Notes: The Doctor and Rose go on a call out to the hospital and Rose scores 15 - love in a game of 'embarrassment tennis' (you'll see what I mean).

They also find their celebrity status is starting to get in the way of their work.

If you think young Andy 'the Artful Dodger' has it bad, its about to get a whole lot worse. Also you might want to check out watch?v=wI8PC3hUIEc to see Penn and Teller doing Andy's cup and ball trick. (It blows me away everytime I see it.)

Oh, and the plots thicken.

Chapter 2

Nick the Fish, as he liked to be known (not Fishy, that was insulting), was in an alley at the back of some houses. He had the bag on top of a wheelie bin under a streetlight, rummaging through it for anything valuable.

Keys! House keys. All he needed was something with an address on it. He found a purse and quickly emptied the money into his pocket. He then examined each of the compartments until he found his goal. A driver's licence! Brilliant, and the address wasn't too far away, on the bus. He could use the loose change he'd just found.

Sitting on the back seats of the top deck of the bus, Nick looked at the rest of the contents of the bag. A plastic sandwich box, the latest Chat magazine with a photo of that celebrity couple on the front, and a metal thermos flask.

No, wait. It wasn't a thermos. It was a metal cylinder that looked like a thermos. He twisted the top and bottom in opposite directions. There was a 'click' and 'hiss', and the two halves slowly separated along a central stalk.

"What the hell?!" Inside were four test tubes containing a straw coloured liquid. He took one out and held it up to the light. He took the plastic bung off the top and sniffed the contents.

"Urgh! Smells like a fart," he said to himself as the bus pulled up sharp. He spilt some of the liquid over his fingers.

"Sod it!" He wiped his fingers on the fabric of the seat. "Maybe I can sell it to a joke shop." He put the test tube back in the container and pressed it shut. He put the 'thermos' back in the bag and headed down the bus to get off at the next stop.

He walked on the opposite side of the street to the address on the drivers licence. The house was dark and the Clio wasn't on the drive. If he was quick he could go in through the front door, grab some stuff and run.

He crossed the road and walked back up the street, looking for any pedestrians. It was all quiet and he quickly walked up the driveway to the house, opened the front door and stepped inside.

He stood still for a moment, listening to the house. He could hear the refrigerator in the kitchen, that was all. The house was empty. And hot! It was hot in here and he was sweating.

He ran up the stairs looking for the bedroom. He was after jewellery that he could sell. He put jewellery boxes into the stolen bag, along with money found in the drawers of the bedside tables. He quickly checked the other rooms and found an MP3 player next to an exercise bike.

Moving downstairs, he checked the living room for consumer electronics, stuffing as much in the bag as he could. When he was satisfied, he went into the hallway and out through the front door, where he walked straight into a man who was about to press the doorbell.

"Who the fuck are you?" the man asked as he grabbed Nicks collar in a vice like grip. "Where's my sister?"

Nick dropped the bag and started kicking and struggling to get free, but the man's grip wouldn't budge. Nick turned his head and bit the man's hand.

"Ow! You little bastard."

As soon as the grip was released, Nick sprinted down the drive and flew around the corner, disappearing into the night before the man could even move to chase him.


The Smith's Delorian pulled into it's parking spot in the underground car park of One Canada Square, ready for the start of their eight hour shift at Torchwood One. As they walked towards the elevators, another vehicle came through the barrier. It was a sexy, red Ferrari 458 Italia, the air horns echoing through the car park as the driver saw Rose and John.

"Morning Jack," Rose laughed as he sped by. "Hurry up and park, we'll hold the lift."

"Thanks gorgeous," he said through the open window as he pulled into his spot next to 'Delores' the Delorian.

In the lift, they chatted about their ordinary lives, a complete contrast to their extraordinary job.

"Have you settled into your new flat okay Jack?" Rose asked.

He had moved out of Tyler Mansion last week into a luxury penthouse flat overlooking the Thames. Moving his personal possessions had been particularly easy with John and Rose's help, as they just piled everything from his suite of rooms into the TARDIS and materialised on his balcony.

"When's the flat warming party?" Rose wanted to know, angling for an invite.

"Give me a few days to get straight and unpacked and everyone will get an invite. How's Friday night sound?"

"Ooh, that sounds good. Are we free on Friday John?"

"Yep, Friday's good, wouldn't miss it for the world," John said with a grin.

"I'll put a note up on the messaging board," Jack told them.

"I see the three of you have made the gossip magazines again," Jack said with a grin.

"Oh, don't tell me you read that trash," Rose said with a groan.

"Of course! haven't you seen 'Men In Black'? It's the best source of information on unusual happenings. You don't think the 'broad sheets' would print stories on mother-in-laws being abducted by aliens would you?"

John had a wistful smile as he thought about his mother-in-law being abducted by aliens, and what some of them he knew about would do to her. Some, she would probably enjoy, knowing Jackie.

He realised that Rose was looking at him and his face snapped back to neutral. Rose rolled her eyes and started to laugh.

"You can't fool me," she told him. "Basic psychology was part of the Metropolitan Police hostage negotiation course I completed, with flying colours I might add." She was really proud of that.

"I know that your sniping and bickering is a cover for your inability to admit your affection for each other. It's usually seen in people who are emotionally immature or scarred by trauma."

Jack laughed. "She's got you and Jackie pegged there Doc, bang to rights." John was about to protest when the lift doors opened on the third floor into the Special Operations Unit.

They went through to the locker rooms to change into their black uniforms for the 08:00 shift start. Captain Andy McNab was waiting for everyone to grab a tea or coffee and assemble around the media displays.

"Morning people. I hope you've had an enjoyable and relaxing weekend and are ready for another week of weirdness." He looked at the status displays on the screens.

"Black Watch are still out at Wimbledon responding to an emergency landing of a Jathaa Sunglider that developed a star drive fault. Handsome and Numbers, can you head out there now and relieve them so that they can go off shift."

'Handsome' had become Jack's nickname since he'd joined, and his partner Gwen was 'Numbers', due to her being a maths genius.

"On our way boss," Jack said and they headed for the elevator. They knew how it felt after a night shift, having to wait for the day shift to come and send you off duty.

"Doc, here's one for you. We've had a call from a pathologist at the Republican Hope. They have an interesting corpse that apparently is right up our street. Would you and The Wife go and have a look and see what's got them spooked?"

John and Rose's nicknames were easy. Dr. John Smith was 'Doc' and John always referred to Rose as 'Wife' when he was excited about a mission.

"That sounds interesting," John said. "I'll grab a forensic kit on the way out. Come on then Wife, let's go see what we can dig up. Oops, wrong choice of words, 'dig up' when it's a corpse involved."

Rose laughed and playfully slapped his arm. "Shut up and get a move on you."

They went up to Forensics so that John could put some of the high tech equipment in a holdall, not that he needed much now, he had most of what he needed in one nifty little device.

Their new TARDIS had manufactured a sonic screwdriver for him and he was over the moon. They went down the corridor to John's lab, which was still quarantined off, and put some snacks in the serving hatch.

Rose put in a photo of their now eight month old son EJ, and picked up a shopping list that was waiting for them. 'Former John' (as they had decided to call him) was still inside the lab growing the TARDIS and preparing to travel back three months to rescue Rose and EJ from a bunch of religious lizards.

"Three more weeks and you'll be showin' me how magnificent you are," Rose said with a smile as she remembered his appearance as her saviour.

"Do you mean the rescue, or the celebratory shag after?" he asked with a wicked smile, waggling his eyebrows.

She grabbed the lapels of his uniform and pulled him into a full on snog. "I'll leave you to work that one out," she said in a sultry voice. "But here's a hint. The Doctor and Rose in the TARDIS? The stuff of legend!"


At the Republican Hope Hospital, John and Rose went to the reception desk and asked for Dr. Emily Patterson, consultant pathologist for the hospital.

"She's in the isolation ward on the third floor," the receptionist told them, and then hesitated. "Excuse me for asking, you're the Smiths aren't you? Y'know, the ones in the magazines?"

"Er, yes we are," John replied, smiling. "Thank you for noticing," he added and then turned to Rose. "Mmmm, a corpse in isolation? That's intriguing."

At the door to the isolation ward, they pressed the call button for attention and a voice came out of the speaker.

"Can I help you?" the voice asked.

"Probably not," John said, grinning at Rose. "But I think we can help you. We're from Torchwood, looking for Dr. Patterson."

"Just a moment... Dr. Patterson is coming out."

After a short pause, the door clicked and a young, attractive woman with dark hair in a ponytail opened it wide.

"Hello, Emily Patterson, thank you for coming." She held out her hand.

"John Smith," he said shaking the proffered hand.

"Rose Smith." She shook hands as well.

"Of course you are, I'm a bit of a fan," she said with a sheepish smile. John and Rose inwardly groaned.

"So what can we do for you?" John asked. "Something about an unusual corpse."

"Very unusual. Come through." She led them down a corridor and stopped outside a waist height window with closed horizontal blinds. Rose gasped, and John raised his eyebrows in surprise when she opened them.

Strapped to the bed was a thin, grey skinned man in the remains of a white police evidence overall. He had dark rings around his yellow eyes, and foaming spittle around his mouth.

"Oh, I thought you said it was an unusual corpse," John said.

"I did, and you're looking at it. He was brought in dead last night from the police cells and put in the mortuary. The poor technician this morning had to change his trousers when he heard him groaning and thrashing about."

"Oh My God!" Rose said slowly. "Is that... a zombie?" Rose thought back to her second time trip with the Doctor, they had encountered creatures that could reanimate the dead. They were called 'Gelth'.

John saw the look in her eyes and felt what she was thinking telepathically. He shook his head to reassure her.

"No visible gas or energy emissions. Looking at the monitor, there's no pulse, blood pressure or oxygen saturation. He's dead but his body doesn't seem to know it," John observed.

"Exactly! His signs are reminiscent of rabies, he's like a wild animal. It took four security guards to restrain him and he tried to bite all of them. How can a body function without a circulatory or nervous system?"

"Who is he... I mean 'was' he?" Rose asked.

"The police say his name is Nicholas Fisher," Dr. Patterson said. "He was arrested for breaking and entering."

"Can we enter the room for a closer inspection?" John asked the doctor.

"Only if you use the suits in the wall over there."

To the left of the window were two hatches that had biohazard suits attached by a long tube. You stepped into the suit and the connecting tube extended into the room like a concertina.

"Okay," John agreed. "Do you have blood and tissue samples?"

"Yes, they're in the fridge in the lab."

"Good, we'll need to take some with us back to Torchwood," John said.

They suited up and walked towards the bed. The dead man became more agitated as they approached.

Rose pulled her arms inside the suit and held her scanner up to the face visor. The scanner took a rapid series of photographs that were automatically transmitted to the image labs at Torchwood.

John was also scanning with his sonic screwdriver through the suit visor, looking at the electromagnetic spectrum to see if he could find anything that might explain how a dead man could do a pretty good imitation of being alive.

"Okay, I'm done," Rose said.

"Yeah, me too. Let's get those samples and get back to HQ."

They walked backwards to the hatches and climbed out into the corridor. John then rummaged in his holdall and found a sealable biohazard container.

"If you could put the samples in this for me we'll be on our way. Make sure no one enters that room, and please let me know if anything changes."

Dr. Patterson left to get the samples while John and Rose got ready to leave.

"What do you think it is John?"

"I'm thinking its biological, some kind of pathogen. I can't detect any alien energies or chemicals like we saw with the Gelth back in Cardiff."

"A pathogen? What kind of infection could do that?"

"Wellll, the closest thing I've seen on Earth is the lancet liver fluke. It infects a snail that forms a cyst around it and excretes it. An unsuspecting ant comes along and eats the cyst."

"Sounds lovely," Rose said, making a disgusted face.

"Ah, but it gets worse. The juvenile flukes take over the ant and turn it into a zombie, making it climb to the top of a blade of grass and wait to get eaten by a grazing animal. The flukes invade the animals liver and 'hey presto', the whole cycle begins again."

"Oh God, that's horrible John. If it's something like that then we are in serious trouble."

"You spotted that did you? We have to get back and find out what we're dealing with." While they were waiting for Dr. Patterson to return, John thought about her earlier memory of 19th century Cardiff. "Oh, and Rose. That time back in Cardiff, I was wrong, and I was rude to you. I'm sorry."

Rose was a bit confused by his admission, because her most important memory of that trip was when he said she was beautiful. It was the first inclination she had been given that he actually fancied her, 'even for a human'.

"What about?" she asked, moving close and looking up into his eyes.

"Y'know, recycling dead bodies. Back then I was an angry, battle weary Time Lord. Now, having this human body, I totally get it. One life, one body, one owner. Your bodies…. No, our bodies are more than transport vehicles, they are an expression of the soul inside."

Rose closed the remaining distance and pressed against him. "Now you're gettin' it," she purred with a smile.

"Yes," he squeaked, getting his voice back under control before continuing. "You decorate them with hair do's, makeup, tattoo's, and may I say some very provocative clothing. Did I ever tell you how nice you looked in that period dress?" His nether regions were starting to respond to the memory. 'Damn this traitorous human body' he thought to himself.

"I remember you tellin' me I was beautiful…. For a human," she teased. She would never let him forget that. "And I didn't think you liked that dress, because when I had that replica made by Mum's designer for your first birthday party, you nearly ruined it when you ripped it off me. Fancy leavin' me lyin' there in just my stockings and ankle high boots."

Oh God, that did it. 'Get down boy, get down. Bad boy' he thought, trying to reverse the effect. Rose felt his arousal against her thigh and inwardly giggled. That'll teach him for trying to make her blush all the time. She then felt it subside. He was getting better at that.

Thank Rassilon for Jackie Tyler and the slap from hell. John had used that image to dampen his ardour. They jumped apart when Dr. Patterson returned with the sealed case of samples.

"Emily. Can I call you Emily? Oh, I just did didn't I? Anyway, Emily, do me a favour and find anyone who has had contact with the corpse and quarantine them until we know what we are dealing with. It could be airborne, droplet, body fluids, insects, we just don't know."

"Of course Dr. Smith. We'll call them in and run some test on them. I'll send you the results when I get them."

"Thank you."

Back at Torchwood, John had just handed the samples into the Forensic Laboratory, with instructions to treat them as highly contagious until proved otherwise, when they got a call from McNab.

"I need you and the Wife to join Peg and Van in the City. They had a call to a bank and its gone pear shaped. It sounds like there's another zombie out there."

'Jake The Peg', from the Rolf Harris song, and Julia 'Van' De Graff from the school science static electricity generator, were two more nicknames that Captain McNab was so fond of.

"Okay Andy, we're on our way." He grabbed Rose's hand, with his manic grin on his face. "Come on Wife, Allons-y." They ran excitedly down the corridor hand in hand. It was just like the old days.

15 years previously.

Community Police Constable John Dixon sat on the street bench with his latest juvenile 'collar', Andrew Morrison. They were waiting for the wagon to take him to the local police station for processing, a 'slap on the wrist', telling him not to do it again, and then release.

"Y'know young Andy, in a few years time you'll be old enough to be 'properly' nicked for your activities," he told his young prisoner.

Andy silently looked at his hands and shrugged.

Dixon had known Andy for a good few years now, and in that time had gotten to know the kind of lad he was. He wasn't a 'wrong 'n', like some of the scrotes on the estate. He was just misguided by that gang he'd fallen in with.

"You need to start thinkin' about a job, or a trade, somethin' that'll keep you out of trouble."

Andy looked at him with that mischievous smile that made it impossible to dislike him. "Maybe I could be a copper," he said. "I mean, I know the job from the inside out, don't I?"

Dixon laughed with him. He really liked this little rogue. He never gave him any attitude or trouble when he got caught doing something he shouldn't, not like the others on the estate.

"I reckon you'd make one of the best coppers in the force if you put your mind to it," he laughed. "You remind me of myself when I was your age."

Andy gave him a doubtful look that said he didn't believe him.

"I was young once y'know. And I was no angel. My old Dad was a bit handy with his fist, particularly after he'd had a few pints. I used to get out of the house to stay out of his way."

Andy now looked sad. He'd never know his father, and from what he'd heard it was probably for the best, as he'd probably have ended up as a punch bag for him.

"This old copper sat me down once and told me how it was, what would happen to me if I went to prison. He looked out for me did old George."

"What does happen in prison?" Andy asked nervously.

"Well, it ain't like the holiday camp young offenders institute. There are some seriously bad people in there, people who would like to make your acquaintance in the showers when you drop the soap, if you take my meaning." He could see that he didn't take his meaning, so took some time to explain the phenomenon as delicately as he could.

Andy was quite pale when the wagon appeared and was locked inside.

"You take care now Andy, and think about what I've said."

"I will Mr. Dixon…. I will."

When the wagon arrived at the station, the officers were perplexed when it was missing one of its occupants. Who would have thought that the time it took for a traffic light to change to green, was enough time for a fan of Harry Houdini to pull off one of his amazing escapes.

Later that evening, Andy Morrison was with the rest of the gang in an abandoned warehouse. He didn't really want to be there, and if truth be known, he didn't really want to be in a gang anymore, not after what PC Dixon had been telling him.

He much preferred to be a street magician, scamming money off punters with 'find the lady' and his favourite 'cup and ball'. He had perfected a version of it using pint sized clear plastic cups, the sort they use in pubs when the punters drink outside.

'Double or nothing', he would tell the patsy who had already lost with the ordinary cup and ball trick. 'I'll make it easier for you. Find this yellow tennis ball in these clear cups'.

And of course they would fall for it. He would whiz the cups around at dazzling speed and then stop suddenly.

'Where's the tennis ball?' he would ask them, and they would point to the cup with the yellow sphere in it.

'Wrong!' he would sing-song and hold up the tennis ball in his hand. He would then lift up the cup. 'Sorry, all you get is the lemon'. He would have palmed the ball out and substituted a lemon, much to the amazement of the patsy.

The crowd would applaud, and Andrew's roguish charm meant that they took little or no offence to having been scammed by a first rate magician.

Now though, in this warehouse, it was a million miles away from those punters and that life of easy money.

When the local gang leader invites you to join, it's an offer you can't refuse, not if you still want all your bits of anatomy where they should be and in good working order.

They were interested in his light fingers, his skill at conning people and picking pockets. And to be fair, the gang were very democratic and divided up the spoils of the labours evenly amongst all of them.

This evening though was very undemocratic. Dennis Watts the gang leader, commonly known as Big Den, had decided they were going into the retail trade. They were going to use the money they had earned lately to buy a consignment of drugs to sell on the street.

They could treble or quadruple their investment he had told them. 'But at what cost', Andy had thought to himself.

A large, black Mitsubishi 4X4 rolled into the warehouse and came to a stop in front of them. No one moved, and the vehicle just sat there, inscrutable, with its tinted glass windows.

The engine stopped. Suddenly, the silence became deafening.

Three doors clicked and opened simultaneously, which made them jump. Meerkat Mickey (who was so named for obvious reasons), looked like he would drop on all fours, lift an imaginary tail in the air, and disappear down the nearest convenient hole.

Three large, bald headed men stepped out of the vehicle and looked around the warehouse from where they stood. The light in the warehouse was dim, and yet they wore sunglasses.

Andy wondered if the other members of the gang had spotted the subtle bulges of their expensive suits under their armpits. These men were armed. These men worked for the Firm, the organised crime syndicate in East London.

One of the man-mountains walked to the remaining closed rear door and opened it. A normal sized man in a grey pinstriped suit and shiny patent leather shoes, stepped out and looked around. He had an expensive Cashmere coat draped over his shoulders like a cape. He saw Den and gave him a false smile.

"Ah, Dennis. How nice to see you," he said with a voice soft and welcoming, and yet with an undercurrent of menace. "I trust you have brought the money?"

"Yes Mr. Mason." He took a large envelope out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket. "And the stuff?"

Mr. Mason nodded to one of the bald man-mountains and he reached into the 4X4 to take out a briefcase. He came and stood next to Mr. Mason and opened it. Inside were a number of plastic bags, tightly packed with a white powder.

The man-mountain took out one of the plastic 'bricks' and closed the briefcase.

"Now, as this is our first transaction, and we don't really know each other yet, I hope you won't be offended if we count the money," Mr. Mason said in a friendly tone. There was something about the way he said 'first transaction' that made Den nervous.

"No, of course not. And I hope you don't mind if I tests the merchandise?" Mr Mason smiled and nodded his understanding.

Den had contacted one of his 'associates' who had dealings with drug related matters. He had lent him a small wallet that contained a testing kit. He unzipped it and took out a tiny measuring spoon, which he poked into the plastic brick.

He put the small sample into the small phial of liquid in the wallet and shook it. As it changed colour, he compared it against the colour chart on the inside of the wallet.

"Wow! This is quality stuff," Den said.

"Of course, we have a reputation to maintain," Mr. Mason replied.

One of the man-mountains nodded at him and he smiled at Den. "Excellent. Well, very nice doing business with you Dennis. We will see you next month for another transaction."

"WHA'?! That wasn't part of the deal. This was just a one off," Den protested.

"We don't do 'one offs' Dennis. My employers work with regular outlets for their merchandise. You should have read the small print. Oh, there wasn't any print, was there?" he smiled innocently.

Meerkat Mickey was getting more and more agitated. "Den, what have you gotten us into? I don't mind nickin' an' theivin', that's honest. But drugs? That's wrong Den, an' I don't want any part of it."

"Oh dear Dennis, you seem to have some dissent in your little group. Allow me to help you with that." Mr. Mason nodded to one of the man-mountains, who pulled a silenced pistol from inside his jacket and shot Meerkat Mickey in the centre of his chest.

There was a stunned silence as Mickey's body collapsed with a terminal sigh. Horror and disbelief were the expressions of the day for Den's gang, and a realisation that they were in trouble if they didn't do as they were told.

"There, now we are all of one mind. See you all next month," Mr. Mason said and climbed back into the 4X4 with his henchmen. The car started up and reversed out of the factory.

Andy looked over at Big Den and for the first time since he'd known him, he saw fear in his eyes. "Damn it Den. They killed him! They shot him for sayin' he wasn't happy about sellin' drugs. Damn!"

"Oh God, what are we gonna do? The only way you get away from them is by bein' dead," Den said, still in shock.

"We'd better go and find some junkies to sell this gear to," one of the gang suggested.

"And hope the local dealers don't mind us invading their turf," Andy said, foreseeing some of the problems ahead of them.