Author's Note: So, I'm going to upgrade my posting schedule to Monday – Wednesday – Friday. I seem to be working at a pace to be able to promise at least that minimum. As usual, I'll still post on off-days if I have something good to post that won't get in the way of the regular schedule. And, speaking of, here's another bonus post! I'm on fire. Mostly because the BBC execs found me and set me on fire.
Kidding, of course, but that brings us to the salient point. I do not own Doctor Who.
TK: I totally agree, the instant "soul-matey" thing is irksome. I think the beauty of Nine and Rose was the plausibility of other, supporting explanations. Those little moments don't have to be summed up as "aww, they're already in lurv," it can be taken as "he's lost everything and he's so glad he met this bright, brave girl." That's kind of how I see him, here. He's starting to realize he doesn't have to go it alone, he's found someone capable of surviving the crap he drags them through, and he doesn't want to lose that. Maybe, just maybe, it means he needs to start thinking about something besides just saving the universe. Not that that isn't a noble cause, or anything. :D Royslady: "Time Lord Tech Support, this is Margaret speaking… Uh huh… Not responding, eh? Did you remember to charge it? … Yes, sorry, of course you did. Try turning it off and then on again." Dreamcatcher: Sometimes, we all need a kick in the ass from a deadly alien species to stop standing in our own way. :D Mauve Guest: Oh, believe me, I remember Jackie when she first saw The Doctor. *shiver* Tell me of this brain bleach. I'm not going to go all "Eternal Sunshine" am I? pinklilliflower: "And don't think I didn't feel your mind havin' a quick wander, you dirty old host for the Dark Lord. We're sharin' that brain, you know. And what's that about, 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?' Did he change his name to some barmy symbol, like Prince, is that it?" Vaylyn: I totally understand, I find a lot of good Fics, but I often find it hard to constantly review. I mean, what do I say, "S-still doin' good!" But thanks for popping in! I'll try not to disappoint. nightland9657: Oh, the subject of her absorbing the Time Vortex will have to come up, and will eventually become a pretty crucial plot point. Vague enough? That's me, makin' the readers hate me whenever possible. But glad to have another Nine fan on board. I mean Ten and Eleven are wicked fun and all, but they had good runs, and, more importantly, they just weren't Nine.
"We need to get back to the hospital," Martha Jones stated, unequivocally. Her mate looked at her, astonished, as she gathered up her bag, shoved a couple chips hastily in her mouth, and started for the door.
"In this?" he gaped, "Are you mad? It's snowed five inches in ten minutes! It's bedlam out there!"
"Yes, Oliver, and it's only going to get worse. You wanna be stuck in a chip shop overnight?" Martha had turned back to face him, spreading her arms wide in exasperation, "Besides, people are going to get hurt in this. The hospital needs us."
"What, so we get stuck at the hospital overnight, instead? I just got off a 36-hour shift," the lad, Oliver, reminded, though he did get up from his seat and took a few steps toward her and the door.
"So did I," Martha said, somewhat deflated, "Do you think it matters to them?" She motioned out the window, and Rose watched, discreetly, the interplay between them from her seat. Despite the fact Martha didn't know her, would only see her as another face in the crowd and certainly think nothing of it when they met, officially, in two-years' time, she instinctively slouched in her seat, trying to make herself appear insignificant. She wanted so badly to stop her, to insist it wasn't safe, but she knew better. She couldn't make a spectacle of herself, she could only watch as the lad reluctantly nodded and he and Martha stepped out into the blizzard.
Rose swung herself out of her seat and followed them out the door. Outside, it was a complete whiteout. No one could see more than twenty feet in front of them, and the sound of people shouting and dozens of car horns honking filled the street, muffled somewhat by the freak precipitation. Rose watched as Martha and Oliver walked down the sidewalk to her right, heads lowered. She looked left, in the general direction of the TARDIS. She knew she ought to return, try to find The Doctor. No doubt, he'd noticed all this and was already working on figuring it all out. She could help, it was the best and the smartest thing to do at that moment.
Rose turned right. Cursing herself, and her choice of wardrobe, she bore her head down against the snow and began following Martha and her colleague at a discreet distance. She wanted to make sure Martha was safe in all this. She knew she couldn't do much to stop it, not without the TARDIS and The Doctor, but when it came down to it, she couldn't bear to return. Not until she was sure Martha had made it to the hospital unscathed. She'd follow them there; then, she told herself, she'd return to the TARDIS. The Doctor would be just fine on his own. What trouble could he possibly get into before she got back?
She knew the answer to that, of course, in stark detail, but she marched on, her shoes quickly soaking through as she shuffled through the snow piled just above her ankles. She hugged her arms to her sides, her forearms bare in the ¾ sleeve blouse. She suddenly pined for the days when she'd worn hoodies just – just everywhere she went. Squinting against the deluge, she kept the figures ahead of her in sight while allowing enough space to legitimately pass as just another Londoner trying to get home in the storm. After about five minutes, she could barely feel her toes anymore, and she hadn't a clue where they were. She hoped very much that Martha and her mate knew where they were headed in all this mess.
Rose paused a moment, turning around and wondering if she ought not retrace her steps and return to the TARDIS after all. She wasn't sure, now, that she'd be able to find her way back later, and the snow seemed to be getting worse, the clumps denser. Just as she looked back at the still moving figures of Martha and Oliver, there was a blinding flash of light and an earth-shaking crash that nearly knocked her off her feet. Ears ringing and multicolored spots dancing in her vision, Rose looked up to realize a bolt of lightening had struck the face of the building they were passing some five stories up. Martha and Oliver had stopped in their tracks, hanging on to each other's shoulders, and Rose watched, horrified, as a section of the edifice gave way.
Rose screamed at them to move, to look out, but could barely hear her own voice in her ringing ears. So, she charged forward, her sodden shoes skidding in the snow. She fell hard on one knee, but pushed herself up, ignoring the fierce stab of pain. Heart pounding, she watched as a cascade of brick and snow fell, seemingly in slow motion, down toward Martha and Oliver. She could barely see them, just shadows in a sea of white, but she sprinted on, harder than she could ever remember running before, closing the gap in seconds and swinging her arms wide as she plowed into the pair of them. Her partially numb hands grasped desperately for purchase, closing over fabric and hanging on as she pushed and dragged forward.
In less than two steps, the three of them stumbled and fell into the snow, elbows and knees finding pavement. Simultaneously, the cascade of bricks made an unholy clatter and Rose tucked her head under her shoulders as best she could, feeling the odd stray brick hit her legs or her back. She stayed still for several seconds, breathing hard and cringing in anticipation. When the projectiles seemed to have abated, she slowly raised her head, letting go of the two medical residents and flipping over to survey the damage. Bricks lay scattered about their legs and feet, and a pile of debris rose, menacing even in its inert state, just inches from their toes. Rose exhaled, heavily.
Next to her, Martha and Oliver stirred. The latter immediately scrambled his feet away, folding his legs up to his chest as he saw the mound of jagged potential death. Martha's mouth was open, her eyes wide. Rose, unable to help herself, released a choked laugh and smiled wide at the other woman's stunned expression. She'd done something stupid, so very, very stupid in so many ways. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Her cover was blown, there was no way to make Martha forget her, now, but she didn't care. She'd had no choice, as she saw it. No telling what The Doctor might say, later, but in that moment, Rose felt only mad relief and joy.
"Bit dicey, that," Rose offered, adrenaline making her giddy, "You all right?"
"No," Oliver whimpered behind her back.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," Martha dismissed, looking around her in confusion before bringing her gaze back up to Rose's brilliant grin, "You saved my life."
"Right, well, guess we're even, then."
The streets were chaos. What cars hadn't slid or crashed into each other were trapped by their unlucky compatriots and the stunningly low visibility. People milled around their vehicles, shouting at each other and into their mobiles. All the while, the storm was worsening. The Doctor had gone up one side of the street and down the other for three blocks, looking in all the bakeries, grocers, and butchers' shops he came across. Everywhere he went, people either stood and watched the storm in paralyzed awe, or wasted their energy raging against their fellow man and the circumstances none of them could control.
In all of it, The Doctor was quickly loosing his patience. He'd no way of knowing he'd already passed – twice – the chip shop where Rose had been or that she was slogging through the storm toward Royal Hope Hospital. All he did know was that none of the shop-keepers he'd inquired with recalled seeing a young woman with dark, dishwater blonde hair wearing khaki cargo slacks and a violet blouse, and as these miserable apes ran and shouted around him, or stood frozen in fruitless terror, his frustration and irritability were growing. As a last resort, The Doctor stepped into a chemist's on the off-chance that Rose might have stopped off for some personal items.
While the thought certainly didn't bear dwelling on, he was perfectly aware of human physiology, in all its messy inferiority. As he stepped in the door, a trio of sleigh bells that hung from the handle announcing his entrance, he scanned the shop. A young Iranian woman stood behind the counter in her lab coat, engaged in a shouting match with an elderly white bloke. A lone aisle of non-prescription goods bifurcated the tiny shop, and near the back, a young woman with blue hair and a copious amount of piercings was shouting into her mobile as the Korean bloke who seemed to be her boyfriend stood by trying to soothe her.
"Right," The Doctor muttered to himself before shouting above the din, "Oi! Shut it!" The four denizens of the shop suddenly quieted, all eyes turning to the tall, angry man in the snow-dusted leather jacket. "Much better. Now, I need to find someone, a girl, she…"
"Who are you, then?" the gentleman who'd just been shouting with the chemist about whether or not the phone lines were down peered up at him from behind heavy glasses.
"The Doctor," he replied, curtly, "I'm lookin' for…"
"His doctor?" the chemist asked, then turning to the older man, "Did you escape from the loony bin, then?"
"You watch your mouth, young girl. I'll have you know I served in the war,"
"Yeah? Which one was that? The Hundred Years' War?"
"What's goin' on?" The young man asked from the back.
"End of the world, that's what's goin' on," his girlfriend declared.
"'S not the end of the world," the chemist scoffed, before turning to her adversary once again, "But the phones are out, and I don't appreciate the attitude about it, mister."
"I said hush!" The Doctor roared, and everyone stilled. Stern blue eyes scanned from face to face, making sure all eyes were on him. "You…" he pointed at the chemist and walked up to her.
"Shae," she said, suddenly timid. "Name's Shae."
"Yes, yes," The Doctor brushed it aside, "I'm lookin' for my friend. Average height, sandy blonde hair, khaki trousers and a purple blouse. Have you seen her?" The Doctor watched intently as the young woman shook her head. Exhaling heavily, he leaned his hands on the counter and dropped his head, closing his eyes. There was nowhere else he could think to look. He could have easily missed her in the blizzard, if she'd been making her way to the TARDIS as he popped in an out of shops. She hadn't made it back to the ship, that much he knew. She could be lost in the storm, she could be hurt, she could have gotten herself mixed up in whatever was causing this. He'd no way of knowing, the only reassurance he did have was that she hadn't disappeared. The timeline was still intact; he could feel it.
"Mixed up," he whispered, suddenly realizing what he could do. He lifted his head, eyes bright and knowing, and gave the chemist a manic grin, "If there's a source to all this, she's after it. I find the trouble, I find her."
"Wha's that supposed to mean?" grumbled the old man standing beside him.
"You said the phone's out. Can I see it?" The Doctor ignored the old curmudgeon.
"Oh, don't start that. I been tellin' him…" Shae started, plainly exhausted by the topic.
"No, I believe you," The Doctor assured, good humor largely restored, "But I need to know why it's out."
"How you gonna be able to tell that, then?" she crossed her arms, arching a skeptical brow at him.
"Jus' trust me," he smiled and held out his hand. The chemist looked at the hand a moment, then his face, and with a labored sigh she took the phone off its cradle and handed it to him. The Doctor cheerfully withdrew the Sonic from his inner jacket pocket and began fussing about the phone receiver, putting it to his ear intermittently. "Line's not disconnected," he mumbled, "There's somethin' usin' the line, takin' up all the capacity."
"Like dial-up?" Shae crinkled her nose at the thought.
"Yeah, same idea, but I don't know what's usin' it or why."
"How can you tell all that?" came a voice behind him. The rocker girl and her boyfriend had made their way to the front of the store and they were regarding The Doctor and his Sonic Screwdriver curiously.
"I jus' can," he shrugged, "Important thing is, the storm didn't cut off the system. Someone – or somethin' – is behind this."
"Who could be capable of somethin' like this?" the young man asked.
"No idea!" The Doctor beamed, "But I do know the interference is weak, here. Maybe I can follow it…" He let his thought trail off before turning abruptly and heading for the door.
"Hold on!" Shae chided, coming out from behind the counter, "You can't go out there, now. Look at it!" The Doctor, along with everyone else, stopped and gazed out the glass storefront. So preoccupied with his self-appointed task, The Doctor, along with everyone else in the shop, hadn't noticed a distinct rattling noise gradually building outside. People were no longer in the streets, but huddled in their cars or in stores or under doorways, trying to escape the golf-ball sized hail bombarding London. Already, the newsstands and cars bore massive dents and cracked windows.
"It's getting stronger," The Doctor acknowledged, softly.
"What's next?!" the elderly gentleman exclaimed, "Cats and Dogs?"
"Frogs and locusts," said The Doctor.
Footnote: I never understood how frogs were a plague. I love frogs. And why start with turning the water into blood, why start with your strong hand, and move on to – frogs? The hordes of flies and locusts I get... or would, if they hadn't come after the land was "plagued" with hosts of insect-devouring amphibians. The only reason Moses had to continue on to boils and pestilence and infanticide was because one of his "plagues" canceled three others out. There were 3 separate insect-related plagues, people (a point I often bring up when dearest hubby criticizes my use of the scorched-earth policy every time I find a spider in the house). The Bible was not well-plotted is all I'm saying.*
*For those who don't realize this was a humor bit, put the pitchforks away.