I own nothing
Unless it's preceded by the words "pan," "hot," or, in one memorable case, "pickled," no known culture in the universe actually considers cake an appropriate breakfast food. That being said, Winter doesn't care what anyone thinks, and after the two weeks she's just had, she thinks she deserves a little reward for surviving. And it's such a shame to waste such a heavenly cake now that she's already bought it. The cream tastes more like spun sugar—sweet without the oily residue it usually leaves in her mouth when it's this light. The frosting-to-cake ratio is perfect, and the actual cake layers themselves are fluffy, moist, and just dense enough that it sits happily in her belly, leaving her feeling full and sated.
It takes longer than it probably should to eat her breakfast, but there's no harm in savoring good food. Cake aside, things are finally starting to feel like normal again, which pretty much means she's expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment. After three days skipping through more decades that she cares to think about, she's feeling the time traveler equivalent of jet lag. Temper short, and lid just barely covering her rising panic, she spends half a day recuperating and the rest doing damage control. The automatic memory wipes handle most of the cleanup, but there are still a fair amount of loose ends to tie up. Once she's established herself in her new environment to her satisfaction, Winter sleeps for twelve hours like the dead.
Blondie is dealt with and gone, locked away in prison for various counts of assassination and trafficking. Winter's positive she manages to cover her tracks well enough that anyone else coming out of the woodwork for her will find their leads drying up and dead-ending. She knows who sent her attacker and why, she just can't believe they were so close without her noticing. The idea of getting caught is enough to make her want to bury her head in the sand for the next ten years. But she's also petulant and easily bored, so like hell she's just going to turn tail and hide.
Finishing the last of her milk, she rinses out her dishes slowly in the sink. Her shift at Henrik's starts in thirty minutes, and while she's not looking forward to it, she's not dreading it with the same heaviness she felt after that first week. When she teleports into the alley about three blocks away, the air is crisp and the sky suggests sun in the afternoon.
It isn't spring yet, but it's getting there. Stores are already changing their displays, and Henrik's is no different. The mannequins are dressed in skirts and dresses, shorts and t-shirts rather than sweaters and heavy jackets. There's a banner hanging near the front door advertising a beginning of spring sale. She can see it on people's faces as they walk by—they smile wider, laugh more easily. There's a bounce in their steps and a rush in their voices as they chatter. It isn't just the customers either, her colleagues are also cheerier. Warren the cashier offers to punch in a coupon voucher when he otherwise wouldn't have said a word, and Zoey actually smiles at Winter when she pops by to put away the clothes that have been hanging on the reject cart for God knows how long.
Unlike what seems like everyone else in the world, Winter is not in a good mood. Weariness clings to her limbs and lethargy sinks into her bones. She breathes in grey, colorless and dull, and she can't say why. There's nothing that sets her off, no big disaster or nasty experience to explain it. The day feels long and drawn out and when lunch rolls around, she's hungry but doesn't feel like eating. Nothing catches her interest as she browses the menu of a nearby café. Soup and bread is what she goes with, but it all tastes faraway, like it's someone else's tongue and she's only trying to imagine as they describe the food to her.
She wants to hate these moods, but even that feels like too much of an effort. By closing time, despite her starting the day with as much optimism as a person like her can have, all she wants is to crawl in bed and sleep. She runs a security check of her new residence, skips dinner, and falls asleep before her head even hits the pillow.
But of course, not even that is peaceful. It starts out that way, or at least, she thinks it does. She dreams in impressions and sensations until a series of thuds causes her adrenaline to spike because someone is on the roof. Someone is walking across it, taking the creaking fire escape down to her floor. Someone is sliding the window open and walking through her bedroom and she can't move.
Her arms are like bricks and her fingers won't so much as twitch no matter how loudly her brain yells at them. There's a blaster in the top drawer of the bedside table, and the hilt of her sword is tucked beneath the pillow next to her. Even without weapons, her hand-to-hand proficiency is nothing to laugh at, but none of it matters if she can't get up. Not even her eyes listen. They won't open, won't let her see what's coming or who's with her. Winter wants to scream. She wants to rage and lash out and fight.
Consciousness is a fight she's struggling to maintain. Even what little awareness she has now threatens to slip out of her fingers. Every time she gets a little bit closer to regaining control of her body, it's effortlessly taken from her like a treat on a stick that's forever pulling away.
The footsteps stop and she knows without looking that the intruder is standing at the foot of her bed. She knows. She can feel their eyes on her, feel it like the point of a blade just millimetres from her skin. There's still time; time for her to get up, time to get out. She can— She can—
She wakes up altogether not violently enough for the nightmare she's just had. There's nothing but of place in the room or anywhere else in the flat she's renting. Her bed sheets aren't even really messy. The windows are shut and secure from last night's check. The clock says it's nine past six in the morning and she still has a while before she has to get ready for her shift at eight. A dream then—it's all just a dream. Probably just the normal creaking of a building combined with sleep paralysis to make one terrifying experience. No one was on the roof or in her room, it's just her mind waking up before her body and panicking.
It's just her imagination.
She repeats it to herself over and over, but it's still not enough to convince herself. Her mind is in overdrive, hypervigilant and overcompensating. Her body follows, reacting to the slightest things, expecting an ambush from every which way. It's exhausting and embarrassing because she feels ridiculous. She knows that she's as safe as she can be where she is. Winter knows how to clean up after herself, knows that there's nothing left in where's she's been to lead back to where she is now. They can send as many bounty hunters and assassins as they want, but it's no use when they can't find her.
She's never going back.
But her subconscious refuses to listen. Her watchful state stretches into the next day. It stretches two days, three, five, a week. Work is littered with tiny mistakes because she's too preoccupied with determining potential threats. They mostly go unnoticed except for Winter, and when she does catch them, it only worsens her mood. Only any normal day she can do her job half-asleep, but she's suddenly clumsy and careless. Every little thing screams at her that she's going to get caught.
"This is a customer service announcement: the store will be closing in one hour Thank you."
If she believed in a higher power, Winter would be thanking it right now. Today is the day, finally. The anticipation has been building ever since the Autons started installing the relay on the roof last Friday, and it hasn't been helping her nerves none. But she can finally kiss this miserable excuse for a job goodbye.
She has to remind herself to take her time as she empties the changing room of clothes left behind and sorts them on her rack. The finish line is in sight, but she's not there yet. If she acts too soon, she could tip off the Autons. This is where the Doctor meets Rose, and she isn't sure the universe can handle them not meeting. It isn't a fixed point, but the consequences of them not traveling together would ripple through the Doctor's timeline affect everything she knows about him. Not to mention the affect it would have on his future companions is anyone's guess.
"This is a customer service announcement: the store will be closing in thirty minutes. Thank you."
Rose is looking up at the speakers, and if the look on her face is any indication, she's just as anxious as Winter is to get out of here. They haven't spoken much in the time Winter has been at Henrik's. In fact, she's surprised if the other girl even knows her name. They're most meaningful exchange might be that time Rose said she liked Winter's hair, and that conversation took all of one minute as they walked together to the door after work.
"This is a customer service announcement: the store will be closing in five minutes. Thank you."
Slinging her back over her shoulder, Winter makes for the door. "Hold up," a rough voice called out. Ross, the security guard, stretches out a hand to stop her. "Where d'you think you're going?"
"Home?"
He waves a plastic bag stuffed with bills in front of her face. "No, you're going to take this down to Wilson."
Winter makes a show of not knowing, biting her lip and furrowing her brow. "Who's Wilson?" Ross rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, but she cuts him off before he can speak, probably to berate her. "I'm new."
"Right," he all but growls under his breath. "You! Rose!"
The other girl hesitates inches away from the door. Winter doesn't need to see her face to know she's debating whether or not to pretend she hadn't heard and keep walking. In the end, she turns to face Ross, not bothering to smile. "Yes?"
"Take the new girl down to give the lottery money to Wilson.
They lock eyes over Ross's shoulder. Winter gives her best what can you do? look and Rose glances at the ceiling in exasperation before indicating for her to follow. "Ever been down to the basement," Rose asks as they enter the lift.
"You mean the place where every horror movie should be filmed? I think I saw Freddie Kruger down there when I was looking for extra hangers, right next to some monstrosity that looked like it was made from the fur of the big bad wolf."
The joke earns her a chuckle. Rose relaxes, earlier annoyance gone. As quick as her temper is to flare, it seems to wane just as easily. It's not an uncommon trait, and Winter absently wonders what it would take to earn a more permanent grudge.
The carriage alights with a ding and the doors sweep open to reveal the basement. Dim lighting and cement walls combine to give the space a tunnel effect. It's musky and damp down here, and everything echoes. Between the buzzing of the ancient lights and the drip of the coolant leaking from the AC system, it's not hard to feel like something is right behind you.
For the first time in a week, Winter's nerves start to calm. Ironically, it's the knowledge that there's an actual threat that eases her. Ifs and maybes have her imagination spirling, inventing enemies and danger. She always works better when she knows there's really something to expect.
"Wilson," Rose calls out, leading the way to the electrician's office. His door is heavy and made of dark wood, blending in with their surroundings. It's easy to miss if not for the sign. "Wilson, we've got the lottery money. Wilson? You there? Look, we can't hang about 'cause they're closing the shop. Wilson!"
"Maybe he's already left," Winter suggests. She knows for a fact that he has after receiving a frantic call about a breaking at his home twenty minutes ago. A kinder person would probably get him out with less undue anxiety, but the fact that he's gone is all that matters to Winter.
Something clatters from further down the corridor. Rose's head instant snaps to face that direction, voice half an octave higher as she calls out, "Hello? Hello Wilson, it's Rose. Hello? Wil-Wilson?"
Winter takes the lead, walking past the fire doors into a large storage room. Old shop dummies are there, dressed in clothes long out of style. They're very good at holding still, but Winter can still hear the high-pitched signal animating the Autons. Too high for any human to hear, it's been ringing in her ears all afternoon since it activated.
"I don't think he's here," she says. Rose is standing a little closer than usual, and she keeps looking around like she expects something to jump out at them any second. Well, Winter muses, she's not entirely wrong. She makes for the other door off to the side, making a show of checking the place out. As she walks, she keeps a silent count of the number of Autons they have to deal with. "We should just leave the money in his office and go."
The door behind them suddenly slides shut. The bang echoes, and Rose jumps at the sound before running to it, trying to no avail to get it to open. "Is that someone mucking about? Who is it?"
She meets Rose halfway into the room, standing in front of her as one of the Autons makes its move. It steps out of the alcove, advancing on them slowly. How slow they move is one of the things they have in their favor. Autons can't run, and they even wobble when they walk if they move too fast. Unfortunately, they're strong, don't feel pain, and are peskily adept at putting themselves back together when dismembered.
Rose chuckles nervously behind her. "You got us, very funny."
They back up as the Auton continues its advance. The others begin to move as well, and soon enough, they've got a mob on their hands. Winter's sword is tucked away in her back pocket, but she doesn't want to use it just yet. The Doctor should be here any minute.
"Right, I've got the joke! Who's idea was this? Was it Derek's? Derek, is this you?"
"I don't think it's a joke," Winter says in lieu of asking her not to panic. Best to just get it out.
Rose picks the perfect moment to trip over some boxes. She stumbles and hits the ground. In an uncanny burst of speed, the lead Auton rushes forth to take advantage of the misstep. Winter's hand wraps around the neck of a stand and she swings out. The blow knocks it back, but there are others to take its place. By the time Rose is back on her feet, one of them has grabbed Winter's makeshift weapon and wrenched it away.
They're out of space to back up. Backs against the wall, Winter thinks that if the Doctor wants to show up, he'd better do it now, or she is going to be the one blowing up the building.
A hand slips into hers, warm and rough with callouses. Part of her is still curious about how that works. Callouses are supposed to be built up over time, and when the Doctor regenerates, everything is supposed to be new. How can he have callouses then?
"Run."
It's a thought she shelves for later. The Doctor pulls her away from the wall. Rose's hand is in his other, and they're running back through the corridors to the lift. Clamoring echos behind them as the hoard of mannequins speed up and chase after them. The door closes on one of the Auton's arms, and the Doctor has to tear it from the socket so the doors can close properly.
"You pulled his arm off," Rose exclaims. The Doctor hands it to her with a grunt.
"They're plastic,"Winter points out. "If it makes you feel better, I don't think it hurts."
Rose pokes at it. When the arm remains still, she fixes her glare on the Doctor. "Very clever, nice trick! Who were they then, students? Is this a student thing or what?"
"Why would they be students," he asks.
She falters for a second, swaying between outrage and confusion. "I don't know…"
"Well, you said it! Why students?"
"'Cause… to get that many people dressed up and being silly… they gotta be students."
He grins as her reasoning. "That makes sense! Well done."
"They aren't students," Winter tells her.
Assuming she's talking to both of them, the Doctor confirms her statement with a "nope," that comes out much lighter than the situation calls for. Rose is staring at him like he's just spoken another language.
As the lift arrives on the ground floor, Winter stays back and let's Rose and the Doctor move on ahead. It's easy to slip out of sight behind the counter, and watch them half-bicker, half-banter. She can't tell if it's cute or nauseating, but it reminds her, somehow, of her sister. The Doctor gives no indication that he remembers rescuing anyone but Rose, and Rose's only sign that she thinks something is missing comes from how she keeps glancing back the way they came.
They part after introductions, and of course, the Doctor has to be dramatic about it. Winter waits until he closes the door on Rose the second time before getting back to her feet. Dusting off her jeans, she follows the Doctor from a reasonable distance as he takes the stairs up. They have to move fast, It won't take the Autons long to realize the lift is out of commission and start taking the long way.
It's cold up on the roof, and windy too. The ground is littered with cigarette butts and trash no one has bothered to clean up. There's less graffiti compared to other buildings in the area, and what's there isn't very artistic. In fact, it's mostly profanity. Down below, the TARDIS is tucked away in an alley across the street.
The relay, a cube with a flashing red light on top, is stashed at the base of one of the satellite dishes. The Doctor wastes no time climbing up on the edge to reach, sticking his bomb to the bottom. Activating it with the sonic, the device starts beeping as it counts down.
And then he just stands there, staring at it with a look in his eyes that says his mind is a million miles away.
The beeping speeds up. Winter curses under her breath and runs out of her hiding spot. Of all the times for him to get distracted, he has to pick the one with a countdown literally hanging over his head. She nabs his hand and pulls him down, yanking him out of his thoughts. The Doctor yelps and nearly falls on his face, but she's already pulling him up and away. "What the— Hey! Who are you? What are you doing up here?"
"Saving your life, apparently," she bites out bitterly. This wasn't part of the plan. What would he have done if she hadn't decided to show up for this, blown himself up?
"But— What?"
She keeps hold of his hand so he has no choice but to run with her unless he wants to be dragged. They nearly trip going down the stairs, and as they run out onto the ground floor, she sees the Autons on their way up. Luckily, the Doctor regains his senses and helps her with the fire door, sealing it behind them so their pursuers are locked in. They run out and manage to clear the street just in time before the building blows.
A wave of heat knocks them both to the ground. The Doctor nearly squashes her with his bigger build. Ash and debris rain down around them. The air is instantly thick with smoke, and grows heavier by the second. Finally, when the last of the rumbling is over, the Doctor flops off of her. They make quite a sight, lying side by side and both gasping for breath as destruction looms in the background.
When she looks over at him, the Doctor is eyeing her intently. A hint of a smile tugs the corners of his lips. "Who are you?"
"I'm the girl who just saved your life," Winter says.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Nope," she agrees, taking in the sight. It doesn't feel as satisfying as she thought it would, but it isn't a complete letdown.
"Why?"
She levees him a look. The Doctor's expression is altogether too serious. Whatever joy she manages to scrape from seeing her former place of employment burn to the ground is sucked right out of the moment from his puzzled face. "Because you're an idiot." Pushing herself up, she brushes off her jeans. It's no use; there's no way the ash and soot are ever coming out.
"Where are you going?"
She nods in the direction of the sirens, growing louder and more shrill as they near. "'Till next time, Doctor." Waving as she walks off, she feels his eyes on her back until she's out of sight and out of mind.
The first thing Winter does when she gets back to the apartment is make for the bathroom. It's practically a stranger who stares back at her through the mirror. Her hair is more black than white with soot, and there are matching dark streaks all over her face and arms like she smudged charcoal everywhere. Her shirt is ripped from when she hit the ground, and she's also bleeding from the fall. None of the scrapes are serious, but they sting under the showerhead as the water beats down on her.
It takes three rinses with shampoo to finally get all the black out and nearly half the bottle of conditioner for her hair to stop feeling course. As she washes her hair, Winter can't help but replay the night's events in her mind again. What was running through the Doctor's mind as he stood beneath the bomb, numb to the danger he was in? She knows this Doctor is in a bad place. Fresh from the Time War, he's not coping well and doesn't really start until he starts traveling with Rose. There's always this heaviness to his future selves, but she's never seen him quite like this before.
Pushing it out of her mind, she towels off and gets ready for bed. There's nothing to be done until tomorrow.
Winter is packed and ready to go. She has a job lined up for right after she leaves, a milk-run by every definition of the phrase, but also time-sensitive and high-paying. The paper trail of her sub-leasing the flat is all tidied up. It's doubtful that anyone will want to track her through it, but she hasn't made it this far without being careful. All that's left is to see this through, and she's free to go.
The streets are fuller than she likes as she walks down them. There are shoppers and couples and groups of friends out for a good time. She has the hood of her jacket up, but it's less because she's cold and more to blend in. Jackie doesn't notice her, but habits are hard to break. She digs out her phone as she walks out of the police station and Winter falls into step behind her. "I'm just going to do a bit of late night shopping," she tells Rose. "I'll see you later."
Winter follows her to the Queens Arcade, not liking the number of mannequins in the stores around them. Not many notice when they start to move. Those that do are more pleasantly shocked than fearful, assuming it's an attraction or gimmick. It isn't until glass starts breaking that the screams start too.
All around them, the Autons march out of their cages. Some just use their superior physical strength to bash and smash and swat, but most have their handguns out—literally. Four fingers of their hands, everything except the thumb, fold down like a hinge to reveal the muzzle of a low caliber blaster beneath. It isn't hard to keep track of Jackie, even through the chaos. Her shrill is particularly memorable, and it pierces through the other noises like a bullet.
It isn't hard to keep track of Jackie through the chaos. She has a particularly memorable shril that cuts through the other noises like a bullet. Winter sweeping out the legs from under an Auton with it's gun aimed at Jackie's head as she drops her bags and runs out, screaming all the while. She pulls off the arm, sure she looks ridiculous but not really caring.
There are too many Autons for her to take them all on, but she takes out as many as she's able to. Luckily, there's no shortage of ammo around. All she has to do is appropriate a new arm when the one she's using runs out of charge, and she's good to go until that one runs out too. Her sniping skills aren't as honed as, say, her swordsmanship, but she knows her way around a blaster, arm-shaped or not. The ever moving crowd makes things a bit difficult, but at least it's easy to discern between ordinary people and their era-appropriated garbed plastic counterparts.
By the time she makes it outside, Jackie is just ducking behind an overturned car near a wedding shop. The Autons, dressed as a bride, a groom, a flower girl, and a ring bearer, punch through the glass behind her. Before they can step out, Winter takes care of them with the handgun. The awful smell of melting plastic fills the air as she downs more and more, but it doesn't seem to make a dent in their numbers.
Identifying her as a threat, a group of Autons start to converge on Winter. Of course, it's at the exact same time her blaster picks to malfunction. Something internal jams, and the trigger refuses to pull back. She throws it aside and reaches back for her sword, but before she can unsheathe her weapon, one of them gets a lucky shot in. It mostly mises, she'd have a gaping hole where her left kidney is if it didn't, but it still burns like something fierce. Warm blood drips down, staining yet another pair of jeans. That's two the Doctor owes her for on this occasion alone. She keeps a running tally.
The Autons have her surrounded before she can react, arms out and blasters aimed right at her. She's just about to get creative when the mannequins around her start twitching. It looks like some strange, robotic, interpretive dance, and she nearly laughs if not for the way that just breathing sort of hurts right now. All at once, the twitching stops, and the Autons fall to the ground, lifeless once more.
Well, that's anticlimactic.
A phone rings behind her. "Rose," Jackie yells into the speaker. "Rose! Don't go out of the house, it's not safe!"
Winter huffs and slips into a nearby alley so she can teleport out unseen. Her wound isn't too bad—she can patch it up with the first aid kit in her new office before heading to Adipose 4. With one last glance to the London sky, Winter skips out.