had been found again, only to find it sealed off. A scan of his access card denied him entry, prompting an "Error – No Access" message.

After that, he'd gone over to the TARDIS, fiddling with and sonicking his access card until it appeared he had gotten the desired results. Unfortunately, a visit to the Deck M landing found a security guard, informing him lunch was being served one deck below today.

Now, he was wandering a narrow passageway on Deck D. The welcome pamphlet had informed him that he'd find a very small attached passageway leading to the captain's cabin. "Passengers may direct concerns of ship security or official requests to the Captain with permission of Bad Wolf staff," the pamphlet had read.

At the end of the passageway the Doctor saw a door, leading to a narrower passageway, and a small sign reading "Captain's Cabin." He did not need his access card to open the door. The sides of the passageway seemed to house the high-ranking staff members, and at the end of the narrow passageway was another door. It was blocked by a security guard. He was a large fellow, big enough to be hired as a bouncer, but he lacked any outward aggressive disposition. He nodded at the Doctor as he approached, then held up a palm.

"Sorry, sir," he said, in a strong Manchester accent. "Captain's cabin is off-limits to passengers."

The Doctor stuffed his hands in his pockets, arranged his features into a confused expression. "Oh, sorry. Just thought, how, you know, it said on the pamphlet… er… if we had requests, or concerns… "

"Security concerns, yeah," replied the guard. "You can direct 'em to the Captain."

"Well, that's what I've got. A security concern. Is there somewhere else I can direct it to the Captain, or… ?"

"No, passengers can just come here."

"Oh. Good. Can I talk to the captain, then?"

The guard shook his head, regretfully. "Not at the moment, sir. We understand there's been a breach in security. Bit of panic, but it's nothing to worry about."

"Oh, sorry," said the Doctor, letting his annoyance show now. "Cos far as I understand, a couple o' bodies showing up in the main deck's a wee bit of a security concern worth expressin'. Strikes me as something to worry about." He shuffled on his feet.

"Sir – "

"I mean, I don't know, really. I just thought that the Bad Wolf would be takin' the necessary precautions, make sure the passengers don't panic. Us poor sods paid a lot for these tickets."

"Don't worry, sir," said the security manager, smiling in a reassuring, practised sort of way. "We've got everything under control."