Author's Note: I do not own Doctor Who or any of its characters, plots, themes, or settings. I'd probably just break them if I did. I can't have nice things.
Jeni27: Largely, yeah, "we're even" is a reference to Martha helping Rose and the Doctor get the hell out of Dodge. I mean, it could also refer to anything that happened during their years as field agents together, but I think in that type of situation they lost count as to who saved whom more. Royslady: Unfortunately, since I haven't gotten around to watching any Classic Who (I know, shame on me, I will get to it eventually), writing any of the others as way beyond me at the moment. Never mind herding Doctors. I hear they're like cats in that manner. :D Yahaira: Hahaha, lurk away! I've long since learned to pay more attention to view stats and "follows" than just reviews. But I'm really glad you stopped in that you enjoy the story! Dreamcatcher49: Well, maybe Hitler. I think she'd let him get torn apart by a pack of wild dogs if it was an option. :D lexie allgood: Nine is most definitely looked over, but I have found a fair number of great Fics centered on Nine, that makes up for it a little. Either way, you're in good company around here. TK: I know! I'm such a meanie pants. But I swear it'll pay off. I hope. That, or everyone reading this will build it up so much in their minds that the eventual explanation is a horrible let-down. pinklilliflower: All I know is, the authors requested Ra make a special cameo appearance in that whole Exodus thing and the uppity prick declined. Mauve Guest: Yes, tying up the phone line suggests we're dealing with a teenager. Better check the freezer, all the Hot Pockets have probably disappeared, as well. And in my experience "handy applicator" is never an accurate descriptor.
The waiting room at Royal Hope Hospital was a madhouse when Rose, Martha, and Oliver stumbled inside. Outside, it had just begun to hail, and all three were wincing and holding their arms over their heads as they came running through the automatic doors. Between the bricks and the hail, they were all going to have bruises from head to toe. Inside, nurses and techs were running about, shouting orders over the din of hundreds of people; some mobile, some not; crammed into their waiting room. For all the disasters she'd seen, Rose felt immediately overwhelmed.
"Right," Martha addressed Rose, calm and determined, "I'm sorry, you'll have to wait out here. Oliver, we need to find Stoker and get our marchin' orders." Then, back to Rose, "Will you be all right?"
"Oh, yes, I'll be fine," she waved off, "You go on. Good luck."
"Yeah, thanks," Martha smiled ruefully. With that, the two residents waded into the sea of people and Rose stood, feeling utterly useless, just outside the teaming mass of humanity that crowded the front desk demanding attention. She didn't envy Martha and Oliver and the rest of the staff their work. She could investigate the most convoluted mysteries on Earth, chase "monsters" through the dense jungle or metropolitan traffic, and stand toe-to-toe with murderous Raxacoricofallapatorians, but in the face of this much suffering and pain, she wilted. Everyone had their strengths, and, not for the first time, Rose deeply admired Martha's.
In the middle of it all, the storm was worsening. Rose turned around and took a step or two toward the door they'd just entered through. Hail the size of golf balls bombarded the streets outside as lightening arced and crashed through the atmosphere. She felt so very helpless, stuck in this hospital, away from the TARDIS and The Doctor and anything else that might allow her to do something about this mess. Thinking again, she pulled her mobile from her pocket, daring to hope for good news. No signal. Of course. Her carrier contract didn't even exist, yet. The high-tech, private-production smart phone Torchwood had provided was basically a brick, for now.
Turning back, Rose surveyed the mayhem once more. She knew sod-all about medicine beyond basic survival trauma care, and if she started chewing up the plants in the lobby and spitting them in people's wounds, she might get yelled at. What she did know, however, was 'acting like she was meant to be there and largely being allowed to wander wherever she pleased because of it.' With one last, worried, look over her shoulder at the storm outside, Rose squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and stepped into the fray. She shouldered her way through the crush of patients, headed for a fire door at the far end of the lobby marked 'Stairs.'
With all the confidence of someone who belonged, who knew exactly where they were going, Rose pushed open the door and entered the stairwell. As the heavy metal door shut behind her, it largely muted the bluster of activity in the lobby, and Roses' nerves improved immediately. However, she realized she had another problem as she began climbing the stairs and a sharp rush of pain radiated from her left knee. Rose swore fiercely and stopped, a sweat breaking out immediately on her brow. This was the last thing she needed. Still, as she took a few deep breaths and cleared her mind, she reasoned it couldn't be that bad. After all, she could still move it, just not climb with it. It was likely just a hairline fracture to the patella.
She looked up at the stairs rising and circling above her head, suddenly looking like a Sisyphean obstacle.
"Hell with this," she spoke to the echoing concrete, "I'll take my chances with the lift."
"'Scuse me. Hi! Could I use your phone?" The cashier, she was sixteen if she was a day, looked up at the daft face and prominent ears with serious skepticism. His was the only cheerful face in the shop. Everyone else was huddled in and around the shelves and aisles of the corner market. When this all started, some had been terrified and some had been angry, but after the hail had begun and the electric storm picked up, they were all subdued. They huddled together, staying away from the windows, while the cashiers hunkered down at their stations. Except this man, who'd just clomped in out of the nightmare with his leather jacket held over his head. And he was smiling. The idiot was smiling.
"I'm sorry," the girl, small and lovely with mousy brown hair and a healthy smattering of freckles, replied softly. She was looking up at him from the floor of her checkout stand, her arms wrapped about her knees.
"Your phone," The Doctor said more softly, his manic grin tempering to a gentle smile, "I need to check your phone, if that's all right."
"You with the phone company?" she asked, curious. The Doctor swung to glance at the weather, and turned back to her.
"Does it matter?" he quipped. After a brief hesitation, she unfolded herself and stood to hand him the phone from the partition behind her register. The Doctor took it, giving her a nod of gratitude, and pulled the Sonic Screwdriver out, scanning and manipulating the phone much as he'd done at the chemist's. The girl watched all this, enraptured.
"It's weaker! Da-" he caught himself as the cashier flinched at his tone, took a deep breath, and smiled, "Sorry, bit of a long story. Turns out I went the wrong direction, but thank you for your cooperation." He held the phone receiver out to her, forcing a smile, and she reluctantly took it back. "Right then," he looked at the shoppers and clerks huddled inside the store, "Stay inside, long as you can. We'll sort this out."
"What do you mean?" a balding, middle aged man stood up from the canned soup aisle, "How can anyone fix this?"
"Ah, right," The Doctor scrambled for an excuse, "I'm with the Department of Atmospheric Regulation, we're just going to use some really – there's a device we have, s'like the opposite of cloud seeding – no, uh, it's uh, it's more of a laser beam," at that last, everyone started looking around and muttering. The Doctor sighed and gave in, "Oh, hell with it. I'm an alien here to save the Earth and I'm goin' to use pan-dimensional wave transmogrifiers or some such daft piece of equipment to stop the storm. Good enough?" He looked around at their stunned, skeptical faces. "Well, I'm off, then. Ta!"
"Wait!" the cashier squeaked, "You can't go back out there."
"Yes I can," The Doctor beamed at her, and like that, he was out the door, pulling his jacket up over his head and making a dash for it, as much as he could in the shin-deep snow and ice slurry. Heading south had only weakened the signal, so he headed north. After a block, he passed the chemist's he'd started in, watching their stunned faces from beneath the cover of his jacket as they gazed out the window at the storm and saw him running back the other way. He pushed on, through the barrage of hail, ducking into a chip shop a block up from the chemist's.
Once inside, he shook the ice off his jacket, settled it neatly on his shoulders, and approached the counter ignoring everyone's looks of amazement, including the cashier's. He gave the young lad; ginger, he was; a daft grin, "Mind if I use your phone?"
"S'out," the boy mumbled, still staring at him.
"Yes, I'm aware, I jus' need to check it,"
"What you doin' out in that storm?"
"Look at me, I'm stupid." The Doctor beamed, "Now, may I please inspect your phone?"
The vast majority of hospital staff had been diverted to the Emergency Room and minor intake wards. That's not to say the higher levels weren't still staffed, but sparsely, and mostly by nurses. So, as Rose had searched the third floor oncology ward in a "borrowed" lab coat, she felt more exposed than usual. The halls were quiet, and most of the nurses immersed in tasks more important than paying mind to an unfamiliar-looking physician. Her first stop, knee complaining with each step, was the supply closet. Trying her best to look officious, she scanned the door placards out of the corners of her vision.
Finally, she found a door that looked promising and, denying the instinct to look around her and make sure no one was watching, she turned the door knob and stepped inside. Much to her surprise, and theirs, she walked in to find two male nurses in complimentary states of dishevelment snogging like mad against the back shelf. They immediately broke apart as the light from the corridor spilled in, and Rose quickly shut the door. The two lads looked at her with guilty, terrified expressions, while Rose smiled at them apologetically.
"Sorry lads, didn't mean to interrupt," she assured, raising her hands to show she'd no intention of getting them in trouble, "Just lookin' for a knee brace. I've got someone downstairs with a cracked patella but we've a backlog of people waitin' on casts and, well, you know what's up."
"Right, Doctor," the taller lad said, straightening his scrubs and passing a hand through his dark hair, "Not many of those, here. More up on the fifth floor, orthopedic unit."
"Right," Rose smiled. Lord but was it odd being called 'Doctor,' "Shoulda known. Was hopin' I wouldn't have to go all the way up, but thanks, lads."
"Anytime," they both chimed in, still fidgeting uncomfortably like children who'd been caught nicking candy from a shop.
"I'll, uh, I'll just be off, then," Rose was suppressing a laugh as she turned and opened the door. Before exiting, she paused and turned her head back, "by the way, you might want to go easy," she tilted her head toward the nurse who'd largely remained silent, "no one likes havin' their nose slobbered on." With that, she swept out the door and into the hall, finally allowing a snort of laughter to escape her, and the head nurse gave her a harsh look as she passed by on the way to the lift, still laughing to herself.
The fifth floor was slightly better staffed, some of the earlier intakes having been transferred to orthopedic. She was grateful, feeling safer blending it with at least a handful of residents and practicing physicians in lab coats. She quickly found the supply closet, this time free of snogging hospital staff, and rifled through a plethora of knee braces and bandages. The metal frame knee braces seemed a bit much, so she opted for one of neoprene and Velcro braces that had metal supports inserted along the sides. Her knee was already quite swollen, and she knew it would need proper care, but she also knew The Doctor would eventually criticize her for letting these "barbarians" treat it. Exiting the closet, Rose hunted down her next target.
The Doctor had followed the landline interference from the chip shop, cross-crossing the street as he went, up the avenue and down a side street to where he now stood in the lobby of a large, and rather posh, metro London bank. Convincing any of the tellers, cowering at the transaction counter behind their glass divider, to let him use the phone had proved impossible. Irritated with their general obtuseness, he'd considered telling them that, while their little barrier may have been bulletproof, it wasn't sonic-screwdriver-proof. That seemed less than productive, however, and with a flash of his psychic paper (and a wholly fabricated government agency) he'd eventually convinced one of the bankers to let him use her phone.
Luckily, he'd been right, the signal was stronger, here. Almost strong enough to make out the underlying pattern. He still needed to find the source, but he knew he was close. Problem was, he wasn't altogether sure how he'd decipher it once he did. Clever as he was, he needed the TARDIS to help unfold, unencrypt, and perform the millions of calculations necessary to translate the signal. Assuming there was a pattern and it wasn't just static. He stood looking out the glass edifice of the bank, debating his next move. Did he keep following the signal, or did he return to the TARDIS and bring it about?
One thing he was sure of, was that the storm was progressing. He hadn't missed the fact that, on his last dash from the lingerie shop to here (and had that ever been awkward), the wind had picked up significantly. The hail was now driving at a slight angle. Most shop windows were able to withstand it for the time being, but he knew it wasn't long before that changed. Now, he stood looking across the intersection crowded with debilitated cars at the Royal Hope Hospital. He contemplated going there, next, but quickly ruled it out. They'd be up to their ears in intakes, and he didn't want to get in the middle of that racket, not he least of which because he didn't want to be in the way.
Then, as his eyes trailed up to the foreboding sky, something astounding caught his attention. It was incredibly difficult to spot, even for him, but in the monochromatic bank of dense clouds there was a distinct swirl pattern. The arms were wide and subtly nestled in the roiling storm, but there it was. The storm was cyclonic, and as he stepped closer to the glass to get a better look, he spotted a clearing, an amorphous filter of sunlight banking off the clouds. There was an eye to this storm, and it was centered directly above Royal Hope. In an instant, The Doctor had made his decision.
Rose had had the notion that, from the roof of the hospital, she might have a clearer view of the storm. While she was doubtful about seeing anything through the hail, never mind being able to do anything about it, and dreaded stepping out in that tumult again, she had to try something. Trouble was, the roof wasn't serviced by the lift, so she had to traverse the final story up the stairwell, climbing the steps exclusively on her right leg, bringing the left up after her and using it as a prop, leaning heavily on the handrail, to take the next step. It took for-bleeding-ever. Finally, breathing heavily, she reached the landing where the stairs ended and the lone fire door leading to the roof.
She dreaded going back out in that, but she took a deep breath, squared up her resolve and pushed the door open onto – nothing. The tarmacked roof stretched out before her, and she could hear the rattle of hail and howling wind beyond, but as she stepped out onto the roof, there was nothing. She spun around once or twice, taking in the elevated helipad and exhaust vents and satellite receivers, but there appeared to be no storm. In fact, there seemed to be a small degree of sunshine, and as she looked up, she saw it. Swirling above her was a wide open circle of blue sky framed by the wrathful storm. The sun was at such an oblique angle in the day as not to shine directly down, but it was there. There was light. She'd found the eye of the massive, cyclonic storm system.
"Figures," was all she had to say.