Author's Note: I do not own the characters and ideas from Doctor Who. I keep checking eBay, but no dice.
Royslady: Well, he certainly already seems to know he'll find her wherever the trouble is. :D She may be all bad-ass field agent, but after being out of the planet-hopping game awhile, I'm sure she'll dig herself into mischief she can't get out of. TK: In the words of Hedonism Bot "I apologize for nothing!" Also, I take it you're the person I want to play poker against. If I played poker. Stupid game. Mauve Guest: Yes, I believe The Doctor is that "Unstoppable Force" referred to in philosophical quandaries. Does that make Rose the "Immovable Object?" Also, regarding the Mac 'n Cheese, that's my bad… katydidtoo: If she did, she wouldn't be Rose. "D
After leaving the roof, and all that entailed, Rose immediately went in search of Martha. She wasn't sure how, exactly, she'd explain to Martha what was going on, never mind who Rose was and when she was from, but she'd seen the way the wind was building outside. Let it reach hurricane force with that hail and the lightening besides, and London would be torn to shreds. She could either stumble about the hospital herself, virtually blind, or find herself a tour guide. Besides which, she thought it best to keep Martha close. That way, when it was all over, Rose could try to set everything right with her future mate.
Not wanting to be confused for an actual doctor and end up being dragged into assisting where she had no business doing so, she put on her best 'I'm busy, don't fuck with me' face and walked with as much haste and purpose as she could manage in the knee brace. She started with intake and emergency, moving up from there. Things had calmed down considerably, nearly everyone stabilized, but the nurses' stations on each floor were still abuzz with activity. Finally, in one of the open, multi-patient rooms in orthopedic, Rose spotted Martha examining a middle-aged woman's chart. Rose breezed into the room and walked straight up to the bed, giving the woman a warm smile.
"I'm sorry ma'am," Rose spoke, ignoring the way Martha's head flew up at the sound of her voice, "but I need a moment with this resident, if you don't mind."
"Is something wrong?" the woman asked, clearly already uncomfortable with the fact she was being treated by someone who wasn't a 'proper' doctor.
"What are –" Martha began.
"Goodness no," Rose assured, patting the woman's hand instinctively, until it was pulled away with a hiss of pain and she realized the appendage was bruised and swollen, "Oh, my apologies. It's just, Ms. Jones, here is the finest resident we have and I've, well, I've got a bleeder." Without waiting for a response, Rose grabbed Martha's arm and led her out of the room, Martha following more out of shock than real compliance.
"What are you doing, here?" Martha asked, incredulous, pulling her arm out of Rose's grasp as soon as they were outside the door, "And where'd you get that?" Martha gestured to the lab coat.
"Doesn't matter," Rose assured, glancing warily at the bustling nurses' station just down the hall.
"You're impersonatin' a doctor! Of course it matters," Martha insisted, never the push over.
"All right, all right," Rose hissed, "Just, keep your voice down. I need your help. Will you please just give me a minute to explain?"
"Explain what? What could you possibly explain?"
"Right," Rose hedged. How the hell did The Doctor do this? "It's a bit – out there – but that storm outside, it's centered over this hospital. I need to find what's causin' it, and I can't do that without your help."
"Oh, and what are you gonna do, then? Some kind of anti-rain dance?"
"I don't know!" Rose shot back, her nerves suddenly fraying. She felt a catch in her throat, and a small rush of panic, but she tamped it down and got control over her voice before continuing, "I don't know. But I've got to try something. This isn't regular, Martha. Somethin's behind it, somethin's causin' it, and maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's not here, but if it is, I have to find it, and I have to find a way to stop it before it gets worse." Martha's keen brown eyes looked hard into hers a moment before turning to look back through the door of the ward and out the far windows.
"You're right about one thing. This isn't regular," Martha agreed before turning back to study Rose once more, "But you sound mad." Rose had to smile. Always blunt, Martha.
"I know," Rose said, "But after the Cybermen, does it seem that far-fetched? Mad scientist controllin' the weather?"
"Who are you?" Martha asked.
"My name's Rose." She replied, "And, I'm a friend." It was all she could think to say, the only way she could come close to explaining that moment.
"Right," Martha said, looking quickly around the hall, "Guess it's no good helpin' out here if we all get destroyed. What do you need?"
"New employees," Rose replied, "Let's start, there." Martha nodded once and turned to head toward the lift. Rose followed.
"Hospital administration's on the sixth floor," she explained over her shoulder, "We'll find an empty office and use their terminal."
The Doctor wasn't too keen on hospitals in general, given the circumstances of his seventh regeneration. As he came charging through the automatic door with all the bluster and fury of the storm on his heels, he reassured himself that this time he was conscious and therefore unlikely to be subjected to highly inadvisable cardiac surgery. The lobby was busy, but not as crowded as he'd suspected it would be. Then again, given the weather, it was unlikely any of the injured had been able to reach the hospital in the last half hour. The nurses at the intake desk certainly looked surprised by his appearance.
"Sir, are you all right?" one of the nurses, a stout black gentlemen with a nametag that read 'Oscar,' came around the counter, concern etched on his face.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," The Doctor gave a quick, watery smile, "I'm lookin' for someone, wanted to see if they'd been admitted."
"You shouldn't have gone out in this," Nurse Oscar chastised, motioning him back toward the desk, "Who is it, what's 'is name, then?" He'd reached a terminal, ready to type as The Doctor stepped up to the counter.
"Her name. Rose Tyler," The Doctor replied, and the nurse glanced at him a second before he started typing, a knowing half-smile on his lips. The Doctor noticed and rolled his eyes a bit but declined to address the matter.
"No, sorry," he informed after a minute or two. "I tried Rose Tyler and R - Tyler, nothin'."
"Any Jane Does?" The Doctor asked, somewhat hesitant. She might have been unconscious, or worse, though his mind instinctively reeled back from the latter notion, and he knew after her years with Torchwood she rarely carried any identification on her. He felt an odd swell of pride at knowing that, at least. Maybe he wasn't a total lost cause.
"Three Jane Does," the nurse confirmed, his eyes darted cautiously to The Doctor. The man had been polite so far, but he'd also come charging through what looked to be hell on earth to find this friend of his, and there was something about his manner, the way he held himself and the sheltered intensity of his gaze, that gave Nurse Oscar pause.
"All admitted in the last three hours?"
"No, only two admitted from the storm," he clarified, his unease growing. One of those two was still a fatality, "What does she look like, your – friend?"
"Average height, athletic build, dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, wearin' khakis and purple button-up," The Doctor watched intently as relief washed over the man's face.
"No one matchin' that description," he said, smiling a moment before sobering up, "Sorry, mate, she's not here."
"'S all right," The Doctor dismissed, "Long shot, anyway. Listen, you got anythin' to eat around here?" The Doctor wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. Maybe both. It was possible she was still in the building, poking around. All he could do is look for the source. If she was here, he'd find her, if she wasn't, well, he needed to put a stop to this weather before it killed her and everyone else in London.
"There's a cafeteria, but only for staff. Visitor lounge has a few vending machines, though. Second floor, to the right."
"Thanks, mate," The Doctor turned to stride away.
"Hang on," Nurse Oscar insisted, and The Doctor turned back, "You need this." He held out a big, laminated clip-on badge that said 'Visitor' in bold, red letters. With a sardonic crook in his lips, The Doctor took the badge and clipped it to his jacket. "Might want to take the stairs, as well. We've a back-up generator, but…" Nurse Oscar's gaze drifted to the tumult outside.
"Right," The Doctor agreed, "Good idea. Thanks for your help, mate."
"'S my job," he shrugged, "But… I hope you find your friend." He met The Doctor's eyes with genuine sympathy and concern. The Doctor knew, then, there was someone, or many someone's, on the nurse's mind.
"Me too," he nodded, and headed for the stairwell.
Martha typed with wicked speed as Rose looked on over her shoulder. They'd found the assistant budget officer's office empty and were now hovering in front of the harsh glow of the computer screen in the dim office. Being a resident, Martha had warned Rose they might not be able to access the system. The administrative branch of the hospital used its own secure database, and Martha didn't have access. Fortunately, the budget officer's password had been 'password.' Immediately upon that discovery, Rose swore she could hear The Doctor's mocking laugh and a mutter of 'stupid apes' in her head.
They'd sifted through the records of all the recent hires, anyone within the past month. There were perhaps a dozen new employees in that time, but none in positions of authority or boasting unusually impressive resumes, just a collection of nurses, techs, janitors and cafeteria workers. Rose suggested looking into hospital administrators and any physicians sitting on review boards. Martha had complied, with perhaps a touch of mischievous curiosity, but they found nothing either of them considered noteworthy. Somewhat deflated, Rose sighed and turned to look out the window.
"What about utilities? She's in budgeting, can you access that?" Rose asked, a deep and sudden feeling of dread settling in her heart as she watched the morbid dance unfold, "If something here is generating this storm, it would need a hell of a lot of energy."
"Hang on," Martha said, and Rose realized, then, that the other woman was still typing. Turning around, she leaned over Martha's shoulder once more.
"What's that?" Rose asked. Martha was navigating a different program altogether.
"Patient records," Martha said, "Guess what her password was." There was a distinct note of derisive glee in her voice and Rose just shook her head.
"What you lookin' for, here?"
"The same, anything unusual in any of the recent admissions, and I think I've found something a bit – odd."
"Odd? Odd is good," Rose smiled, looking more intently at the screen, "How odd?"
"Very," Martha smiled back. She was enjoying this more than she would have anticipated, "We have a patient under police protection in the ICU."
"Well, that's rare, but it happens, don't it? When a suspect is injured they have to keep them in custody while they're treated, yeah?"
"Yes, but the patient is a ten-year-old girl." Martha was getting more anxious by the minute, but Rose was reluctant to jump to conclusions.
"Maybe a witness?" Rose asked.
"She was admitted by an anonymous citizen as a Jane Doe."
"I didn't know you could anonymously admit someone without just droppin' 'em on the front step."
"Well, he signed off as 'Elvis Presley,'" Martha explained with a sideways smile and raised eyebrow.
"Right," Rose acknowledged, then she began to understand the implication Martha was angling toward, "These are internal records."
"Exactly," Martha beamed, "If the police were protecting a witness, the public records and media releases would designate her as Jane Doe. We'd still have her name in our secure system. Medical history, allergies, they'd provide all that if it were available."
"So, why place an unknown girl under police protection?"
"Why indeed?" Martha quickly swung her chair about.
"Shall we, Doctor Jones?" Rose motioned toward the door.
"Not a Doctor, yet," Martha reminded, standing.
"Close enough."
The Doctor did indeed stop by the second floor visitor lobby, but only long enough to find a phone. The cheap sofas and plastic chairs were packed with people who weren't injured but had sought shelter at the beginning of the storm. As he walked up to the lone payphone, a young man in a business suit informed him the phones were out. Ignoring him, The Doctor picked up the receiver and withdrew his Sonic, pressing it to the keypad until it registered payment made and connected him. He got a dead tone, of course, but he'd been spot on. The underlying signal was crystal clear. The source was somewhere in this building.
Rushing out of the room, The Doctor headed back to the stairwell. Each floor should have its own phone circuit, but the master circuit would be in the basement. From there, he should be able to trace which floor all the capacity in the landline system was being diverted to. He was getting close, the thrill of it all washing over him. Taking the steps two at a time, he had a broad smile on his face, and he instinctively glanced to his left before remembering Rose wasn't beside him. Less than a week on and he'd grown accustomed to her energy, her enthusiasm, her keen questioning, and her smart-ass comments. His smile melted away.
Reaching the lowest floor the stairs would allow, The Doctor pushed through the fire door into a long, bare-bones corridor. It stretched on in both directions, but above him he saw exposed pipes and tubes. He pointed the Sonic Screwdriver upward, flipping through settings until it detected which direction the current was flowing from. The Doctor sprinted to the left, searching the labels on the doors as he went. When he finally found the one for the phone circuit, he tested the door and found it locked. Luckily, it wasn't dead-bolted, and after a few seconds with the sonic, the lock clicked open and The Doctor pushed his way in.
"Bloody hell!" a voice exclaimed, and The Doctor paused in the doorway as two gents in scrubs launched away from each other, "Again?!"
"Sorry, lads, didn't mean to interrupt," The Doctor smiled, "Jus' need to have a look at the circuits." The room was silent a moment, though he failed to note the general awkwardness.
"You're – you're not going to tell anyone?" one of them finally spoke.
"Don't be daft," The Doctor dismissed, examining the miles of neatly bundled wires and less neatly labeled connections, "I don't even work here."
"Who are you, then?" the other inquired, slightly offended, "What are you doing down here?"
"Savin' the world," The Doctor threw out, breezily. Then, he looked over to where the two nurses stood. The tall one with the sandy blonde hair looked abashed and a bit frustrated, while the shorter one with dark roots and spiked, platinum tips just looked suspicious. More importantly, behind the pair, The Doctor caught a glimpse of a contraption that appeared rather out of place, "Wha's that?"
"What's what?" the taller lad asked, both nurses turning to see what The Doctor was looking at. The Doctor stepped forward, not responding, and set his Screwdriver to a complicated, claw-like contraption wired into a large section of circuits. Looking up, he saw that the bank was labeled 'E4."
"What's in the east wing of the fourth floor?" The Doctor asked.
"Intensive Care," the shorter nurse answered, "What's goin' on?"
"Anything strange there, lately?"
"We've got a patient under guard, there," The taller lad offered, "They have her in a medically induced coma."
"That's it!" The Doctor exclaimed, jumping back and darting his wild grin between the two nurses, "They've got someone, someone powerful, under sedation and they're routing all the resources in the phone system to direct them, make them catalyze this storm."
"What?" the short one asked.
"What are your names?" The Doctor ignored. He suspected he might need their help. Clever as he was, he didn't trust himself to bring someone safely out of a medically induced coma.
"Jeff," the taller blurted out.
"Rob," the shorter supplied, suspicious.
"Well, lads, I need your help," he put a hand on their shoulders.
"What for?" Rob asked.
"Save the world," The Doctor said, as if the answer were self-evident, "Whatcha say?"
"Absolutely," Jeff grinned.
"Are you mad?!" Rob wondered.
"A bit, yeah," The Doctor admitted before turning toward the door, "Come on if you're comin'. Oh," a thought occurred to him as he opened the door and he turned back, "Have you seen a woman wanderin' about? Dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, khakis and purple shirt?" The two looked at one another before looking back at The Doctor.
"Sort of sounds like the one who caught us in the supply closet, earlier," Jeff offered, "Only she was wearin' a lab coat. Assumed she was a doctor." Relief washed over The Doctor, along with a pure, manic joy he didn't bother to examine. Of course she'd have stolen a lab coat and gone snooping about.
"Fantastic!"