Rain pounded against the rooftop as heavy rivulets ran down the windowpanes, obscuring their view of the turbulent sky. They could still see the flashes and hear the resonating booms, but the dazzling display was now muted.

The Doctor had just suggested some tea when his mobile rang. He pulled his hands away from Rose's stomach with a small sigh then reached for the phone. She watched his expression grow sober as he listened. A few words were exchanged, and he ended the brief conversation with, "I'll be right there."

Night-time emergencies were no surprise to the Doctor and his wife; indeed, in a small community nearly an hour's drive from a hospital they were fairly common. In the wee hours, he'd delivered two babies, set a dozen broken bones, and even removed an appendix since they'd arrived in Durryvale.

"What is it?" she asked. His countenance revealed deep concern.

The Doctor was already gathering his bag. "Car accident. Looks like Iain McManus skidded off the road and hit a tree. Family was in the car, too. Could be a couple of broken bones, and it sounds like Allison and at least one of the boys'll need some sutures."

Beginning to push herself to her feet, Rose inquired, "Do you need my help?" She'd been trained in basic field medicine while at Torchwood, and early in the pregnancy—before she'd been so ill—she'd accompanied him to emergencies regularly.

"No, love." He pressed a hand over her shoulder gently to prevent her from rising. "You just rest. I'll give you a call when I can." He bent quickly to kiss her cheek then strode into the hallway to don his coat.

"Be careful out there," she called. "An' tell everyone I'm thinking of them."

He offered her a brief yet appreciative smile before he slipped out the door.

Rose settled back on the couch, her gaze moving toward the window again. However, she didn't really feel like watching the storm any more. Knowing that her husband and an injured family were out in it took away all of its appeal. She reached for a book on the coffee table and flipped it open.

When the windows began to shake some time later, she assumed it was from the thunder. Yet as she thought about it, she realized that she hadn't heard any rumbles. She looked up to see the rain slashing horizontally against the glass. Strong winds were rattling the panes within their frames.

The lights flickered briefly and then the room was shrouded in darkness. Rose sat very still for a few seconds, waiting for another bolt to provide illumination to the house. When the flash came, she looked about quickly to get her bearings. A pretty, scented candle sat on the coffee table, but the matches were across the room in the side table drawer. The path from the couch to said table was clear.

She heaved herself up and walked with slow, tentative steps toward the far end of the living room. While she knew there was nothing in her way, she felt clumsy and unwieldy, and a stumble was the last thing she needed.

She reached the side table without incident and found the matches at the back of the drawer. She lit one then shuffled as quickly as she could back toward the couch. The match burnt out just as she reached the coffee table. She lit another and lowered the tiny flame to the candle. In a few moments the glow cast the room in soft shadows.

The windows continued to shudder, and she could hear the wind howling outside. Rose was about to sit down again when the phone rang. She'd left the cordless on the coffee table. She reached for it, anticipating the Doctor's voice when she answered. Instead she heard a tremulous whisper.

"Rose?"

"Yes?"

"It's Mrs. Hudson. My power went out."

"Ours, too," she replied. "Are you all right?"

"I'm…" The frail woman paused.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Rose prompted, her heart fluttering in concern.

"It's dark, and I can't see, and I thought I'd left the torch by the bed, but it isn't here. I'm supposed to take my medicine…or I could get… a blood clot." Her voice trailed off, and Rose heard a muffled sob.

Without further consideration, she replied, "I'm coming over. Just stay where you are; don't try to move. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I hate to bother you," Mrs. Hudson said quaveringly.

"It's no bother. I'll be right there."

Another sob ended in a deep exhale of relief. "Thank you, Rose."

"No problem. Be there in a mo'."

She hung up and shambled toward the kitchen, candle in hand to light her way. She took the large torch from the drawer beside the sink, testing it first to be sure the batteries were strong. After a stop in the bedroom to slip on a pair of trainers, she donned her raincoat. Unfortunately she couldn't quite get it to button over the swell of her belly. She picked up an umbrella then opened the door.

The storm was fierce. Immediately the winds whipped her hair about her face. The umbrella was of little use with the rain blowing in horizontal streaks. Still, Rose held the contraption in front of her face to try to shield herself at least partially from the driving shower.

For just a moment she was reminded of another rainstorm on a Norwegian beach many months ago. Running through the freezing deluge, she had not yet understood the gift she'd been given.

Once, perhaps a month after that first night, her Doctor had asked her if she had any regrets. She'd lain in his arms, her head beneath his chin, listening to the soft, steady beat of his heart. His hand had moved gently over her hair, and his voice had deepened with sincerity.

Without hesitation, she'd answered him, allowing her body to convey the words welling up from her heart.

They hadn't discussed it again; they didn't need to. But sometimes in the grey, early morning light she'd wake to find him watching her, his brow softly furrowed above his slightly bemused expression.

"You were dreaming," he'd tell her, and then the images would swirl foggily through her sleepy memory.

"Only of you," she'd reply. "Just you."

If he knew that occasionally—really quite rarely—she dreamt of murderous metal men, gaseous ghouls, and the screeching, knobby rubbish cans that had brought him to her he never said. She didn't, either.

Rose fought her way through the rain. Her hair was drenched within a minute, and her hands began to grow numb from the cold. She splashed through deep puddles, nearly slipping once. On sunny days the walk to Mrs. Hudson's bungalow required less than five minutes, but the turbulent night extended the journey three-fold.

By the time she reached her destination, Rose was exhausted and shivering. She stood beneath the roof for a few moments to catch her breath then tried the front door. It was locked. Bollocks. She hadn't thought to bring the key her elderly neighbor had given her some time ago.

She trudged around to the back, hoping to find the kitchen door open, but it was secured, too. She slogged through the muddy garden and found the bedroom window. She tapped softly then shone the light inside.

"Mrs. Hudson!" she called over the roar of the rain. "It's Rose." She rapped at the glass again. "Can you reach the window from your bed?"

She waited, peering inside as she moved the beam about. Finally it shone upon the old woman's pallid face.

"Rose?" she mouthed.

"Yes! I don't have my key. Where's your spare?"

She saw the gnarled, pale hands move to the sill, then waited as the window rose slowly. Once she could slid her fingers under the frame, she helped with the small task.

"Your spare key," she repeated. "Where is it?"

"I gave it to you," Mrs. Hudson rasped.

Rose sighed. "I'm comin' in," she said, raising the window fully. "Stay back so you don't get wet."

Six months ago, shimmying through a first storey window would have been ridiculously easy for the lithe, limber Torchwood agent. Now, with six months of pregnancy weighing her down, Rose found the job a bit more challenging. Try as she might, she couldn't pull herself up sufficiently to clear the sill. Against the slick, sopping brick, it was impossible to gain purchase with her feet. Finally she stood back, panting heavily, and directed the torch's beam around the yard. There, near the hydrangea, was an old lawn chair. She dragged it over to the window then, after handing the torch to Mrs. Hudson, climbed up on the tatty fabric of the seat.

She felt the material give as the weight of both feet hit it. With more alacrity than she'd have guessed she possessed, she pulled her torso through the window. The fabric ripped away, but she was able to clamber inside. Her movements were inelegant, and the wooden sill scraped against her belly with a sting, but she managed to land on her feet, preventing any real injury.

Straightening up, she grinned at her neighbor. "So, Mrs. Hudson, what can I do for you?"

The woman gaped at the dripping figure before her. "Rose. Are you… are you all right?"

"Right as rain," she replied, then giggled at the absurdity of it all. She'd felt a little rush from her minor escapade, but it faded quickly as rain pattered her through the open window. She turned to close it.

"Where's the Doctor?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

"There was an emergency—he had to go out," she replied.

She was beginning to shiver again. She walked to the bathroom to shrug out of her coat and hang it over the shower. As quickly as she could she blotted water from her face and hair with a towel then returned to the aged woman.

"Where're are your candles and matches?" Rose asked.

"I have some candles in the dining room, I think. Matches are… in the kitchen?"

With a reassuring smile, Rose took the flashlight and left the room. She found the candles easily enough, but the matches required a bit more effort. In the early stages of Alzheimer's, Mrs. Hudson had begun stashing things in odd places. Rose had some idea about this habit from pervious visits, but still she was a little surprised to find the matches in the toaster over, along with a screwdriver, two measuring cups, and a pair of scissors. She unplugged the appliance before returning to the bedroom.

She set the candle on the dresser then lit it. "That's better," she said. She saw several small bottles on the nightstand. "Which ones do you need now?" she asked, pointing.

"The blue ones?" Mrs. Hudson frowned. "I think… maybe. He wrote it all out for me."

Beside the bottles Rose found a sheet of paper. She smiled at seeing her husband's neat printing. His own native language, he'd explained, was written with swirling, sweeping letters, and he'd had to work with some diligence to write with human legibility. Now the instructions he wrote out for his patients were lettered with almost painful precision. The little notes he occasionally left for her still had hints of the more exotic script.

"All right, one of these now," she said, touching the largest of the bottles. She passed the tablet and a glass of water to her charge.

Mrs. Hudson swallowed the medication then sank back against her pillow. "Thank you, Rose. Don't know what I'd do without you… without both of you. Where's the Doctor?"

Rose smiled sadly then repeated, "There was an emergency. He had to go out."

"Oh, that's too bad."

In the candlelight, Rose could see a deep bruise over the woman's cheek. Her left hand had been wrapped, too. For just a moment she had an image of the Doctor's gentle fingers running over the fragile bones, checking for breaks with his infallible talent and slightly enhanced senses.

"The power went out," Mrs. Hudson was saying.

"Yeah, storm's pretty bad," Rose responded. Before she quite realized it, she was sinking down onto the bed to sit at the end. She reached up to push a few damp strands of hair from her face.

"Are you all right, dear?"

Rose blinked. "Oh, yeah, fine."

"You shouldn't be out in such nasty weather."

"I'm fine. I'm—"

Her words were cut off by an extremely bright flash of light and a simultaneous crack of thunder. The glass rattled sharply, drawing Rose's eyes to the window. Something was different; something had changed.

Her time traveling with the Doctor had heightened her awareness; her years at Torchwood had fine-tuned it further. The tiny prickling at the back of her neck was the first sign, and she did not ignore it. Immediately Rose's instincts kicked in. Her eyes shot from the window to Mrs. Hudson, then she lunged for the old woman, pushing her down and grabbing for the pillows as the glass shattered.

Rose rolled, shoving Mrs. Hudson over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. The old woman cried out in surprise and pain as she hit the thin throw rug. Rose fell beside her, dragging the pillows from the bed and flinging them over her head even as she positioned her body to protect the elderly woman.

She heard the groan of wood and the roar of the wind, and then the wall crumbled. Rain and debris pounded against her back her arms. Something thudded against the pillow, knocking her to the side. She landed heavily on her left shoulder, trying desperately to avoid falling onto her belly.

The wind continued to howl all around them. Rose looked up as a flash of lightning lit the gaping hole in the wall. She saw the tree across the yard, saw its branches snapping in the force of the gale, and knew that she had to get away from the impending onslaught.

"Mrs. Hudson!" she gasped, tugging at the woman's arm. She spared a moment to push the pillow away. Her neighbor was semi-conscious, her gaze cloudy beneath limp lids.

Without wasting further time with words, Rose began scooting backward, keeping a firm grip on the woman's arm, dragging her along. Leaves and smaller branches were blowing through the broken wall, and even through the vicious wind she could hear the great, resonating crack as one of the massive branches lost its battle with the squall.

Rose forced herself to move faster, hauling the limp body across the floor. The distance seemed impossibly great, her destination utterly unreachable, but she had to try… Rose took a breath and pulled harder, now half-standing, bent over her bulging belly, stumbling back, back, one more step, now two, now just the one…

"Come on, come on!" she cried.

She fell back hard on her bum. The breath left her body in a great whoosh as the huge branch crashed through the wall. She reached up to grasp the doorknob, managing to shut the closet door half-way before the branch collided with it. The door slammed back, hitting her head with sufficient force to send her sprawling onto her back.

The night grew even darker, and for one moment she clawed at the wood, then her hands wrapped over her belly as she felt consciousness slip away.

To be continued…