This story has been rewritten. Please see chapter 1 for details.

Chapter 8

"But why blue?" he asked as Rose herded him through the door half an hour later.

"Just go with it."

His shoes met sidewalk, damp from a recent drizzle. A well-timed passing car sprayed puddle on his legs and icy water trickled down his trousers into his socks. Lovely.

Beside him, Rose inhaled the air as though she'd never smelled anything as nice as wet pavement and car exhaust. "Good old London Town," she said as her breath clouded the air, "how I've missed you." She turned and trailed her fingers along the police box, lingering over a notch in the wood.

Right—his vision on the balcony of a man with a box must have been the Doctor and his TARDIS. No wonder she insisted on the design.

Rose rested her head against the door and gazed at him with a look so intense, the shells of his ears heated.

"We going to get chips or not?" he asked.

She sprang toward him, looped her arm around his, and tugged him forward without a word. At least she hadn't run off at the first available opportunity.

People in wool coats and funny hats with rounded crowns walk by. A large red bus blared a horn while it sped around a corner. A child cried at the sound while two women bickered at a newsstand.

How ordinary. No screams, no smoke or fire, just … life. "So this is when you're from."

"Not exactly," she said. "Off by fifty years or so, but if you want the best chips you gotta go back a few decades before they stopped wrapping them in newspaper. Something about it just gives it that certain taste. There." She pointed up the street at a bulky white box with a rickety canopy. "That should do."

As they approached, a portly man with a stained shirt tipped an imaginary hat their way. "Wot can I get the 'appy couple today?"

Couple? He loosened his arm from hers.

"Two servings of chips please." Rose dropped several coins into the vendor's hand and the man gave her a pair of bundles. She handed him one.

Heat spread through that oh-so-important paper to his fingers as the smell of cooking oil and ink wafted just under his nose. He had to admit, the combination was strangely aromatic.

Rose beckoned toward the walkway by the river and he followed her lead. She shoved two chips in her mouth and moaned. "Oh, these are gorgeous."

He held up one, sniffed, and then bit the end of it. Soft and salty. "Not bad."

She bumped into his shoulder. "Loads better than that awful rubbish you tried to serve me earlier."

He feigned offense. "I'll have you know, that soup is considered the height of gourmet dining on Tannus Four."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, all right. Truth be told, I never cared for it either." He bumped back and they both laughed.

A bird swooped in and landed on a power-line just over their heads. It preened its glossy feathers without a care, oblivious to who sat underneath. How odd. No enemy lay in wait, no prospective mutiny near-at-hand, no need for appearances or formalities. He didn't realize normalcy was so … relaxing.

Rose sat down on a bench overlooking the water and zipped the collar of her jacket closed.

"So enlighten me," he said as he scooted beside her. "What's with the leather? Seems like such a brooding look for someone like you."

"What, you don't like my jacket?" She held out her navy sleeve. "But leather is so fashionable."

"You humans and your peculiar little fads." He took another bite.

"Says the man in black velvet. I'll have you know, mister Time Lord, your parallel version wore leather in his last incarnation, a leather jacket no less."

"No."

"Did too," she said with a mouthful.

"Lies." He shook his head but didn't bother to hide his amusement. "A Time Lord in leather? I've seen a lot in my day, but that is just too much."

She giggled while she chewed. "It's true, he really did. And it was downright sexy."

Something brushed against his knuckles. He glanced down. Rose drew circles along the back of his hand with the tips of her fingernails as though touching him were the most natural thing. Tingles skittered up his arm. He looked back up and found her closer—close enough that their breath mingled. Close enough that he noticed flecks of copper radiating from her pupils like a supernova suspended in time. His chest thudded.

"You know what goes good with chips?" Rose crumpled her newspaper into a ball and stood, her warmth dissipating as fast as the moment. "Milkshakes. You can get the most delicious banana milkshakes you've ever tasted from this banana planet. What's it called?" She tapped her bottom lip. "Can't remember … Via- Villa …"

He shrank. "Villengard?"

"That's the one." She tossed the paper in a bin.

Of all places, she had to go and pick one he had ravaged. And she didn't say anything about milkshakes before. He wasn't her personal chauffeur.

The wind caught her blond hair and whipped it across her face. She nudged his shoe with hers. "Whadaya say?"

Well, maybe if he landed with precision …

"Come on then, up you go." Rose shooed him from his seat toward the TARDIS. "Shift."

Another trip. What was he getting himself into?

He stepped into the glare of two suns. Ahead, banana trees filled every space not occupied with towering buildings, streets, and cobbled walkway. In mere seconds, his suit stuck to his skin like a thick black paste. Villengard—it ought to be called the sauna planet.

Fingers curled around his. Rose pressed against him as she pushed up on her toes and scanned the skyline, her free hand at her brow.

His surroundings dissolved. No suns, cityscape, or trees, only Rose and the saccharine scent of her hair as it draped along his shoulder, the feel of it as it tickled near the pulse of his neck.

"That's odd," she said, bringing everything back into sharp focus. "Why is everyone in a tizzy?"

Someone screamed.

People rushed through the street, grabbing children and belongings and piling into transports. Ships zoomed overhead. Columns of black smoke bled into the turquoise sky. His gaze followed the trails to the shell of a burnt-out factory, half crumbled into the steep hillside.

He sucked in a breath. "No." He pulled his hand from hers and sprinted down the road. "No, no, no, no, no!"

"What's going on?" Rose asked.

"Tell me the date!" he shouted at the frenzied crowd. No one answered.

An advert for sonic blasters flashed across the holographic window on a mechanics shop to his left, then the time and temperature, and finally the date. He raked his hands through his hair. "Cycle forty-four, day nineteen? That can't be right. I set the coordinates to come one week before today."

Rose stepped into his line of sight, her face grave. "Victor, tell me what's happening."

"In half an hour, a timed neutrino detonation in that weapons factory will take out a five-hundred kilometer radius."

"What?" Rose gaped at the smoldering hill.

"It's been over two regenerations for me. I didn't expect the TARDIS to glitch and send us here today of all days."

She pressed her lips into a tight line. "Well, now you can make it right."

He tilted his head. "Pardon?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Did you want a ruddy milkshake or not? Can't have one if everyone's running for their lives, now can you?"

"But if we just—"

"Oh, come off it. It won't take long, will it, Mister Time Lord Victorious? Sort it out and we'll be on our way."

She couldn't be serious.

"Unless you don't think you can manage," she added, her airy tone one-hundred percent challenge.

Confound it all.

Wind ruffled his hair, too dense and hot to offer any relief from the stifling temperature. The factory grew larger and larger in their sights, then listed to the right.

"Pull to the left," he shouted at Rose over the deafening putter of engines.

She gripped the controls tighter. "I'm trying. This beastly thing won't fly right."

"I said left!"

"Not the direction. I meant the other right, you dolt! I think it's jammed."

He cursed as the hillside drew nearer. A crash he could survive, but a neutrino blast because he was knocked unconscious—not so much. He reached over and yanked the controls to the side. The banana freighter leveled out just before skidding into a pile of rubble and slamming into a pillar. Bits of brick reigned down on him as his knee jammed into the break pad.

Everything fell silent. He pried his hands from the control stick, choking on dust and smoke. Blonde hair spilled over the dash beside him. His hearts stopped. "Rose …"

Her shoulders convulsed, then shifted. She arched her head back and laughed with her whole body, dirt smeared across her forehead. "Gosh, I've missed this so much." She exhaled a satisfied sigh. "Can we do that again?"

"Are you mad?" He unfastened her safety strap and nudged her head from side to side. Full range of motion, no dilated pupils. Thank the stars. He helped her to her feet. "I commend your hot-wiring skills, Rose, but your driving leaves much to be desired."

"Oh, hush. We made it didn't we?" She dusted off her jacket. "Though it looks like our ride is toast." She kicked the splintered remains of a banana crate to the side.

"We won't fare any better if we don't move. Detonation is in less than"—he took out his laser and squinted at the readout—"five minutes."

Rose maneuvered over the mound of debris onto flatter footing. "So what are we standing around for? Let's see that winning spirit of yours, Time Lord."

There was something about that smirk of hers, playful with just the right amount of I-dare-you. Like she knew precisely what to say and how to say it to unleash his inner vying nature. He flashed a cocky grin of his own. "Well then, greatest assistant in all of creation, this way."

He sprinted toward the side stairwell with his screwdriver extended. Rose followed close behind. A gust cleared the smoke and revealed half the railing of the structure torn away, steel steps jutting out at varied angles like teeth riddled with tooth decay.

"We'll have to brave it," he said as he tucked his laser away. "Mind your step." He offered his hand. A familiar prickling sensation resonated along his time sense as she took it.

That old cohort, adrenaline, pumped inside him as they hurried up the stairs. He lived for this—that inward high when mired deep in the conflict, when the stakes could be no greater. What could be more thrilling than besting himself?

At the top, open sky shone where the ceiling had once been. The structural skeleton of the floor joists twisted up through the collapsed roof tiles. A featureless sphere no bigger than his palm reflected the sunlight few yards away.

"There." He threw himself at the heap but it shifted under his weight. Just as he reached for the silver ball, it sunk underneath chunks of wall, roof, and glass. "No!"

He struggled to keep his footing but his legs sunk deeper into the pile. Trapped. Sweat stung his eyes as he peeled away anything within reach. "No no no! Where did it go?"

"What can I do?" Rose asked by the stairs, her usual cheery tone replaced by an uncharacteristic soberness.

"Nothing. I have to disable the signal with my laser. It's the only thing that can stop it. If I could just find it!"

A high-pitched beeping emanated from beneath a chunk of wall behind him. The beeping grew faster, more urgent. He cursed.

Twisting his torso as best he could, he shoved his hands under the large slab, and heaved it to the side with a grunt. A red light blinked against a half-torn air duct. He fumbled with his screwdriver as the beeping sound turned into one continuous hum. While holding his breath, he raked the laser over the silver-colored ball. It powered down with a mechanical sigh.

He slid against the pile and wiped his face with his sleeve. "That was close."

Rose clapped. "You did it."

The building shook beneath him. Not good. He braced against the debris and pushed but couldn't free himself. Another shudder. Really, really not good.

"Hold on," said Rose. "I'll see if I can get you out." She stuck a foot into the pile.

"No, don't," he said with a wave. "It's not stable. Any moment it could—"

Up, down, floor, sky—he tumbled over and over again. Amid the sudden blur of light and sound, he thought he heard his name being screamed. He reached out and gabbed something solid. Sharp metal cut into his fingers but he held fast. The roar of tumbling brick and screeching girders suddenly stopped as the floor fell away. His legs swayed above an imposing drop.

"I can't get to you," Rose shouted from somewhere above. "Wait there."

Like he had a choice. The beam groaned then jerked down, all but snapping with his weight. Blood trickled down his sleeve.

A shadow moved along the stairwell. He squinted through the smoke and spied a flash of navy as it disappear from view.

Rose …

Again the beam lurched, dropping his entire frame. The metal peeled downward as though in slow motion. So, death had come again. A fitting end for his monumental lack of judgment. He clenched his eyes shut. With a sickening snap, he was in free-fall.

Pain exploded everywhere as he collided with something hard and tinny. A low groan rumbled in his throat as he rolled onto his knees, his palms flat against a grate crusted with mud. He propped against the rusty plating of a control podium. What was this, some sort of floating ramp? Powered by atom thrusters if the hum beneath him were any indication—likely used for docking freighters.

The metal grate pattered with the sound of footfall. Two arms flung around his neck.

"I thought I'd lost you," Rose said into his ear.

"Rose, you … came back for me."

She pulled away, clutching his shoulders. "Course I did. I couldn't let anything happen to you."

"But why?" After everything he'd put her through …

"Blimey, your hands." She slipped the necktie scarf from his collar and blotted at his fingers with the wadded cloth.

Was he really so dense? Of course she couldn't let him die. She'd be unable to get back to her own universe, much less stop the darkness.

Rose tied the fabric around his left hand—the worse of the two—and then swept his soaked bangs from his brow. "You okay?" she asked, her eyes crinkled at the corners.

He sucked in a breath. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she genuinely didn't want him hurt. Maybe she really did want to be with him.

"Come on." Rose hooked his arm over her shoulder and hoisted him onto his feet. "Let's see if we can ride this thing back down. I think we've earned those milkshakes."

The setting suns threw various hues of color across the sky as they meandered through a gathering crowd. His muscles ached from exhaustion, arms limp at his sides. At least the sticky air had cooled, if only a little.

The sounds of cheering and drums spread until they came from every direction. The crowd thickened. People bounced and swayed in rhythm, impeding their path as shredded banana leaves rained down from the balcony above.

"This is madness," he shouted above the noise.

"You know what your problem is? You spend too much time looking at things behind glass." Rose twirled under the improvised confetti, arms outstretched. "Sometimes you just gotta jump into the thick of it and let go."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, loosen up, dance."

"Dance?"

"Yeah, haven't you ever danced before?"

He eyed the writhing bodies next to him. "This isn't dancing. It's bumbling about with obnoxious banging in the background."

"Try it." She moved to grab his hands but he pulled back.

"You do realize they're celebrating my defeat."

"It's not about that. It's about being alive, about living to the fullest. And there's no reason you can't celebrate too." She dipped down and grabbed at something, then sprang back up. Handfuls of shredded leaves piled in his hair. "Or are you too old and decrepit for fun?" There was that tongue again, that prove-me-wrong glint in her eye.

"Decrepit? I'll show you old and decrepit." He reached down and gathered a pile, but her dark shoes disappeared into the crowd. "Bad form," he shouted. "You can't provoke and then flee."

She giggled like a rollicking schoolgirl. He followed the sound until he spotted her frayed hair a few feet away.

"What's the matter, can't keep up, old man?"

He tossed the leaves at her back but the wind caught them and they fluttered onto the cobblestone.

"Missed," she called in a sing-song voice as she ducked behind a building.

The minx. He rounded the corner but stopped at the sight of thousands more people in the street—factory workers and their families, students, and officers all waving and singing and shouting. How was he ever going to spot her in this?

Doubt crept back into his mind. After all that, she wouldn't try to …

"Psst."

He turned. Rose stood at the entryway of a shop holding two tankards of milkshakes piled high with cream. The tension in his body ebbed away.

She thrust a glass into his hand. "They're giving them away. Can you believe it?" Her glass chinked against his. "Bottoms up."

He tipped his glass up and the cold substance slid onto his tongue. Rich, but subtle, and surprisingly tasty. He ought to try common food more often.

Rose licked her lips. "What's the verdict?"

"Almost worth the trouble."

"See?" she said as she bumped into his arm. "Some things you just gotta experience close up. Can't enjoy this from behind a glass case." She buried her mouth into the mountain of cream and hummed.

He chuckled at her frothy mustache. Perhaps milkshakes weren't the only things he couldn't put behind glass.

"You know, that's a good look for you," she said with a nod.

He glanced down. "Hm?"

"The open collar, without the stuffy scarf."

Instinctively, he touched his exposed collarbone. He'd long ago considered himself above the simple effects of flattery, but as she looked sideways at him with that turn-away grin, he couldn't help but think he might not ever wear that scarf again.