Author's Note: I own nothing; the BBC owns it all. I'm just another anonymous hack writer on the internet, dickin' around. I wasn't going to post again so soon, I was going to pace myself after getting the first 3 chapters out like I said I would, but I'm WAY ahead of pace, so as long as that keeps up, here you go! Just keep in mind I make no promises to maintain this posting rate. Monday/Thursday is default, anything else is just a bonus. Frankly, I'm just pleased that my return to FF has kicked my muse in the arse like I hoped it would. LadaHathaway: Yup, he's the alt. universe Doctor. I know he doesn't exist there in the canon, but the dimension canon also worked in the DW canon. I reject their reality and substitute my own for my own selfish purposes. I'm a rebel like that. TK: Hehehe, so glad you enjoyed it! And jackie is an unpredictable one. I sonde,r if The Doctor gets smacked by the same woman in two universes, does the multiverse collapse in on itself? Either way, there's some extraneous "plot" junk between now and then. We'll have to wait. :) EVERYONE: No, last chapter certainly was not he end, obviously. I plan on this being a full episodic series. This being sort of like Episode 1, but hopefully much less crappy than Star Wars Episode 1 (Although, Liam Neeson was still brilliant, the kid was crap, though).
To Rose, his question seemed, at first blush, so insufferably stupid she couldn't answer it. 'Of course we've met!' her mind screamed, but the utter lack of recognition on his face stilled her tongue, rendered her mouth dry. She'd gone through this, to a much lesser degree, when she first met this universe's version of Sherene. The best friend who'd never met her. Now, though, the urge to run forward, to throw her arms around him and cry and rage at him for leaving her was so primal, so nearly blinding, it choked her. Her mouth gaped open, but no sound came out. Her feet, blessedly, remained planted.
The individual in front of her, now clearly perplexed, took a single step forward. He was no stranger to the stunned looks of humans whose lives he'd come crashing through, into, or around; but this woman, this blond woman who held herself with such assurance, bore an expression he couldn't decipher for all his centuries meddling in Earthly affairs, an expression that contradicted her confident posture. Five billion languages vanished from his mind as those large, inscrutable hazel eyes held him in check. Nothing, save the end of the world itself, could budge either of them.
As if on cue, a great clamor arose in the ballroom. It was the first sound to gain a foothold in Rose's tumultuous mind. The god-awful clatter of shattering windows that followed sent both of them running for the swinging doors, running toward the sounds of destruction and mayhem. The man, The Doctor, if that's who he was in this universe, sprinted through the doors first, but staggered immediately to a stop. Rose was fast on his heels, and equally as quick to arrest her charge once she saw the laser sights and muzzles of two dozen assault rifles held by black-clad members of the Torchwood Tac Team. Rose spun around, instinctually looking for a way out, when five more Tac members streamed through the doorway they'd just gone through.
"Doctor," came Mickey Smith's booming voice over the ruckus, and Rose turned forward again, searching the crowd until she saw her friend, standing behind the Tac Team with a vocal amplifier fastened around his neck, "you are in violation of Section 9 of the Articles of Terrestrial Sovereignty. Put your hands in the air, or we will be forced to open fire." Disbelieving, Rose watched, frozen, as the man, now confirmed to be The Doctor, let the hammer drop to the floor and loosened his grip on the hen which proceeded to flail and flap wildly for freedom. Slowly, The Doctor raised his hands above his head, and two members of the Tac Team crept closer. Once they'd reached them, one man brought his hands down while the other cuffed them behind his back.
Horrified but overwhelmed, Rose couldn't bring herself to move or speak as The Doctor was escorted away. The Team's rifles were trained on him the whole time, and just as he was about to disappear in a sea of black tactical gear, he turned his head back to glance at Rose. The look in his eyes was by turns resigned and accusing, and as he looked away, again, Rose finally found her voice.
"Stop!" The command came out with considerably more force and authority than she realized herself capable, enough so that the two men escorting the prisoner actually paused.
"You will continue with the prisoner," Mickey commanded, shooting a scathing look at Rose before unfastening the vocal amplifier. Unwilling or unable to yield, Rose charged forward, and the Tac Team closed ranks behind the prisoner. Without hesitation, Rose took a dive, passing through the space left by a very surprised Tac Team Member's wide, at-attention stance. She felt like crowing at that small triumph, but gained her feet and sprinted forward instead, only to be intercepted by Mickey.
"No!" she screamed, "Let me go! What are you doing?!" While he didn't have much on her in height, his years of field service had made him stronger, despite his new desk job. Rose writhed and lashed out at him, screaming and watching as The Doctor was loaded into an armored transport and driven away. Only then did Mickey finally let her go.
"What the hell was that, Ricky?! What did you just do?!" Rose demanded, all wildness and righteous fury.
"I tracked down an alien threat is what I did." Mickey asserted, straightening his lapels after their struggle, "I did my job."
"Your job?! You're the head of the Dimensional Investigation Division. You handle research, not tracking and detention!"
"Special assignment, yeah?"
"Assigned?" Rose asked, panting heavily, fists clinched at her sides, "Or volunteered."
"I took the initiative," he clarified, "and it paid off." No sooner had his last word escaped his lips than Rose laid him out with a vicious right hook. She knew, instantly, she'd broken her hand, and in the haze of rage she didn't care. Mickey was spread out on the ground, looking up at her in a daze.
"Initiative, eh?" she breathed, wiping an errant trail of spit from the corner of her mouth with the back of her arm, "How's that for initiative?" Rose didn't wait for an answer, but instead walked away, trembling with the sudden loss of adrenaline. Her right hand was starting to swell and ache with an astounding intensity. The gathering of stunned guests cleared out of her way as she headed for the stairs. No one stopped her, no one questioned her, and she ascended the stairs in abject stillness. She had to change before heading to the hospital.
Rose was returned to her room several hours later, heavily sedated, with pins in two of her metacarpals and a fantastically unwieldy plaster cast. Surgery was quicker, cleaner, and safer than it had been on Rose's Earth, but still required powerful drugs. As Pete and Wilfred helped her to her room, her head lolled about and she murmured insensible things to them. Not bothering to undress her, the two men tucked her into bed and turned out the lights. That night, she dreamed the disjointed, often frightening dreams of the chemically altered mind. Every monster she'd ever faced, alien or human, paid a visit. Through it all, she pursued a tall, lean silhouette and gray-blue eyes that both haunted and comforted her fogged mind.
It was three in the afternoon before she awoke, and Tony was lying on his stomach on the floor next to her bed, busily writing in a spiral notebook. Groggy, Rose could only manage a grumble at first, but it got her little brother's attention. The boy immediately dropped his pen and shuffled over to her bedside. Rose rolled over, mumbling and wishing for stronger painkillers. Tony took a glass of water from the nightstand and handed it to his sister who gratefully took several large gulps.
"Hi little monster," Rose said, breathless, setting the mostly empty glass back on the nightstand. She pulled herself up to lean against the headboard, cringing from her lethargic body and aching hand. "What time is it?" she asked.
"Three," Tony answered his voice low. Looking around the room, Rose realized he meant three in the afternoon. The curtains were drawn, but slivers of daylight could be seen between the panels. "I'm supposed to tell mom and dad when you wake up."
"All right, then," Rose shrugged, using her elbow to fluff up the pillows behind her.
"I have to show you, first." He whispered.
"Show me what?" she asked, her brow crinkled in confusion. Her drug-addled brain wasn't up to puzzles just yet.
"His ship," Tony said, taking her non-injured and hand and tugging at it, "The Doctor left his spaceship." Rose's brain cleared up right quick. Throwing the covers off, she got to her feet and immediately regretted it. She half-fell, half-sat back down on the bed and took a few deep breaths to clear the stars from her vision. Then, carefully, she stood back up.
"Where?" she whispered after determining she was relatively steady on her feet, and Tony took her hand, leading her around the foot of her bed. Rose looked over her shoulder, back toward her bedroom door, and wondered if Tony was taking her away from it because someone might be listening at the keyhole. Instead, he brought her to the door of the walk-in closet and stopped. Rose gave him an incredulous look, and he responded by turning the doorknob. Carefully, Rose pushed it open.
At first, she couldn't see anything. Instinctively, she reached out with her right hand to flip on the light, but the motion elicited a hiss of pain and she switched to her left. After the relative dark she woke up in, she was momentarily blinded as the light came on and she put a hand up to shield her face. As her visual sensitivity gradually faded, she lowered her hand. Her breath caught in her throat. There, in the mostly empty closet, stood a blue, wooden Police Call box from the 1950s. It was large for such a relatively small space, it was entirely random, and it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
Rose stepped forward, fierce longing and cautious joy tugging at her heart. The scent of hardwood and aged paint filled the space. It had always amazed her, the level of detail produced by that faulty Chameleon Circuit. Or perhaps it wasn't the TARDIS. She'd wondered off-hand on more than one occasion if that's simply what the Time Vortex smelled like. Not that it mattered. She looked the same, she smelled the same, and, as Rose drew close and reached out a hand, she felt the same. There was a slight thrum to the TARDIS, a sensation not unlike a pulse. No human would notice unless they expected it and paused long enough to catch it. It was like hearing three or four notes of your favorite song somewhere off in the distance, gone as soon as you heard it, leaving you wondering if you heard anything at all.
A quivering smile came to Rose's lips, and she pressed both palms against the wooden door. Despite herself, a single tear escaped, and she let out a breathy chuckle. She noticed the "windows" of the TARDIS weren't illuminated, and she assumed The Doctor must have powered it down. She realized, then, the TARDIS had been here, in her room, the entire time she was sleeping. She felt suddenly frustrated at the lost time. However, she wasn't able to dwell on that thought very long before she heard Pete's voice coming down the hallway outside her room. With a last, mournful look, Rose turned and hurried from the room, turning off the light and pulling the door shut behind her. Tony was looking up at her expectantly.
"We can't tell anyone about this," Rose breathed, and Tony nodded with the kind of gravity only a child could manage.
Footnote: Completely unrelated, but... When you first saw "Aliens of London," before we were told the pig-pilot was not, in fact, an alien, did anyone else chant "PIGS IN SPAAAAACE….." What, just me? I also sing the Muppet Show theme song in the bath. Don't judge me.