Title: Looking Within
Author: Shen
Rating: PG-13
Setting/Spoilers: Post-Doomsday, in my Peril-verse (see my profile). Recap of said 'verse is athttp://shengirl dot livejournal dot com/8390 dot html
Characters: Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Jake, Jackie and Pete Tyler, OCs
Teaser: Rose has landed in the other universe. Should she hope for a way back or carve out a new life for herself? And what unexpected resources might she find on the way? Action/Adventure Reunion!fic.

Chapter 2: Memories that Bite

Rose Tyler did well in Torchwood training. She was almost frighteningly good at the obstacle course, for one. The trainee instructor had held her after the session to tell her as much when a voice came out of nowhere.

"That one's something of a professional when it comes to running for your life." Rose turned around to see a familiar face.

"Mickey!" she exclaimed girlishly before giving him a hug. The trainer sighed and shook his head.

"That was less than terrifying. Thank you for that disillusionment; I had this woman pegged as a machine."

"A machine? Really?" asked Mickey, delighted. The trainer nodded.

"She learned the course faster than anyone. Not a bad runner, either. The only thing is that she's... frankly bad at shooting." Rose smiled sheepishly at Mickey and shrugged, and he laughed at her.

"'S'what you get for not letting that Jack guy teach you to shoot," he admonished.

"I didn't exactly like guns at the time! And who knows where his blasters had been?" At this, Mickey acquired a horrified expression, much as if someone had suggested Jackie Tyler learn to pole dance. Rose couldn't stop herself from snickering at him a little.

"A laugh! That was a real laugh from you," Mickey observed aloud, clearly pleased. Rose took a moment to study the man, her ex-boyfriend. They'd started out four years apart. Then, a few days for her had been a year to him, increasing the age difference. She'd made up some of it traveling; they never quite kept to her mum's timeline. But then Mickey had spent 3 years in the alternate universe, when to her it had been six months. All in all, he was about seven years her senior. But through all the drama, all the non-synchronicity, he'd stayed in her corner. He'd found his niche in life and gotten well-over her, but he was still her best mate. For that, she would never cease to be grateful.

Through her few weeks of training, he insisted on taking her to movies or diners, which had caught on in this universe's Europe. On the days he did this, he kept her out shockingly late, leaving her exhausted. Rose was no fool; she knew he did this because of the trouble she'd confessed having with falling asleep. And it did the trick, often affording her dreamless rest.

Training complete, Rose was placed in a cell with Mickey, Jake, and another woman named Ingrid. She suspected Pete had something to do with this but said nothing. Mickey, as their leader, named the team "SG-1."

"Mickey, you are such a fanboy," Rose had teased him, shaking her head.

"What? Stargate doesn't exist here, so I need to do it honor somehow!"

"Tin Dog to Chippy," came a voice from Rose's earpiece. It was Mickey, who had learned a great deal about computers in Pete's World and was quite a good shot. Also, as the senior member of the team, he was the designated leader. She hit the button to respond, whispering.

"Chippy is in position with Mohawk and ready to go, Tin." She glanced at Jake, their explosives man and easily the best fighter; he caught her eye and nodded.

"Queen Hurt is set to go," came Ingrid's voice. Jake shook his head and rolled his eyes at her self-chosen code name, and Rose nodded sympathetically. Ingrid was a medical doctor and very organized with information, if a little silly. At least Rose had been able to talk Mickey out of using "T'ealc," albeit by "talk" she meant "laugh hysterically until he'd said, 'nevermind.'" They'd ended up choosing playfully insulting names for each other.

She liked this team. They complimented each other remarkably well. Rose may not have had the same level of training in any one given thing as her comrades, but she knew her place. She was no doctor, but she knew first aid. She wasn't the best shot, but she never committed friendly fire, either. Excellent in a rouse, she'd learned her BSing skills from the best. Ingrid had more training to help pick up on the technical significance of novel machinery, but Rose had an affinity with alien items that came from long experience and an open mind. (Torchwood had just loved finding out that the device studied by one scientist for two weeks was merely a hair/fur dryer.) And no amount of militarism could destroy her empathy; she was easily the most likely to hug a juvenile ball of slime separated from its parent. The only troubles came from a lack of a clear chain of command. Sure, Mickey was supposed to be the leader, but the Preachers had never been that organized, and even a Time Lord couldn't keep Rose from wandering off and ignoring orders.

Currently, they were in a run-down section of a docks district. Druggies and their dealers had been turning up dead recently, and while that normally wouldn't draw the attention of Torchwood, the nature of their wounds did: precise scorch marks, as if from a laser or blaster. So, the team had figured out what area the dealers used, vaguely, and began scanning. An hour and a half later, they'd found some kind of signal and narrowed it down to one warehouse. Now, they were approaching it carefully and from two directions.

Rose quickly picked the lock to the office of the supposedly abandoned warehouse, and she and Jake slipped quietly inside, guns drawn. Calm discussion wasn't the priority with aliens who slaughtered random loiterers. They had forgone flashlights, instead feeling their way carefully around the furniture. It was nearly certain that some alien presence was here, and it wouldn't do to announce their visit with lights. If they were lucky, they would even see the enemy before they were seen. After covering the small office, they listened at the door to the main warehouse. Silence. Jake nodded to Rose in the dim moonlight, and they threw open the door, careful not to let it slam against the wall. Jake was through first, ranging around with his gun, Rose covering him from behind. Nothing. However, they spied a glow from behind a pallet of what was probably forgotten garbage.

The pair crept towards it, careful to remain hidden by the pallet. Should they run into trouble, Mickey and Ingrid were prepared to burst in through the back door to assist.Tp. Chk. Sounded like a step and the jostling of a metal device – and then gunfire! She whirled around. Something armed had apparently snuck up on Jake only to be shot by her lightning-fast teammate. Shouts came from the area of light; the others had heard and were coming for them! Rose ran around the pallet opposite the side she knew most of the aliens would run. At the glow's source, she spied a table and a large computer terminal full of unfamiliar symbols – all mere yards from her. Two figures remained by the table; she shot the armed one in the head. Rose then shared a look with the other one, both shocked for a split-second. Humanoid, orange scales, three horns on its head, staring desperately between her and her firearm. It hit a button on the console. Blinding pain erupted behind her eyes, every sense she'd gained since the Gamestation afire, and she promptly passed out.

"Rose! Y'all right? Chippy?" Ingrid's voice penetrated the muck around Rose's consciousness. She slowly trod through it, led by the voice of her teammate, until she could crack an eye open. The medic looked truly distressed.

"Oh, thank God. None of us saw what happened. You were just on the ground, and your vitals were fine, but I couldn't wake you up."

"'M okay," Rose assured her, sitting up. And, to her surprise, she was, at least physically. Mentally, she felt scattered and raw, even violated. Ingrid was watching her worriedly, so she forcibly replaced her dismayed expression with a smile. Then, she started laughing hysterically.

"Um... Rose?" Ingrid prompted. Suddenly, Rose ceased laughing and turned towards Mickey, animosity bare on her features. Ingrid actually scooted back.

"That bastard," she muttered. The object of her ire was blithely inspecting the alien machinery with other personnel that must have arrived while she was unconscious. How long had she been out?

At a loss, Ingrid could only utter, "What?" Rose pushed some anger aside in favor of bewilderment, trying to vocalize what she was feeling.

"I- for some reason, it just hit me, when he was ten and I was six, him tossing my stuffed bear in the mud." Next, quite out of the blue, Rose burst into tears. Now, Ingrid looked truly alarmed.

"Oh, my God. I've never seen you cry; what the hell's wrong?!"

"Rose?" Mickey inquired incredulously from across the room.

Mortified, Rose sobbed, "I don't know! I can't-" she hiccuped, "I'm not upset!" Genuine frustration was evident in her voice.

"Something's messed with your... emotions? Hormones? I guess it could be worse than spontaneous crying..." Ingrid tried. This was ridiculous. Rose crossed her legs and closed her eyes, trying to meditate like she'd been taught. Her mind was a complete mess, and nothing was solid. Emotions and memories floated to the surface before rolling back into the bundle, with no discernible sequence.

Anger. Intense animosity and humiliation after leaving Jimmy and crawling back to her mum.

"How many times have you seen Titanic, Doctor?" she asked her lover as they whiled away an evening, her posing for him as he drew. Sometimes naked, sometimes no.

"I don't know what you mean," he'd protested with a small smile. He paused in his drawing to give her a loving look, brown eyes soft and adoring. She'd felt cherished.

"You'll be late for school, Rose! I'm not writing you a note this time!" her mum's voice waking her.

She was seven, staring wide-eyed at what would be the first pony she'd ever ride.

Rose shook off the raging emotions and calmed her sobs. The odd tear still ran down her cheek, but it was immaterial. She pictured her churning memories as a mass off colors and pictures, which she then forced into a great ball. Images would burst from its surface like solar flares, but she would slam them down, finally wrapping the ball in a mental chain. She was calmer. Little things would bleed through the hold-

"I'm yours," the Doctor nearly whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

-but it was manageable. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes – and nearly jumped out of her skin. Six pensive eyes were a foot from her head.

"Jesus! Don't do that!" Rose yelped at her team.

"Are you all right?" Jake asked seriously.

"I'll be fine. The orlick hit a button just before I passed out; it must have been that," Rose answered, already growing weary of being fussed over.

"Why only you?" wondered Ingrid.

At the same time, Mickey went, "Orlick?"

"Like Ingrid said, my body's fine. That was a psychic attack. I feel... scrambled. My head's all..." she shook it before continuing, frustrated bewilderment evident in her tone, "Anyway, those are orlicks. Last time I saw these guys, they were running a honeymoon satellite! Pandering to rich tourists! I mean, even the jail cells were clean and relatively comfortable; I slept through most of my time there."

"Why do so many of your stories involve imprisonment? Did you explore the universe's wonders or go on an extended tour of its penal facilities?" Ingrid asked.

Already aware of the answer to that query, Mickey was more concerned with, "What were you doing on a honeymoon satellite?!"

"Minzo. But..." Rose ignored the questioning looks and trailed off. Then, she looked resigned. "I have no idea when we visited that satellite. They could have changed from warrior people to entrepreneurs over time. Not that much difference, really. Plus, alternate universe."

"Did they use psychic weapons when you met them before?"

"No, not at all. Orlicks aren't telepathic." Rose decided to deflect further interrogation. Memories of her time with the Doctor were hard enough to bring up in normal circumstances, much less after a brain scramble.

"Hey, Mick, come 'ere," she requested. When he inched closer, she smacked him one good in the arm.

"Oi! What the bloody hell was that for?!"

"When you were a ten-year-old little git," she answered honestly. SG-1 eventually left other Torchwood personnel to collect the bodies and examine the equipment, but evidence suggested that the few aliens were an advance guard gathering intelligence, maybe mercenaries, alone on the planet... for now.

It was a long drive back to London, and more than once, Rose wished for the Zero Room to clear her head and rebuild her mental defenses. She went to bed that night just shattered. Disturbed by memories freshly dragged through her consciousness, she slept fitfully. And then, in the middle of the night, a familiar presence:

Rose.