Byzantine Rose (Plus Three)
Rose leaned back in her airplane seat and tried to relax a little. The kids were all settled down at last, and she could take a few minutes to her own thoughts.
It had been an incredibly satisfying five years since her return from the past. The new secular elementary school (kindergarten through eighth year) had hired her on as a teacher's assistant to begin with, since she'd only just gotten her teaching certificate, and assigned her to Mrs. Clarkson, a highly-respected, well-loved fifth-year teacher with over two decades' experience in the classroom. She, in turn, had set Rose to helping the kids in her class who needed a little extra tutoring, as they were in danger of falling behind. Rose sat them down around the circular table in back of the class and started them reading a book supposedly two grades below them, quickly realizing that she'd stumbled upon precisely what was needed: remedial reading instruction.
And that began it. Within weeks, everyone realized she had a true gift for reaching the hardest cases, slicing almost magically through the fog of whatever their individual handicap was and watching the light dawn behind their eyes. She quickly became the school's official remedial reading teacher, and over the years, spread the gift – and the joy – of the written word far and wide. Her name was even becoming know beyond her own school's walls as something of a miracle worker. When asked, though, she couldn't say how she did it. It was as much a mystery to her as to everyone who took a quiet, unobtrusive seat in her classroom and watched.
Her lifelong secret favorite pupil, though, was the quiet, shy little boy hiding a previously-undetected case of dyslexia behind his startling sea-green eyes who, once the mental key was turned, found his natural element in the written word, and was rarely found thereafter without the company of one, and sometimes several, increasingly thick books. (He would often come back to visit her in the years to come, talking about every subject under the sun, and she attended his eventual graduation summa cum laude from the foremost law school in the country with glowing, planet-busting pride.)
She'd been invited this summer to go along as one of the teacher chaperones on the eighth-years' graduation extravaganza: a week-long trip to the holy city of Constantinople. It hadn't taken much urging for her to say yes – none at all, in fact. She was dying to see the scenes of her secret triumph six centuries in the past – not that she had ever once breathed a word of it to anyone. Nor had she ever taken out the time jumper from the box she'd hidden it in, far back in the cluttered recesses under her bed. But for some reason, it just felt right to bring it along, so here it was, hiding under her long sleeved pullover sweater on this long, boring flight across the continent. No way was she going to put it through checked luggage!
At last, the four-hour flight ended, and she shepherded her small subset of rowdy fourteen-year-olds through baggage claim and customs, and out to the waiting buses. Their guides for the week-long stay met them on board, and had the drivers take the (very) long, roundabout route to the hotel, giving them a rolling orientation tour of the city.
The next day, they piled back onto the buses and followed the Pilgrim's Route through town, seeing the major historical sights along the way, and finally – FINALLY!, thought Rose – ended up at the fabled, sacred Gate of Our Lady, known in ancient times before the Miracle as the Saint Romanus Gate; the place where the Angel of Heaven, Saint Rose, and her companion, Saint Jacques, had shone the wrath of God and saved the Holy City from the Infidel Turks. (Rose kept having to smother a giggle every time that line was mentioned, gathering increasingly-irritated glares from the guides and other tourists.)
Then they walked around a corner from the parking lot into the wide park before the gate, and she gaped, gasping. The entire tower she had once stood on top of, theatrically brandishing the sword while Jack had set off his rockets, had been ensheathed in brilliant, shining gold. Not only that, but twin larger-than-life-size statues of the two Angels had been chiseled from the whitest marble and set in place upon the parapet. Saint Rose (no inconvenient resemblance, she noted absently) stood tall, wings outstretched, pointing her eight-foot sword to the heavens, while Saint Jacques, his own wings carefully tucked back but hardly out of sight, drew back his mighty bow, a moment before loosing a gigantic, fiery arrow.
It was all she could do not to crack right up and howl with laughter. I sure hope Jack never saw this. His head is big enough as it is!
By the time the inevitable Orthodox service was over, tears were streaming unchecked down her face, but she was able to pass them off as the same tears of joy and thanksgiving many other tourists were bearing, rather than the painfully suppressed laughter they actually were. She staggered back to the bus with the others, and, pleading a sudden headache, sat out the next two stops while another teacher took "her" kids in tow. (They traded the favor back and forth all week, whenever one or the other needed a short break.)
At long last, on their final full day, they were taken to the magnificent Hagia Sophia cathedral, centerpiece of the holy city and undisputed highlight of any tour. After they filed respectfully past the glass-encased (and VERY heavily guarded) Sword of Justice, Rose traded a glance with her co-conspirator, received a wave of acknowledgment, and slipped away from the group to explore on her own. She wanted to find her glass portrait. The sacred, fragile stained glass window had been carefully removed from harm at some point in the intervening centuries, and was now stowed away in the holy of holies, a secret chapel hidden away in the recesses of the cathedral and also containing the tomb of "her" emperor, Constantine XI, guarded (it was said) by his ghost, along with those of several saints.
Rose slipped through the shadowy back halls, somehow avoiding both guards and priests, until at last she discovered the little chapel. She stood on the intricately-woven Eastern carpet for several long minutes, awash in cascading memories, her eyes soaking in the still-vivid hues of the glass, lit from behind by dozens of candles that cast a magical air over every detail as well as an intricate mosaic of color on the emperor's white marble tomb below.
Sometimes she couldn't believe she'd actually done it. She'd gone through long periods, weeks and months, when it never even crossed her mind, then, suddenly, something would remind her and she'd be giddy with the triumph and accomplishment. And wracked by increasing doubt. All the certainties she'd grown up with, unwavering faith in the Most Holy Orthodox Church, was slowly draining away, and she didn't know what to do with the increasingly bitter dregs.
There were no answers here, only colored glass. Beautiful, but cold and silent.
Sighing, she turned away to find her group again. And stopped, frozen.
Behind her, in the doorway, the Holy Father, Prelate of Constantinople and the leader of the Orthodox Church, stood gaping at the vision before him of the Angel of Heaven made flesh. He fell to his knees and raised his hands to her, weeping. "Blessed Holy Saint Rose, is there danger once more? Have you come to guard your city again?" he began in Greek.
"Oh, no. Not again! Please, Father, I'm not..." Rose spluttered to a halt. No. I am so NOT going through this again! Suddenly inspiration struck. She could wipe away all the myth in one fell swoop!
She raised her arm and pulled her long sleeve back, about to show the time jumper to the Prelate, when suddenly she jumped. "Ouch!" The jumper had sent a piercing electric shock through her skin! She flipped up the leather cover and peered at it. It seemed to have turned on of its own accord, a dim light skittering across the display. The tiny screen was clouded over as if fogged. She used her forefinger to try to wipe it off – jumping a little as another tiny electric shock sparked between device and finger, like static electricity.
And then, without warning, a brilliant, unearthly white light hit her face.
^..^
Reich Rose waved a cheerful goodbye to her Mum and Dad, and punched Activate on the time jumper on her wrist. The past year had been magical, absolutely fantastic. Oh, there were bumps, times when they rubbed each other the wrong way – but immediately, the ever-present memory of what they'd each suffered came crashing through and instantly wiped away any irritation. For the first time since Pete had initially gone to prison, way back when Rose was just eleven years old, they really, truly felt like a complete, whole, loving, respectful family.
They had decided to keep the time jumper a secret from the American CIA, not wanting to lose it – or risk the chance of their timeline getting mucked up again. Once Rose had thoroughly explained the entire story to her parents, they'd all agreed not to go that route. Rose and/or Pete did, however, very occasionally use it to sneak back into England, to meet with the Resistance to coordinate some action or another, always keeping the jumper's existence an absolute secret. (Jackie, glad to be rescued, had resigned completely from any active role in the ongoing cold war, and was now enjoying the quiet, uneventful life of an American housewife.)
Word had reached Pete from his old cell, now led by the capable Charlie, that it appeared from the instruments left behind by Rose's twin, Ulva (Alpha Rose), that the rift underneath the Knolls Monument in St Ives was opening up again. He'd conferred with his own daughter, and they'd decided that she would flash over there and investigate it. They had good, undetectable, secure satellite phones now, and she'd call him if there was any action, or any chance of meeting Alpha Rose or another parallel traveler.
She came out of the flash in an upper-level bedroom of the safe house in St Ives, crept downstairs to find the place empty, and sat back to wait cautiously. A few minutes later, Charlie let himself in, along with three others in his group. She greeted the ones she knew, then turned to the last one; a young man.
With sea-green eyes.
"I don't know if you remember me," Paul began, and she interrupted.
"Of course I do. I see you found your way," she grinned at him, and he grinned back. The combined wattage of their two smiles could have lit the entire block. Whoa! thought Rose. Oh, boy.
Charlie started talking, then, about the readings they were getting from the Rift, and she tore her eyes away from Paul and responded. There was still a curfew on, so they needed to get out to investigate it and then back inside the safe house before dark. "Let's go, then!" Rose zipped up her light jacket and led the way outside.
Although there was a curfew, there was always a curfew, and nothing had occurred to make the Nazis suspicious, so only a bare handful soldiers were idly patrolling the streets. Rose and the men made like tourists, "wandering" over to the Monument, then – taking a quick look around to make sure they were unobserved – slipping down the overgrown path to the crypt in the back of the hill. They found the entrance and slipped inside, lighting the handful of candles they had brought to see with.
"Now, show me the equipment," Rose began, when suddenly she jumped as an electric shock pierced her wrist from the jumper. Just as the others had, she opened it up and tried to wipe the "fog" off the screen, getting another jolt.
And the same brilliant, unearthly white light hit her face.
^..^
Captain Jack was relaxing back at "his" hub, a small, self-satisfied smile tickling the corners of his mouth as he watched Joel putter around. Corvantes' techie had enthusiastically agreed to help him scatter the goons, then they dismantled the dimension cannon (saving several small, key components) and dumped the rest on a distant garbage planet, far into the future, just as Jack had promised Jared.
Joel's jaw had dropped when he saw the infant stage of the cannon back in Jack's own time period, about an hour after he and Jared had first flashed forward to rescue Rose. "We've got a LOT of work to do!" he groaned, then looked hesitantly at his host. "I mean, if you want me to help..."
"Why else did I bring you back with me?" Jack leered. "OK, I mean, why else?" he'd amended when Joel blushed. This is going to be fun. He brushed aside the flickering memory of Ianto, crisply suited as always, attending the coffee urn still gathering dust in the corner, and vowed never to ask Joel to make any coffee, before he flicked that thought away as well.
"Toss me that last jumper," he told his new friend, and grabbed it out of the air. They'd discovered the mysterious box of time jumpers held one unused extra, for reasons unknown. Jack sat back in the office chair he'd dragged down weeks ago to the lower level near the rift, and began comparing the leftover jumper to the one he'd worn for centuries. Something about these new models had caught Jared's eye way back at the start of their little adventure, although the Time Lord hadn't been able to identify exactly what, and Jack was determined to figure out the mystery himself. After all, wasn't he the time jumper expert of the group?
Just as he was smirking over that thought, the odd jumper stabbed his fingers with a painful jolt of electricity. As he looked even closer at it, it tingled again – and then a brilliant, unearthly white light from nowhere hit his face, there in the bowels of his lair.
^..^
Well, they almost made it out of town.
Jared and Rose had returned home in plenty of time for the wedding – flashing in to St Ives down the street from their own flat just in time to see the goon grab Rose and disappear. (Luckily, they were on the side away from the Island, so they didn't have to worry about the old Jared running into them on his mad dash to the hub – or Tock sniffing them out, for that matter).
"Perfect timing," Rose commented to nobody in particular. "Imagine that." Jared glared, then grinned.
They'd managed to fend off Jackie when she'd pounced on them after the ceremony, asking sharply how they had each managed to get sunburned faces in the twelve short hours since she'd seen them last. "Haven't you ever heard of tanning salons, Mum?" Rose asked innocently, netting herself a glare, but it had worked. They never breathed a word about the adventure, or their new time jumper.
After the reception dinner at the Tragenna Castle Hotel, they took the late afternoon train down to Plymouth and checked into a fancy hotel there for their wedding night. They were to board their private zeppelin for their honeymoon tour to and around Ireland the following noon at the Plymouth air field. So naturally, while they were lingering over breakfast in bed, the hotel phone rang.
Rose answered, then put it on speaker a moment later, rolling her eyes at her new husband with a sour look. "Say that again, Danny?"
"I'm sorry, luv. I'm so, so sorry. But you really need to get back here. Right now. Both of you," answered the Torchwood tech apologetically.
"Why?"
Danny hesitated. "I'll show you when you get here. Rose... You know I wouldn't do this to you for nothing, right?"
She sighed and clicked off, slumping back onto the pillows.
"Don't worry," grinned Jared. "We'll still make the flight. No matter how long it takes." Reaching a long arm, he picked the time jumper up off the nightstand and started to buckle it on his wrist. Then he stopped, and tossed it to Rose, instead. "Here. You need the practice."
A short time later (long enough to get dressed), the two humans and their constant canine companion flashed into Beta's version of the hub, hidden under the haunted chapel on the Island in St Ives. "All right, then, what is it?" Rose asked wearily.
"It's happening again. The same pattern as before," Danny told her. Jared, glancing quickly around, saw that only Danny and the other local tech, Chris, were there, as usual – Pete had apparently headed back for London with Jackie and Tony.
"You mean..." Rose said sharply.
Danny nodded. "Every single lifeline is converging, on a single person. And it's being mirrored in all the parallels, too."
Chris, over at the other station, put in, "And the Rift is acting up, too. Spiking like crazy."
"Who?" Rose asked Danny, ignoring Chris for the moment – although somehow, she already knew the answer.
"You. And the other Rose Tylers, too." Danny waved a hand up at the large overhead screens, as he pushed each parallel's display up onto them. Rose and Jared stepped forward, staring wide-eyed at the tell-tale patterns. Just as Danny had said, each world's tangled mass or lifelines were bending, twisting and converging around one single line, each with the same label. Rose Tyler.
"But it can't be," Rose protested. "It's over. We fixed it all!"
"This is current?" Jared checked with Danny, who nodded. He stared back at his new wife. "This is something new, Rose. Something else. And it's about to happen, right now!"
"Whoa!" Chris cried. "My god, look at the Rift! It's spiking off the scale!"
All four turned to stare at the recent addition to the hub, which Jared had been working on since his arrival in Beta: a tall, thick glass tube running from floor to ceiling, closed at both ends, and surrounded by conduits and circuits. He had managed to construct a containment field for the Rift. Normally, a dimly fluctuating silvery glow lit the tunnel, giving it a calming feeling.
Not any more. Suddenly it was wildly sparking, a glowing river of plasma that caught the eye and held it.
Drawn unthinkingly forward, Rose stepped towards the mesmerizing glow, when the time jumper on her wrist abruptly sent a tremendous shock through her skin. Jumping, she started to bring that arm up to check it out, when something else caught her eye: a miniscule beam of light that zapped from the jumper straight into the Rift a heartbeat later.
And before she could take a breath, a brilliant, unearthly white beam of light returned from the opening Rift and hit her face.
^..^
And so, in seven parallel worlds, six women with identical DNA, and one man who had been fundamentally changed by the original and so bore her imprint, approached their respective opening to the single complex rift through time and space and the void between the worlds, while holding a mysterious time jumper in their hands. They each felt the warning sparks as the jumper's deeply-hidden purpose awoke and identified its holder, then it sent its long-awaited signal back through the rift to its waiting creator.
And the gates of hell creaked open...