Author's Note: I own nothing. Squat. Nada. I'm a big, fat phony. That said, Thanks for reading
TK: I think it's perfectly fair to call this the "adult Rose." Still very much the same spirit, but she's built herself into this brilliant, strong, self possessed woman. She had the courage to find meaning and purpose without The Doctor and the TARDIS. PolkaDotTARDIS: OH, Okay, I think I got confused, too. Tom Milligan was the resistance fighter who met up with Martha after she "walked the earth" for a year. Tall, dark hair, stuble, quite handsome, really. When the timeline was repaired and the Master defeated, she became engaged to Tom for a time, though he was only seen in that one episode, and she eventually married Mickey. I wonder, though, if maybe they just couldn't get the actor back who played Tom so they married her off to Mickey. Either way, I liked Tom, so I had he and Martha have their HEA. Everyone: Thank you so much for all the support, I had crazy fun writing that last chapter, so let's hope the momentum carries. Many more adventures to come! But first, to complete this one…
It was The Doctor's idea, inspired by that errant chicken, that they try to stow away on a zeppelin bound for London. After breaking out of Torchwood, sneaking onto a commercial airship seemed relatively minor. They spent several hours sneaking about the hangars and warehouses at the sky harbor, before they found a flight bound for London. Rose pointed out that, by that point, both their faces would be distributed across news outlets nation-wide and every CCTV would be scanning for their faces. As such, it was agreed that bluffing their way onboard with psychic paper was out. They would have to sneak in to the cargo area.
"How can so many people be takin' the early-bird flight from Cardiff?" The Doctor wondered. The loading door had just been shut, and he had begun rearranging luggage in the notably over packed cargo compartment. The ceiling was a touch too short, even for Rose, leaving the Doctor hunched over.
"Business," Rose shrugged. She'd run out of steam at this point, and she was seated against a pile of floral-print luggage that reeked of ancient perfume, too exhausted to get up and help. "This flight lands quarter after seven. Perfect for those eight a.m. business meetings."
"Right, well, they could have spared some consideration for the odd stowaway, yeah?" The Doctor looked back at her, expecting a smile for his witticism. Instead, her head was tilted back against a rather gaudy hatbox, her eyes shut. She'd been so alert, so energetic the last several hours. That, along with the midnight blue cargo slacks and jacket hiding any blood stains, made it easy to forget she'd been shot. "Oi!" he immediately knelt beside her and took her left hand. There was something cold and sticky there, and as he turned over her palm he saw a lone streak of red.
"I'm fine," she said, head up, now, though clearly exhausted, "Through and through. The bleedin's stopped by now."
"Just so, we're seein' to this."
"With what?" she reminded, "They don't keep med kits in the cargo area."
"Improvise," he grinned, "I'm good at improvisin', me. Take the jacket off."
"Sod off!" she scoffed, "It's freezin' in here."
"Right…" The Doctor looked around a second. He took his sonic screwdriver out and started unlocking suitcases. The first several clearly had men's clothing, but he did find one or two undershirts and hastily tore them into strips. One bag was filled with nothing but leather bondage gear. Still another contained sequined gowns, thigh-high stockings, designer pumps, and fuzzy handcuffs.
"Business people?" The Doctor asked, bemused.
"Oldest profession in the world, that," Rose chuckled. She was fighting to keep her good humor, but he could tell she was getting weaker. He searched faster. In one set he found a woman's mink coat and held it up for Rose.
"Yeah?"
"No," she laughed, "God no. Bit conspicuous." The Doctor kept looking. Luckily, in the same bag, he found a bottle of high-end gin.
"Pretty sure this ain't above board," he commented, "Always thankful for the dedicated lush." Sifting further, he finally found a bag that looked promising; women's jumpers, skirts, and a knee-length violet pea coat.
"That should work," Rose allowed.
"Right, then," The Doctor crowed, victorious. He gathered what he'd found; the torn strips of T-shirt, the gin, a couple heavy jumpers, and the wool coat; and knelt down next to Rose. "We'll only take the one arm out," he assured, unzipping the jacket, "Keep you as warm as we can." Carefully, he helped her sit up and slip her left arm out of the coat sleeve. She wore a white thermal tee underneath, making the crimson stains soaking her left sleeve all the more obvious. "Right, long sleeves. Of course."
"I don't go out the door planning to get shot," she defended, "Just happens."
"Happens? Plural?"
"What? You never gone walkin' 'round a dodgy neighborhood?" she asked. Then, somewhat sheepishly, "In Bogata. At 3 am."
"Magnet for trouble, you are," he scoffed. He picked up a set of nose-hair clippers from the mess of stuff spread around them, "Sorry, not sure where this has been, but…" he shrugged and used the clippers to cut a small notch at the shoulder of her sleeve before ripping the fabric away and gently peeling it down her arm. It stuck a bit to the dried blood, and Rose winced but kept silent. Now intent on his work, The Doctor made a quick scan with his sonic screwdriver.
"Nothing significantly damaged," he noted.
"You sure you're qualified?" Rose mocked gently.
"I am a Doctor," he insisted with exaggerated dignity.
"Yeah, where'd ya take your exams?"
"Hapholyt 36."
"What?"
"Small, terraformed asteroid in the Antares System," he continued, "The sonic can help some of the tissue start repairing, but I'm still goin' to have to use the gin. Not programmed to damage anything living."
"Not even bacteria?"
"'Fraid not," he said, cracking open the bottle and soaking some of the cotton strips. He gently cleaned away the blood that had run down her arm, working his way up toward the wound. "Sorry, this is going to sting a bit," he warned before pouring a tot directly into the wound. Rose groaned deep in her throat.
"Godqueenmotherandallthevicars," she growled. The Doctor scanned the wound quickly.
"Almost," he said, "Lean forward quick, I need to pour some in the exit wound." Rose took a few deep breaths and did as he asked. Her arm burned with a vengeance, but he finally seemed satisfied it was clean. He leaned Rose back against the luggage and she took a moment to close her eyes, breath deep, and push through the pain while he prepared the makeshift bandages. Finally, he used a couple strips, soaked in gin then squeezed out, to cover the wounds and three or four dry ones to tie it all on as securely as possible.
"There, that should hold a bit," he smiled, but Rose could only respond with a weak, drowsy smile of her own. "Right, then, let's get you kitted out and then you can rest." The Doctor helped Rose get her other arm out of her ruined jacket and selected the thickest jumper he'd found. Rose insisted on dressing herself, and The Doctor lent a hand only when she experienced trouble getting the sleeve to stretch over her cast. In the end, he had to cut a slit up the cuff to make it fit.
"How'd ya manage that, then? 'Nother jail break?"
"No," Rose smiled, rising to her knees so she could slip into the pea coat, "I uh, sort of hit someone."
"Sort of?"
"I punched a coworker," she said flat-out, "Broke my hand." She tried buttoning the coat left-handed, but found her fingers cold and fumbling, "Could you…"
"Oh, of course," The Doctor deftly button the coat and helped her back down to sit on the floor. "So, you've got a job, then? You're not a burgler?"
"Everyone's a fashion critic," she scoffed, "Yes, I have a job. Had a job, I suppose. Been placed on 'administrative leave.' 'S basically bureaucrat-ese for 'your pink slip's in the post, we don't want you makin' a scene in the lobby.'" The Doctor chuckled at that.
"Sorry to hear that," then, he thought a moment, "It wasn't broken the other night,"
"No, this happened after… After they took you. My friend was the one who ordered the whole thing. I lost my temper a bit." Rose paused a moment, pondering, "Listen, you should know – I'm a field agent. For Torchwood. Or I was."
"What?"
"I just, I don't want you findin' out about it if we get caught, thinkin' this was all part of some plan. I really am here to get you back – back to the TARDIS," She insisted, then added "Well, if I can." The Doctor regarded her a moment, gray eyes assessing her closely. Much to his own surprise, he found he believed her.
"Get some rest," he finally said, gently.
"Right, you're not goin' to go swannin' off when we land, leavin' me for the baggage handlers to find," she teased, though half serious.
"No, I'll be right here," he assured, helping her lie back and tucking a folded sweater under her head. Then, a thought occurred to him, "What's you're name?" She chuckled in response.
"Rose," she responded, drifting off, "My name is Rose."
The Doctor had repacked the luggage as best he could remember. Though, feeling a bit puckish, he had stashed a stray feather boa and pair of fuzzy handcuffs in some gent's suitcase. He needed everything to appear orderly and untouched. The last thing they wanted was for the baggage handlers to have the cargo hold searched. To that end, he spent some time looking for a place to hide until the ground crew was done unloading the airship. Eventually, he found a maintenance hatch leading to the ventilation system. A bit cramped, but they could manage.
With nothing else to do, and an hour left until they landed, The Doctor sat himself down near Rose and considered the current state of affairs. They'd be landing in the heart of London, a city littered with CCTV cameras. The TARDIS was parked in her closet, and by now Torchwood certainly had the house under surveillance. That is, if they hadn't obtained a warrant to search the premises, already. Nothing added up favorably, but on the upshot, at least for now he was free. With that thought, he glanced down at the woman asleep on the frigid metal floor next to him.
The Doctor found he was wildly curious to find out all about this outrageous woman, the universe she came from, how she wound up here, and, above all, The Doctor she knew. With all that had happened, the surety of knowing that another Time Lord lived, even if only in another universe, gave him a small measure of hope. For the first time in a long while, he felt slightly less alone. After all the horrific things he'd seen – and caused – during the war, he'd avoided any and all personal connections. There was a time, briefly, when he'd followed the Nestene Consciousness to Earth and a young woman by the name of Lynda had helped him locate and defeat the Consciousness. He'd seriously considered inviting her along, but his guilt and his fear overwhelmed him.
After that, he'd left Earth and distracted himself with putting out fires kindled by the Time War all over the universe. In fact, the incident at the private school in Croyden had been the first time he'd set foot on Earth in more than a decade. All that time he'd traveled alone, convinced he was doing the right thing by not involving anyone in his suicidal missions. Then, he meets this woman, this woman who knows his face and his title. This woman who travelled with him in a different time and place. He had to wonder, then, how it was this other "self" had possessed the strength – or insanity – to take her along. To look at a face, day after day, so hauntingly similar to the millions he'd snuffed out. To risk another's life in his mad compulsion to make amends for all he'd done.
As he looked at her now, he thought he saw at least part of the picture. She was courageous, she was clever, and, above all, he'd seen a measure of the joy and wonder she possessed. Things he thought long gone from his own existence until she'd started laughing at him in his cell. Joy, not sardonic mirth or manic energy, actual joy had teased at his mind for the barest moment. He'd survived so long by suppressing it, and he was terrified to learn it hadn't died entirely. He realized, given just that small spark of something real, he'd have asked her to come along as well.
It suddenly occurred to him he ought to end it now. Allow her to return to her life, keep her from the suffering he feared would inevitably fall to her if she followed him. It would be so easy to sneak away and leave her slumbering. He also knew, in that same moment, he wouldn't. It was selfish, it was foolish, and it was unstoppable. As he heard the engine noise lower in pitch and felt the airship begin its descent, The Doctor took a deep breath, leaned in, and nudged his companion awake.
Footnote: Fun fact, Phoenix's airport is called Sky Harbor. I like it. I think all airports should be called that.