(AN) Thanks to everyone who is following/reviewing/favoriting this story! Enjoy the latest chapter!
As the dark forms began to advance upon her, guns at the ready, Rose couldn't think of anything, couldn't formulate any plan. Her body was entirely immobile, and the only thing that she was physically capable of was screaming, screaming until her throat went raw. Rose had no idea what would happen, but she had a feeling that if her fate was the same as the Doctor's she would've already been knocked out.
Oddly, however, just before the men were about strike, she began to feel lightheaded, and her body felt peculiar. Everything surrounding her, the Doctor, the men, Mickey, all began to fade into blurry nothingness. And all sounds contained in the room disappeared, only to be replaced by that of a shrill beeping sound.
With a gasp, Rose's eyes shot open, and all sensations came back into her body. She stared blearily into the dark depths of her bedroom, and then slammed a hand onto the screeching alarm clock on her bedside table. Groaning, she stretched in her blankets, and then forced herself to sit up, switching on her bedside lamp.
She was in her bedroom. At seven in the morning. It was a completely normal, ordinary experience, but as of late it had always felt so odd to Rose. There was this dream that she always had before she woke up. She could never distinctly recall what happened in the dream, but she knew it was the same every night. Mickey and some other bloke were there, and she always woke up, still semi-conscious, with the unshakeable urge that one has so often when they wake up from a dream. The urge to go back, to see what happened.
Rose rubbed her eyes, and dropped her feet down onto the cold wood floor. After a moments hesitation, she then pushed herself out of bed, stalking torwards the bathroom. She was fully awake now, and whatever had happened in her dream wasn't important.
As she went down the hallway, she heard a clanking sound downstairs, and the scent of coffee hit her nose. She meandered off towards the staircase, and tried to keep a cool head. No matter how hard she tried, the faint wisps of that dream kept on nagging her, telling her that something wasn't right.
When Rose got downstairs, she found her boyfriend Mickey pouring coffee into a thermos, briefcase set on the counter beside him. Rose smiled sleepily at him. It was always a pleasant surprise when he hadn't gone to work yet and she got to see him in the morning.
He didn't notice her, and Rose crept up behind him, snaking her arms around his waist.
"Morning," she murmured into his shoulder.
"Hey," he replied, twisting out of her grasp to grab his briefcase. He then went into the next room over to grab something or another, and Rose followed after him lazily.
"I thought you'd be gone for work by now?" Rose asked curiously, as he grabbed his coat off a chair in the living room.
"Running a little late," he replied shortly, brushing past her. "Gotta go now."
"Oh, have a nice day!" Rose said brightly, following him as he went to the door. She shut her eyes, leaning in for a kiss, but after a few seconds she opened them, confused.
Mickey was already at the door, pulling on his coat and fumbling in his pocket for his keys. "See ya," he said briefly, glancing back at her.
Rose had learned not to feel hurt by this. Mickey had been distant with her in the past few months, and he was very stressed by his job. He worked at her dad's company, and the job came with it's toils.
But despite this, she couldn't help but feel there was some strain put on their relationship because if it. She rarely got to see him, and when she did, he was very reluctant around her, and had a tendency to not interact with her all that much. Rose remembered the days when he had been the sweetest guy she knew. But now, those memories were faint, and the reality of their relationship became much more prominent.
Mickey unlocked the door and pulled it open, stepping outside. He was about to slam the door, but then, for some odd reason, Rose called out, "I had that dream again last night!"
Mickey glanced back at her again, the slightest bit of concern in his eyes. "What dream?"
Rose leaned against the hallway wall. "You know, the recurring one."
Mickey froze, and he didn't meet her gaze. "Do you remember anything?"
Rose shut her eyes. She couldn't pull out any details, and it unsettled her. She didn't even know what it was that was bothering her so much.
She forced a complacent smile onto her face. "No, I don't remember anything."
"Good," Mickey said curtly. He made to shut the door, and Rose ran to him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before he left.
"Be safe," she said, with true affection. "There was a zeplin crashing the other week."
He made no reply to this, and then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
Seven hours later, and Rose was exhausted. Her car had broken down on the way to work, her klutzy co-worker had already managed to knock down 10 racks of clearance clothes in one blow, a child had vomited all over row 6, and she had grease from lunch staining her favorite shirt.
She worked at a shop. And it was horrible. This was one of the worse days, but every single day that job made her want to collapse into a fetal position and sob. She didn't even have to have the job, Micky made more than enough money at his to support them, but if she didn't do something it made her feel like even more of an incompetent slob.
She had been having enough of a lousy day already, but just when she was about to leave, one of her other co-workers had handed her the lottery tickets to take to the electrician, Wilson. Rose was very tempted to just tell him to screw off; she had a pounding headache and just wanted to go home. But the coworker had a gleaming look in his eyes that told her he'd be getting her job if she didn't comply.
She trudged through a good majority of the store, shoving through the doors of the employees only section. One day she would move onto greater things than this simple life. The planet they lived on was at the peak of technological development, and there would be tons of better jobs than this one opening up.
Maybe she could even get a job at the place Mickey worked at. It was her Dad's company, after all. If anything, it would make more sense for her to have a job there. Though, she hadn't actually seen her Dad for a while. Or her Mum. She just hadn't had the time, what with her and Mickey's work schedules. And whenever she asked Mickey to go on the weekend, he always needed the car for something, or was too tired to go. He always told her that her Dad was fine though. That he was...happy.
After a flight of stairs and a damp, dimly lit hallway, Rose reached Wilson's room. She knocked loudly on the door. "Wilson! It's Rose, I have the tickets!"
There was no reponse, and Rose sighed heavilly. He had probably already gone home. She was the only person left in the building, lingering in the gross dark basement with a set of losing lottery tickets. She groaned, and then dropped the money at the foot of the door, kicking it for good measure. She would have a word with the executive here, about this, all of this, and she didn't care if she lost her job.
Rose stomped off torwards the doors, indingated. She was going to go home, and watch the telly, and sleep in until ten in the morning. She was done. She roughly grabbed the door handle, about to jerk it open, when a loud clattering noise hit her ears. She shot around,heart beating erratically, but there was nobody behind her. One of the hat stands for the shop had fallen over. Sighing in one part resignation, one part relief, Rose approached the stand tentatively, bending over to put it back up. She stood up, steadying the stand. When she looked up, there was another pair of eyes staring back at her.
Rose screamed, stumbling backwards, eyes wide. She would've fallen to the floor if the hand that belonged to the pair of eyes hadn't shot out, grabbing her arm.
"Wh-what..." Rose stammered. The figure came out of the shadows, still having a firm grip on her arm. He was tall, clad in a leather jacket and a wool jumper. He had dark, short cropped hair, and intense blue eyes that were locked on her face. For some odd reason, she felt an immense feeling of déjà-vu when she saw those eyes, but she couldn't figure out why.
Rose quickly snapped out of her reverie, jerking her arm out of his grip. "What the hell are you doin' mate? Standing there, creepily watching me from the shadows?!"
The man continued to stare at her, not saying anything. Rose was disconcerted by this, and she couldn't think of anything to say to him.
Finally, he spoke. "You still don't remember, do you?"
An incredulous look came onto Rose's face. "Remember what?"
In a second flat, the man had Rose's hand, slamming a metal tube into it. "Take this," he said urgently. "You need it take this, and remember."
Rose pulled her hand away, gripping the strange tube, which upon further inspection had a series of buttons in it, and a blue bulb on the end. "What are you going on about?!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean?!"
The man shook his head. "I can't tell you that, but you have to do what I say. Otherwise there will be a paradox and danger and-"
"I'm leaving," Rose interrupted. She backed away, an angry look in her eyes. "You're a nutter, and I'm not going to listen to a single word you say!" She turned around, stalking away, when his voice hit her ears again.
"Don't you want to know about the dreams?"
Rose turned to him slowly, her mouth dropping open. "What did you just say?"
"The dreams," the man repeated. For some reason, he had a smug look on his face, so different than the look desperation from before. "You have been having a recurring dream every night. You don't know what it's about, and you don't know why it's happening, but it is driving you mad, Rose Tyler."
Rose approached him, her face displaying nothing but shock. "H-how do you know my name?"
"That isn't important," he said. "But everything else is. You need to take this too." He pulled his hand out of his pocket, and extended it torwards her, holding what appeared to be a wallet. Rose hesitantly took it, trying to not let her hand linger on his.
"When you open it, at the right time, it will tell you all you need to know," the man said.
Rose looked down at the leather package, and undid the buckle on the front. When she opened it up, there was no money, no business cards or anything. Just a piece of paper stretched across the inside of the wallet.
Trust Me, it said.
Rose looked up, but the man was gone.
About two weeks later, Rose had a different dream than usual. She was strapped to a table, completely restrained like before, except this time that man was on another table, by her side. She didn't know why, but she kept on screaming, and crying, and telling him that she didn't want to go, that she didn't want to forget.
Sometimes the man was barely conscious, and sometimes strange people in white uniforms came into the room, attacking him, beating his bare skin, trying to force out a confession about something, something that Rose didn't understand. Sometimes they were alone, and he talked to her about things. She told him things as well, but quite often she had no idea what they were talking about, or what was going on.
At one point, he broke down while the men were attackng him, and he yelled things, told them whatever it was that they needed to know.
"Trust me," he said, after they had left. "You'll have to trust me, Rose Tyler."
And he always held her hand. The whole time, when they were alone, when he was being beaten, when a woman with a clip board came in and told her they had fixed the machine, that she had to go. He only let go when they carted her away, when it was physically impossible for them to touch.
When Rose awoke, she remembered everything of this dream.
She didn't tell Mickey.
It was time.