A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and support this story has being getting! Love you all… ;D From now on, updates will be on Mondays and Fridays providing all the chapters are finished on time etc. Hope chapter 4 is okay!
The Doctor lay and watched Rose sleep beside him, leaning his back against the headboard of the bed as his hand lightly moved over her hair. They had been in this room for hours now and the sliver of sky that he could see through the gap in the curtains still failed to get any lighter. This had to be (quite literally) the longest night of at least a good few of his lives.
Rose shifted in her sleep, a frown creasing her forehead and a slight whimper escaping her mouth. The Doctor's hand stilled on her hair as she hunched up into a ball and rolled over to lie facing him. Her eyes flickered rapidly beneath their lids. 'Rose?' he whispered, as she suddenly kicked out and pushed the bed covers away. She moaned again.
'Rose,' he said, a little louder. He moved his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb gently rubbing at the crease between her eyebrows.
She went still for a moment, then her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright in the bed, the blankets slipping to pool at her waist. The Doctor did his level best to avert his gaze from her distinct lack of clothing, but really, it was hard. No matter what the species, he was still a man, and her overly lacy pink bra was just there in front of his eyes. He was glad the dark of the room would be able to hide his blush somewhat.
She turned to face him, her eyes glassy. She was trembling slightly. 'Doctor,' she said, her voice shaky. Her hands clutched at the blankets that tangled around her waist.
'Did you have a bad dream?' he asked, knowing there was probably no need. It was perfectly obvious that she'd had a nightmare.
She nodded. 'Yeah.' Her gaze drifted to land somewhere in front of her, unfocused.
He hesitantly slid an arm around her bare shoulders and coaxed her back to lean against his chest, his other hand moving to rub at the slight goosebumps on her arm. He loosened his grip on her momentarily to reach down and pull the covers up around them, tucking them both in and resting her head against his collarbone. 'What did you dream?' he asked her quietly.
She paused before answering, one hand coming up to play with his fingers as they splayed against her ribcage. 'It was those things we saw earlier,' she said. 'It was all happening again, but it was permanent this time. Everything was all blurred and the people were crowding round and there was just this cello playing over the top of it all, all on its own. It sounded so sad.' Her voice broke. 'And then there was you and me, just stuck in the middle of it all, with no way out of this blurry crowd and no way to get back to where we came from. And that was it. The end of it all.'
And this scared her more than anything else, he knew. He kissed her head and pulled her body closer to his. He didn't let go of her for the rest of the night.
Damien treads carefully over the next few months. He plans his time with Airlia as though it is a military operation, and he learns to develop eyes in the back of his head at work. He treats the patients as they come in, stitching them up and saving lives as always, but he is extra vigilant about checking drug administrations and doses. There are reports of government spies infiltrating the public services and infecting opposing voices with incurable diseases. Three hospitals in the vicinity have had epidemic outbreaks already.
He learns not to ask questions when people begin to come in mutilated, signs of torture evident in their pain and their wounds and the look they have in their eyes. They never answer his questions and he has learned that he will only get into trouble if he starts to pry. Officials are starting to appear outside of their allotted visiting hours.
When he gets home at night, he shuts the curtains in his living room and makes plans for himself and Airlia to escape away from all of this as soon as possible. She is getting more and more stressed and more scared every time he sees her. Her brother's friend was lynched in the street the other day after he was seen leaving the presidential palace.
Damien carefully tidies up his finances over the course of a few weeks, withdrawing Cashier's Cheques and moving his savings to an account he has set up on a small planet several light years away.
The violence in Valtallahan escalates. The protestor movement is gathering more and more momentum as alien worlds begin to take notice and threaten to intervene. Similarly, the army gains in strength and numbers due to help from the President's off-world friends and favours being called in. Everyone is scared. More people disappear and then reappear dead. Nobody quite knows if all the bombings and attacks are the work of the government's people or a gang of militant protestors. Nobody can decide which would be the best side to support as more and more people die as a result.
Damien is counting down the days. He and Airlia only have to survive a few months more until they can slip away and start afresh together. Some nights he holds her in his arms and they pretend that the explosions outside are fireworks on an exotic beach, rather than car bombs outside government buildings less than five miles away. Some nights they don't pretend, can't pretend. Some nights he holds her whilst she shakes and cries against him, the bombs sounding closer than normal.
And then, one night, something happens and everything changes.
This is the day Damien realises that this is a whole new world.
The Doctor spent the next few hours drifting in and out of sleep, his mind contemplating his and Rose's predicament in its waking moments, and vivid dreams colouring his senses whenever he slipped out of consciousness.
He worked out that Eustance must take roughly 37 Earth hours to orbit around its sun, and that due to their positioning on the planet, it would be dark for around twenty hours of the day. Give or take, of course. He wondered how people survived here, especially with the curfew that seemed to be in place for hours of darkness. He wondered if it drove them mad.
He attempted to work out how they could get out of this mess but could see no easy way of doing it, at least not without the TARDIS. He knew that they couldn't stay here, not with all the tensions that had been so obvious as soon as they arrived here. He decided that their first call of action for the day- after breakfast and paying Ganjud, of course- would be to go back to the place they arrived at and work out how to get back to 1959 France. Should be easy for a nine-hundred year old genius Time Lord. At least, that was what he hoped.
Eventually, after far too long, it started to get light. A shaft of weak sunlight filtered through the small gap in the curtains, shining on the foot of the bed. The Doctor watched its trajectory for half an hour or so, keeping his arms wrapped securely around Rose as she lay sleeping against his chest. When the shadows in the corners of the room began to brighten with the light of the day, he moved her hair out of her eyes. 'Rose,' he said, his mouth close to her ear.
She frowned and turned against him, burying her face in his bare chest to block out the disturbance to her sleep. He hated to wake her, but they needed to get moving and the sooner, the better.
'Rose,' he tried again. He gently pried her away from his body, watching her eyelids lifting and shutting slowly as she tried to wake up. 'Time to wake up.'
'Mmph,' she moaned. 'Another ten minutes.'
He smiled, coaxing her to sit up. 'Sorry,' he said. 'We need to get going to sort out this mess.'
She went stiff then, her eyes snapping open. 'Oh my God,' she said, only a slight remaining sleepy remnant in her voice. 'I almost forgot we were here. I hoped it had all been a dream.'
He shook his head. 'No,' he replied apologetically. 'None of it is a dream. We really are here.' He grinned and adopted a teasing tone to his voice. 'We're here, in bed together,' he said. 'Wearing nothing but our underwear, in a strange hotel room.' He gasped with mock-dramatic effect. 'I wonder what we did last night?!'
Rose laughed. 'No,' she said. 'I'm still convinced it's a dream. How else would we end up in bed together?'
The Doctor coughed, surprise in his voice when he spoke again. 'You, uh, you dream about us in bed together?' he queried.
She was silent for a long moment, before a cheeky smile spread over her face. 'Oh yes,' she replied.
He knew he must be as red as a beetroot. Rose poked him in the ribs and jumped out of the bed whilst he was still in a mild state of shock. He only vaguely registered her grabbing up her clothes and disappearing off into the bathroom before something inside his brain asked him whether or not she was being serious. He couldn't decide, but he hoped that she was. He didn't even allow himself to contemplate how wrong that thought was.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his head in his hands for a brief moment. He'd been dreading this all night; the time when he'd actually have to do something to fix this mess and try to get them home again. He didn't think Rose fully understood the scope of the problem, but that was okay. As far as he knew, this was an unprecedented situation and if his little theory about going back to the place where they first arrived didn't pan out then he didn't really know what to do. He didn't want Rose to know that.
He stood up and walked over to his pile of clothes, dressing methodically and double checking his sonic screwdriver and psychic paper before heading over to the window and opening the curtains. He was so intent on studying the day before him that he didn't hear Rose come up behind him until her hand pressed against his back and she appeared in his line of vision, stepping to stand close by his side.
'You okay?' she asked.
'Of course,' he replied, not meeting her gaze. 'I'm always okay.'
She smiled sadly. 'And now I know that you're not okay.' She moved her hand to slide into his, forcing him to look her in the eye. He could see the apprehension there. 'Are you scared, too?' she asked hesitantly.
He studied her for a long moment, taking some time to drink in the sight of her face washed free of makeup, a few beads of water still clinging at her forehead to make her hair damp around the edges. The water caught in the sunlight and glinted like jewels. She looked young, fresh, innocent, worried. He nodded almost imperceptibly. 'Yes,' he whispered. He hooked his hand beneath her chin to keep her gaze on his. 'But everything will be okay, Rose. A little fear never hurt anybody. We'll get this sorted out, home in time for tea. I promise you that.'
She nodded and flung her arms around his back, squeezing him tightly for a moment before letting go and going to sit on the bed to lace up her shoes. He looked back out of the window, looking at all the buildings and the people starting to venture outside before going to join her, pulling on his own trainers and tying them securely.
'Right then,' he said when they were both finished. 'You got everything you came with? Because I'm hoping we don't have to come back here again.'
She nodded. 'Yep.' She took his hand as they stood up and grinned at him. 'I have everything.' It was clear that she was counting him amongst her possessions, even though the tongue poking out from between her teeth told him that she wasn't been strictly serious.
'Good,' he answered. 'So let's go and sort this mess out.'
Damien is worried and he knows that it is showing on his face. Airlia is on the phone, trying to get through to her father. He is flicking through the channels on the television but all of them are blank. He wouldn't understand the reason why if it wasn't for the fact that he can see the dead bodies lying on the ground only a few streets away from his high-rise apartment block. He is too far away to make out any details, but he can see the familiar red of blood far too clearly.
The hospital hasn't called and he doesn't expect them to. All of the victims are dead or dying quickly, according to the brief news report he managed to catch before the plug was pulled on the news satellites. It wouldn't be worth the effort of him going in; those already on duty are more than capable of signing off death certificates and he is sure even the most junior doctor can tell when a body blown to shreds is not worth trying to save. It wouldn't be fair on any of them.
Airlia has finally got through to her father and she is angry. She is shaking as she clutches the phone tightly in her hand, her knuckles white and her lovely eyes rimmed with red and filled with pain.
'Is this because of you?' she asks, and then pauses to listen to the response. If it's possible, she turns whiter.
'Did you kill those people?' she questions the man on the other end of the phone line. 'Are you a mass murderer now?'
Damien watches her, his eyes never leaving her face. His heart is breaking for her.
'You're not my father,' she says in response to something the President of Eustance has said. 'I can't possibly be related to a monster like you.'
She falls silent then, and Damien can hear the man shouting on the other end of the phone. He imagines President Camdon standing in his vast, plush office five miles away, his already red skin turning a ridiculous burnt strawberry colour. He will have a cup of coffee in his hand, Damien decides, and some of it will spill over the edges of the mug as he shouts at his daughter.
If he listens carefully, Damien can make out a few of the man's hollered comments from across the room and for a moment he imagines that Maximillian Camdon is merely in the next room rather than five miles and light years of morals away. The phrase 'good of the people' comes up a few times, and eventually Airlia responds with, 'Good for the people or good for you?'
Damien imagines the man's nose turning purple at that. He hears some more muffled yelling, the only intelligible words reaching his ears being 'twenty thousand' and 'no regrets.' Damien takes this to mean that twenty thousand people died in Valtallahan last night and that the President does not care.
Apparently he has guessed right, because Airlia says, very quietly, 'I hate you.' And then, after a few seconds pause, 'Goodbye father.' She hangs up the phone and bursts into tears.
Damien crosses the room in less than three seconds, holding her close in his arms. He realises that something will have to change soon, and that the time he can spend like this with Airlia is limited.
This is the day Damien realises that he is all Airlia has. (Everything will change in three months, twenty two days and nineteen hours.)
They found the building they had mysteriously materialised in front of last night without much of a problem. The main problem was that there didn't seem to be anything unusual about the area, and everything about the building was normal. The Doctor was sure about this; he had measured its height, its temporal velocity, its atomic structure and its relative volume to the surrounding time and space, as well as everything else he could think of. In fact, he had checked everything twice, just to be sure.
Added to that, the building appeared to be nothing but a bombed-out, derelict baker's premises that hadn't been used in months or even years. It was just another piece of useless history in the universe; something ordinary that had now gone to ruin, something else to be forgotten and neglected by time and development. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary and certainly nothing to explain how the Doctor and Rose had ended up there instead of outside the House of Mirrors at a carnival in 1959 France.
The Doctor pocketed his sonic screwdriver and turned to Rose, who was leaning against a wall to the side of the building. She looked at him expectantly. 'Well?' she said.
He stared at her, his hearts hammering in his chest. How was he supposed to tell her that he couldn't find a way to get back, that there wasn't so much as the smallest crack in time and space there for him to work with? He briefly contemplated her earlier idea of trying to find the Time Agency, before pushing that idea quickly away so it couldn't tempt him. That would only draw unwanted attention to themselves in the already tense situation playing out on Eustance. He knew they couldn't do anything to alter this timeline now.
'Doctor,' Rose said. 'What did you find?' She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to tell her that everything was going to be okay and that he'd have them home in no time. She waited for him to tell her that all they had to do was walk through the door of the building with their eyes closed and then they'd miraculously be back in France, at the carnival, with the TARDIS. But he didn't.
'Nothing,' he replied to her eventually. 'I found nothing wrong, Rose.'
'Well, that's good, isn't it? If there's nothing wrong then we can just go back through, yeah? Home in time for tea.' She could tell immediately from the look on his face that he hadn't meant what he'd said in the way she'd taken it to mean, but she refused to consider it from any other angle. 'Doctor,' she said again. 'We can get back, yeah?'
He shook his head. 'No, Rose.' He took a step towards her. 'I mean that there's nothing wrong with anything to do with this building or this area. It's all stable. Everything is just as it should be. There's nothing I can do to change that, not without the TARDIS. And anyway, if we had the TARDIS then we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place, would we? There's nothing here to say that anything strange ever happened, no leftover residue from when we passed through and absolutely no sign of a carnival in France.'
She looked at him silently for a long time, breathing in and out calmly. Eventually, she said, 'You mean we're stuck here?'
He couldn't lie to her now, if only because it would be blatantly obvious that he was lying when they were still stuck here in the days/weeks/months/lifetimes to come. 'Yes,' he said reluctantly. 'For now, at least. Until I can find another way back.'
Her head dropped to her chest so that the Doctor couldn't see her eyes fill with tears. Rose had no doubt that he would eventually find a way to get back to the TARDIS- she knew he'd never let her down when he'd promised her- but she couldn't help the feeling of fear and dread that spread through her at the knowledge that they were stuck here for the time being. 'Can't you call the TARDIS to you?' she asked him, her gaze still fixed on the ground.
The Doctor walked over to her and lifted her chin to make her eyes meet his. He took the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket once more and gently grasped the chain around her neck that safely kept her key to the TARDIS. He fingered the metal, one side warm from her skin and the other cool from the chill of the day. He looked back at Rose to make sure he had her full attention, and then he held the sonic screwdriver to the key, switching it on. Nothing happened and he shook his head. 'No,' he said, in answer to her question. 'We can't call the TARDIS here.'
'Why not?' Her voice was small as he tucked her chain back beneath her shirt for safekeeping.
He sighed. 'We're not supposed to be here, Rose. We're not here, not technically. There must be some kind of block to keep us from the TARDIS, something out there in time and space, preventing us from getting back in the same way we arrived here.'
'You think someone planned this?'
'No,' he said immediately. 'No, I don't. I think this has all been one big, stupid mistake.'
'Oh.' She nodded, feeling the tears prick at the back of her eyes once more.
The Doctor folded her into a hug, bringing her head to his collarbone so that he could rest his chin on her hair. 'But that's all it is, Rose. A mistake. And mistakes are easily fixed. I promised you we'll get back and we will.'
She nodded against him and bought her arms up to rest at his waist. 'I know,' she sighed and then grinned. 'Let's just make it soon, yeah?'
He pressed a kiss into the top of her head and smiled against her hair. 'As soon as we can, yes.'
'I suppose we have to go and tell Ganjud we're going to be staying another night?'
'Yes, we should probably do that,' he agreed. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a way to get out of here. 'Come on.'
He pulled his arms back from her and took her hand in his, smiling at her reassuringly (he hoped) before casting a last glance at the building that refused to yield any answers to him and heading back the way they had come.
They hadn't walked more than fifty yards when the door to a café burst open and twenty or more people spilled out in a mob, instantly tearing his hand from Rose's and sending him sprawling across the road and into a wall of the café. His head smacked against the wall, and the last thing he was aware of before blacking out was the chant and rabble of the angry mob, and the desperate sounds of Rose calling his name in a panic.