Chapter Two – Parting Ways

To the Doctor—
Nothing's impossible!
Waiting for you,
Harbour Drive, Cardiff Bay
—Forever, Rose

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"What the hell was that about?" Sinead demanded, wheezing and out of breath. She leaned against the closed TARDIS doors and slid to the metal floor. "You could have got us killed!"

"Impossible—the universe wouldn't be so cruel. Not now." The Doctor smoothed the stolen newspaper page against the console with hands that trembled. This was what he'd been sensing, this opportunity. Now the timelines had settled into their chosen path, irrevocably set, and he'd done it right, apparently, for now he had the means to find Rose.

"You kept saying that, all the way back: 'impossible' . . . what's impossible?"

"Apparently? Nothing. Nothing at all!" He grinned but Sinead just tossed her head.

"Whatever that means." She pushed herself up and used the railing to help her get to the top of the ramp. "You're not making any sense."

"Oh, I make perfect sense! It's the universe that doesn't. Or didn't, 'til now."

"And what, suddenly it does? All because you stole a newspaper from the museum?"

"Oi!" He pointed at her. "Borrowed, thank you very much. I'll give it back. Someday. Maybe. And even if I didn't, they don't need it. They've got hundreds of newspapers! But this . . . this one's meant for me." His eyes took on a manic gleam as his fingers hovered in the air just over the tiny advertisement in the middle of the page.

After a moment, he reluctantly pulled his gaze from the paper in order to rummage around the console. He found what he needed in the form of a small can, which made a rattling sound as he shook it, then hissed as he pressed the top and sprayed a faint mist over the paper. "Protective agent," he explained over his shoulder. "Stops the paper from disintegrating now it's exposed to atmosphere again."

"It would've been fine if you'd left it where it was, behind the glass!"

He looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Wouldn't do us any good there, would it?"

"What good does it do us, anyway? You can't really believe that advertisement was meant for you! I was only joking about that. Thought it would make you laugh, not go off your trolley."

"Oh, it's for me," he replied in a reverent tone. "No doubt about that."

"And you couldn't have, I dunno, copied it down or memorized it? Something that wouldn't have gotten us chased by a dozen royal guards?"

"Don't be daft. You're the one who got us chased first, what with refusing the emperor and all. What's a little theft compared with treason against the Empire? Besides, if I'd only copied it down, I wouldn't be able to do this." He carefully turned the preserved sheet of paper over and squinted at it. "The date is only legible on this side. Doesn't do me any good without a precise time to aim for."

Sinead crossed the room with a decided limp and sat down on the jump seat. "What's this all about anyway? Who puts an advertisement in a thousand-year-old newspaper?"

The Doctor grinned at her, looking more alive than he ever had before. "Someone brilliant, that's who."

Sinead didn't know what to say to that, but the Doctor could feel her gaze on him as he moved around the console in a manic dance, spinning wheels and pressing buttons.

"I wonder why Cardiff," he mused, just before pulling the final lever. "She hates Cardiff."

The TARDIS shuddered, but did not thrash about in her usual manner upon landing. The Doctor patted the console fondly. "You'll be glad to see her too, won't you?"

"See who?"

"Who d'you think? Rose!" The Doctor grinned as he shrugged into his coat. "You coming?"

"I'd better not," Sinead answered sourly. "If we end up running, I'd only slow us down. Twisted my ankle back there, running for my life after you snatched that newspaper."

"Oh." He frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt. "Shall I take a look at it?"

"No, don't bother. I'll be fine. Go on, then, find this mysterious Rose."

The Doctor turned to her, indignant. "She's not mysterious! Rose may be many things, but enigmatic is not one of them. Her eyes give everything away."

"Well, go on, then. You promised that you'd tell me about her when we got back to the TARDIS. Here we are, a bit worse for the wear, and you've got some explaining to do, Doctor."

"You mean I really haven't told you anything? Blimey!" He added another word that the TARDIS did not translate, and his eyes grew dark. "I promised . . . but it's been so long. I didn't forget! I swear, I didn't forget. But I just . . . sort of . . . neglected to keep talking about her."

Sinead pulled herself up and leaned against the console. "So, tell me now. Someone you travelled with, I take it?"

"Oh, yes. She was my companion . . . oh, such a long time ago. But more than that, she . . . well, we. . . . That is, I—" He cleared his throat and Sinead raised a cinnamon eyebrow. Time Lords didn't blush, and yet he had a sneaking suspicion that his face had turned red. He swore again, ran a hand through his hair, and then began to talk, rushing the words together as he paced around the room. "Rose Marion Tyler, born in London, 1986. A little thing, but so strong, so brave, and so brilliant. Worked in a shop before I came along. Didn't belong there, though—Rose belonged out here, exploring the whole universe. Saved my life, she did—more than once, actually. Saved the world, saved the universe. Saved us all."

He stopped for a moment and his eyes felt suspiciously wet. His hands disappeared into his pockets. "Saved me from myself, too."

"I'm glad," Sinead said with a wistful smile.

"So. Sure you won't come with?" He headed for the door, but stopped abruptly and turned around so fast that it startled Sinead. "I almost forgot! How do I look?"

As his companion failed to restrain her amusement, the Doctor patted his jacket down, adjusted his collar, and ran his fingers through his hair. "A bit of grey," he said with a frown, "But not too bad, I think."

"You look fine," she assured him, still smiling. "S'only a trace of grey at the temples—very distinguished."

"You think?" He combed his fingers through his hair once more.

"She isn't gonna care. Go on!"

"All right." He let out a deep breath, then opened the door and went outside.

A few minutes later, he came back in, dripping wet.

"Wrong time," he muttered, his eyes narrowed and practically gleaming with irritation. "Wrong time! Stupid! I must've gotten the numbers mixed up. This is 2010, not 2070. And what's she doing so far in the future, anyway? Must have something to do with the time exchange flow between universes. . . ."

With that, he stormed over to the console.

"2010? Really?"

"Really," he said, not looking up from the controls. A drop of water found its way down his nose. "Spring. It's raining."

She stood. "Well then, that settles it. This is close enough to home for me."

He stared at her. A bit of hurt crept into his voice. "You're leaving? What'd you want to go and do that for?"

"Doctor, you're not gonna want me around once you've found Rose. Don't try to argue, I can see it in your eyes. I'd just be in the way."

"I've had more than one companion at a time. Do it all the time, matter of fact! TARDIS is plenty big enough for three."

"Yeah, but . . . this is Rose. You might not have mentioned her before, but you didn't have to. I can tell—she's special, yeah?"

"I . . . I loved her. And then I lost her." He met Sinead's gaze across the console and once again his eyes lit up. "But now it seems she's done the impossible and found her way back."

"Then you don't need me around, getting in the way. If she feels even a fraction of what you're feeling right now, she's not gonna want a stranger around, ruining your reunion." She walked around the console to stand in front of the Doctor. "You haven't seen her for a long time. You didn't say, but it's been at least ten years, yeah? Maybe twenty?"

He nodded vaguely. "Something like that." Thirty-nine years, eight months, three weeks, two days, twenty hours, and . . . forty-one minutes.

She just smiled. "It's been an amazing couple of years, Doctor. But everything ends. It's time for you to go find Rose. You can look me up again someday, yeah?"

The Doctor hugged her fiercely. "You can count on that. If you get bored, go to Torchwood. Tell them that I sent you and they'll give you a job. I know their leader—good people. And if you ever need anything, you call me, got it?"

"Got it." Sinead picked up a small backpack that had been hidden beneath the jump seat and shouldered it.

"You packed everything in that one little bag?" He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, not addressing the fact that she'd already been packed and ready to go.

She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him. "Bigger on the inside!"

He grinned. She'd be just fine.

A few minutes later, the TARDIS entered the vortex with just one occupant and the Doctor set the coordinates for the proper year. This time, it'd be right. This time, he'd walk out that door and find Rose . . .

. . . he hoped.

(To Be Continued. . . .)