Chapter Text
Chapter One
“Stranger Than You Dreamt It”
Yawning grumpily as she hoisted her disheveled self out of her super comfy couch, the groggy young woman fumbled for her shrilling phone. Wincing as the glare of the orange numbers on her microwave caught her bleary hazel eyes, she sniffed in disgust when she saw the time: 3:52 AM.
“Hello?” she breathed out in a tired sigh, her voice serious and monotone from her tired state.
“Mmhmm, hey Mickey, how are you?” she said in a slightly more enthusiastic tone, her tired eyes crinkling in a small smile. “Uh-huh, yeah…mmhmm.” Nodding as she slumped against the counter, vaguely listening to his soft timbre as he explained something excitedly. “Wait, wait, slow down. Which species did they claim to be? Sounds about right, yeah. Hold on.”
Jumping up with the cordless handset, she tiredly rattled off a few facts from what she could remember as well as several amendments to the Shadow Proclamation. Fumbling for the pad mounted on the wall by her phone, she scribbled down a few things as Mickey continued talking. After a little more conversation, she wished him goodnight, and after hanging up, the young field agent leaned over the phone, her medium length dishwater blonde hair falling out of her sloppy bun and into her eyes as she leaned her head against the cheerful yellow walls of her kitchen.
“Well, hell,” she said to no one, “Just what I need.”
Lifting her head up gently to bang it lightly against the wall, she shifted slowly to the couch again, flopping down carelessly as she haphazardly pulled the nice blanket over her vest and sweats. “Crap,” said the scratchy voice muffled by a fluffy red pillow.
Mumbling as she fell asleep, she bemoaned the seeming twist of fate.
“Bloody hell, Mickey Smith! Today was supposed to be the start of my vacation!”
~?~?~?~
No one should be up so abominably early, but, well, that’s life in Pete’s World for ya.
Confused? Let me clarify:
My name is Rose Tyler, and one day when I was 19 years old, I met a mad man with a blue box, a beautiful spaceship called the TARDIS, that could go anywhere through time and space. When I asked, he said he was called the Doctor. No other name, just, “The Doctor.”
We had an amazing time together! He was the first of my friends to believe that I could be more than what I was, that I was meant for better things than what I had accepted life had given me after being shot down multitudes of times. Life in a council estate isn’t the easiest, even if you’re trying hard to get out.
It seemed inevitable that after a while I would fall in love with him, but he never showed any signs that he was remotely interested—I had never hoped there might be something more until a fateful encounter with Glen Miller, gas-mask zombies, and one Captain Jack Harkness. Things didn’t exactly progress into the Disney version of romance, but…there was something…a spark, perhaps.
Nothing could come between us: not an entire fleet of Daleks, not Bad Wolf, not regeneration, not 18th century courtesans, and certainly not parallel universes.
Or so we thought…I had thought.
Two and a half years into our journey together, two old enemies of ours—Cybermen and Daleks—came through the Void between worlds. Long story short, I tried to stay behind for him, and wound up nearly getting sucked into Time Lord hell.
But at the very last second, an alternate version of my dad I had met on a parallel world came back and caught me, saving me, but leaving me separated from the one man and the life I had loved best.
He tried to reach me; what we got was a two-minute half-completed statement of what I would like to think was a declaration of romantic love.
That was eight years ago; now I’m a junior field agent at Torchwood London under my best mate Mickey Smith. He’s been here slightly longer than me, but I think if Pete has anything to say about it, I’ll get my own team soon.
I’ve nothing to complain about, truly; I have a better paying job, I live in a fantastic apartment, and I have friends in and out of Torchwood. My family is whole and growing; I’ve two siblings now, Tony and Iris, and I couldn’t be happier…
It’s not the life I wanted…life with the Doctor, that is.
But—to echo something he once asked of me—it’s going to be fantastic.
It has to be.
~?~?~?~
Sipping the hot coffee she’d picked up at the local Mermaids Coffee shop on her way to work, Junior Agent Rose Tyler smiled at the front receptionists as she placed her palm on the sign in pad and had her fingerprints analyzed.
“Morning, miss,” one of the younger girls chirruped as the celebrity daughter of Pete Tyler greeted her in kind.
“Mornin’ Maria! Have a great day!” Rose called back as she stepped into the elevator. “It’s a Floor 500 day, I can just tell,” she murmured into her cup, foot absently tapping in the silence of the elevator as it sped to the fifty-first floor.
Sighing, she greeted her coworkers as she exited and headed over to her team’s office down the hall, who had been affectionately christened “Team Spock” by Mickey, (ever the avid Star Trek fan, even if it didn’t exist in this universe. Instead, Star Wars, a major television franchise here and not a series of films, was the conquering sci fi mogul).
“Mornin’ everyone!” she smiled affectionately as she saw a few of her cohorts had already arrived and made themselves comfy.
“Morning Rosie,” Diana Goddard, the transfer from their American sister unit MIB smiled at her from over her laptop as she finished up a report. At the young age of twenty, she had been recruited right out of college after turning in the famous billionaire and alien hunter Van Statten. Rose and Mickey had laughed hysterically when they found out the Men In Black organization existed for real in this universe. Having remembered Diana from her old universe, Rose had smiled approvingly when she’d been transferred in, and the two had been fast friends for the past three years.
“S’ too early for a good morning,” Owen Harper grumbled from the plush couch as he flourished his newspaper to hide the circles under his eyes.
“Late night, Owen?” Rose smirked as she jokingly kicked his ankle and he scooted aside. Basking in the warmth of the sun granted by the eastward floor to ceiling windows the couch was up against, Rose bent over to read over his shoulder, much to Owen’s consternation. “Very late night, Tyler,” he smirked, nudging her back, “which you’d get to experience yourself if you ever bother to take me up on my offer.”
“Oh, but she wouldn’t,” Jake announced dramatically from the doorway, bounding in to sit on Rose’s lap. “She knows all your affection belongs to me darling, and she’d never be so heartless or cruel.”
“You’re not my type, Simmonds, and what would Ianto say?”
“That you’ve all got your minds in the gutter and Diana is far superior company,” the man in question mocked as he set down the cardboard coffee holder on her desk.
“A man after my own heart,” Diana laughed, kissing him affectionately on the cheek, “you lot could use him as a template for superior male behavior and grooming you know,” the petite blonde smirked with an eyebrow wiggle, “after all, and Rose will probably agree with me, men look best in uniform!” Smacking Ianto on the ass as she sang out the last part of her lecture, Diana raised her cup in salute to Rose’s own and both ladies smiled knowingly.
“Oy, enough with the office fraternization and theatrics,” Mickey, their team leader, mock scowled as he strode in purposefully. He’d changed a lot over the last nine years, Rose reflected affectionately as they smiled at each other in greeting.
After staying behind in the parallel universe now known to Rose and Mickey as “Pete’s World”, Mickey Smith had found a purpose. Much like Rose, he too had been taken with the misconception that growing up on a council estate with a deceased Mum and absentee Dad meant he had to fill a particular mold. Having his girl “stolen”, (a word he continues to use, much to Rose’s consternation), by an adventuring extraterrestrial whose temperament ran hot and cold between nonchalance and green-eyed jealousy had awakened the challenger in Mickey.
No longer did he cower in the shadows; no longer was he a tin dog. Instead, the rather muscular young man was one of the top field agents at Torchwood, and very popular with the ladies…or, rather, Diana in particular. Rose and Jake had done nothing short of throw a party when they’d found out the two of them had started dating. Owen had merely thanked God that the sexual tension had been removed for fear he’d spontaneously combust.
“Right,” Mickey stated, passing out a few folders to everyone but Diana in their team, “so, two things. Di?”
Diana smiled excitedly, moving over to Mickey’s side and pecking him on the cheek. “Mickey and I have some news…I’m being moved to desk duty and will be taking extended leave in a few months.”
“What? But you’re one of our best on scene forensics officers!” Owen protested, folding up his newspaper. “Best partner I’ve ever had since Tosh transferred to Cardiff.”
“I know,” Diana smiled regretfully, “but with my condition—”
“YOU DIDN’T!” Jake and Rose squealed, jumping up to offer both Mickey and Diana hugs, “how far along are you?” Rose demanded, making the pair smiled goofily.
“Two months, or so my doctor says,” Diana said, gently touching the almost unnoticeable baby bump under her business shirt.
“Go Mickey,” Jake spoke proudly, clapping his friend on the back even as a twinge of regret spiked through him. Even now, his deceased lover remained on his mind.
“Bloody hell,” Owen sighed, standing and congratulating the expecting parents. “So, if you’re out, Goddard, who the devil is takin’ your place?”
“That’s what the folders are for,” Mickey continued, “her name’s Gwen Cooper, and she’s tranferin’ from the Cardiff Branch. Some troubles with her ex-husband, or so Tosh told me when I ran a background check. He couldn’t take it when he learned she was working at Torchwood and he had to be retconned.”
Everyone in the room flinched; managing relationships while working for Torchwood were tricky. If a Torchwood employee was lucky like Donna McAvoy down in accounting, then “outsiders” like her husband Lee would fully accept their line of work. Other cases like Gwen Cooper's never faired so well, and tended to become more cynical after such encounters.
“Right, so no one mention that, got it,” Rose murmured as she returned to her seat and picked up her dossier on Gwen. Flipping through it, her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she glanced at her new teammate’s photograph. “No way…Gwen, you say? Is her full name Gwenyth, by any chance? From an old Cardiff family?”
“Spot on,” a gentle lilt spoke from the doorway, “but how did you guess? I know our agents tend to be gossips, but I’m not sure whether to feel flattered or worried.” All five heads turned to face the voice and smiled in greeting.
“Oh, a case of spatial genetic multiplicity, s’all. M’ Rose,” Rose added, stepping forward and shaking a laughing Gwen’s hand.
“Oh? Met my doppelgänger, did you? And what exactly was I up to?”
“She can tell you later, gorgeous,” Owen interjected smoothly, covering up for Rose. Having worked with her for nearly as long as Mickey, he knew she preferred to forget about a few of the more sordid details in her past. “Owen Harper, at your service,” the doctor smirked, kissing her hand, inwardly perking up at the appearance of such a lovely woman.
After greeting everyone on her new team, Gwen let out the nervous breath she’d been holding in since she’d been sent to join her team after a debrief from Pete Tyler, the Director of field agents at Torchwood. Although she’d heard them discussing her (and she’d have to remember to give Tosh a right dressing down later, passing along sordid tales about her and Rhys), she was heartened to see that it was only because they wanted to get to know her and make her comfortable.
“Right, so, that’s our—” Mickey began again, only for an alarm to go off in the main office.
“—cue,” he finished as he and the others ran to the armory installed on the far side of the office.
“Be safe,” Diana wished them as they sped out of the office, her own feet guiding her toward the comm center so she could play Control for their operation.
“What have we got?” Rose asked briskly as she and the others piled into an inconspicuous dark green SUV.
“This is the second thing Mickey and I wanted to talk to you about and why we called all of you in on your day off. Increased signs of rift activity are originating in eastern Ireland, County Galway. I’m sending the coordinates to your smart phones and a flight has been arranged for you from London to Manchester, where you’ll switch over and cross to Ireland,” Diana spoke authoritatively as she guided the team from headquarters.
“Got it,” Jake confirmed, quickly analyzing the mission dossier with Gwen, Rose, and Owen as Mickey drove them to the docks.
“Just a normal day at Torchwood, eh?” Rose joked with Gwen quietly. Trading tentative smiles, the two of them remained coiled, mentally steeling themselves for what was sure to be an interesting case.
Chapter Text
DISCLAIMER: PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE
~?~?~?~
Chapter Two
Echoes on the Wind
~?~?~?~
“Maledetta…maledetta…”
The smell of spring swept through the air: a warm, nippy fragrance perfumed with the scent of jasmine and heather. It was a picturesque night, like any other one could imagine about a fairy party: a large castle and a richly decorated ballroom, filled to the brim with expensive foods and décor, all to please its notorious guests, kings and queens of realms beyond human imaginings…pixies and trolls, aquatic races paddling in enchanted fountains throughout the hall, and ancient gods smiling benevolently as they interacted with each other. It was a happy, relaxed atmosphere that sang of joy, and romance filled the air.
But it was never meant to be.
Within seconds, the gay music that had once spread throughout the well lit ballroom had been cut short by the yells and gun shots of several townspeople, who had barged into the party of unsuspecting party goers, armed with torches, rifles, and the customary pitchforks, as well as several crosses, stakes, and axes.
“Protect the children! Close the gates!” A majestic man with sun-browned skin called above the din, his silver hand glinting in the flames that began to consume the heavy velvet draperies surrounding the large windows.
“Demons!” yelled the leader, a red faced man with an unforgiving stare of hatred and fear of the unknown. “Surrender now! We WILL defeat you, you murdering freaks!” he yelled as his compatriots mindlessly flew through the palace, destroying all they saw.
“Maeve! Maeve!” a man’s deep tenor bellowed over the fleeing guests. Pushing his way through the crowd, he fled down the hall to where he had last seen her.
“No, no!” he cried, collapsing to his knees, his bright green eyes filled with tears as his dark, work roughened hands cradled her head in his lap. Bleary hazel eyes gazed with love, fear, and sadness into his own.
“Finn, my love, forgive me…they had the spearhead…you must run, my love, and live to fight another day. Be happy, for my sake…”
“Maeve, no, don’t leave me, please,” he begged, only for his beloved to go slack in his arms. Howling, he curled around her prone form, tears seeping into her pitch-black hair.
“Maledetta! Maledetta! Male—”
Inhaling sharply, Gwen Cooper’s head jerked up as her body filled with adrenaline from the frightening dream. Gazing about herself disconcertingly, she took in the bumpy movements of the massive car that had been waiting for them at the Aetherport in Galway on the western coast of Ireland. Head nestled in the corner between the window and the leather seat, she blearily took in the rolling green landscapes and lakes they passed with each loping turn of the car’s wheels.
“Where are we?” she asked, her lilting Welsh accent made husky from her nap.
“About a half hour back to Galway,” Rose replied softly from her position next to her, her gaze not leaving the iPad in front of her as she scrolled through a database concerning Celtic myths.
“You’re still researching Castle Hackett?”
Rose laughed softly. “Tell me, Gwen Cooper; do you believe in false alarms?”
Gwen pondered the question for a few minutes.
After getting sent out to investigate the abnormal energy readings in Ireland, the ruins of Castle Hackett, to be precise, the team had reluctantly filed a report with HQ stating that nothing abnormal in the surrounding villages or cities had been found, nor could anything in the natural environment. They’d labeled the case “watch for further development” and left posthaste.
Deciding the question was too loaded, and Rose too unfamiliar, no matter how nice she seemed, Gwen deflected it adeptly. “The court of King Finvarra?” She murmured curiously instead, leaning over Rose’s shoulder to read.
“Yeah. When Jake told us the name of the location, I started to do a little research. You never know when a historical fact or a myth can come in handy,” Rose explained, smiling weakly, “had a friend once, a former partner, who used to know things like that off the top of his head. Right brilliant, he was.”
Gwen paused, staring into Rose’s eyes intently, and seeing the quiet grief there, forestalled asking whom this mysterious man was.
“Right, so, Finvarra. What did you find?”
“Well…”
~?~?~?~
“So, I said to Theresa, there couldn’t be any way her Duncan was with that tart last Wednesday because he was with—”
Hemming and hawing as her mother rambled on and on while she absently stirred the pot of instant soup on the stove, pausing to taste the store bought chicken and garlic before deeming it ready for consumption, (she really had to get a new microwave one of these days; using the last one to trap that pesky Chimera that had escaped from one of the extraterrestrials living upstairs had been hell since the damn thing had torn up her cushions before she trapped it inside).
“—and so, I said we’d be there and if you could babysit Tony and Iris this weekend—”
Rose winced at the wheedling tone her mother took. “Mum, mum! Oi, I’ll see if I can, okay? The readings in Galway were a no go, but we had a few spikes west of here in the Cotswolds. I thought Dad told you he wants Gwen an’ me to take a look ourselves after the last one was a waste.”
“Ooh, but maybe it’ll be safe for them to go with you if it’s just strange readings. S’not like it’s the same as when you were with—” Here Jackie faltered, and Rose’s eyes narrowed.
“Not like what, Mum? ‘Not the same as when I was with the Doctor?’ I thought we had this conversation already,” she asked seriously, lips pursed tightly and appetite forgotten.
Rose heard her mum sighed seriously over the line. “I know, sweetheart, but…it’s just, I can’t help but think, what with your Dad here and able to watch over you…s’like I can believe you’re safe, somehow, because, well, he’s your dad. With the Doctor…it was trustin’ a total stranger, Rose, and after Jimmy, well, I just wanted you safe, sweetheart. When you fall in love, you fall deeply, and I worry. I might have Tony and Iris to look after now, but you’ll always be my baby girl.”
Throat closed up a little Rose couldn’t help but smile. “I know, Mum; I love you, you know that…you know how much I…I…just,” Rose faltered.
In the eight years she’d been in Pete’s World, Rose had been to see two grief counselors, and of them both, Dr. Lethbridge-Stewart had been more understanding than most, probably due to her UNIT background. The only one who knew the complete story of “The Doctor and Rose, stuff of legends,” Doris had been a shoulder to cry on and someone to bounce thoughts and ideas off of until Rose could reconcile her grief over the Doctor.
However, it had also forced her into acknowledging several harsh truths, truths Doris had drudged up from past incidents with the Doctor, such as his apparent fits of jealousy and hypocrisy, such as the incidents in 18th Century France and Sarah Jane, such as Rose’s desire to cling to him after his “regeneration”, and how, if things had continued, it may have led to Rose developing destructive behavior, conditioning herself to depend on the Doctor instead of learning how to live her own life and let go, because it’s over, Rose, dear. You’ve been separated permanently and while you have every right to mourn, you must also move on, Rose. This is not healthy behavior.
“Anyway, the food’s ready and I’ll see you this weekend, ‘kay? And I’ll ask Dad about Tony and Iris.”
“All right, I’ll let it go…just take care and have a good night, sweetheart.”
“Love you, Mum.”
Sighing, Rose hung up her phone and took the pot off the stove, killing the power to the electric stove. As she ladled the soup into a bowl and headed for the couch, she hoped Pete wouldn’t allow Tony and Iris to go with her and Gwen, no matter how gorgeous the rural countryside was in summer. And how dare she say it wasn’t so dangerous—she’d been on plenty of dangerous missions over the years!
Why, she had stopped Sontarans from corrupting the atmosphere in Manchester, politely asked the Hervoken to cease terrorizing the locals around Macchu Picchu, threatened to blast the Yrse (cousins to the Sycorax) out of the sky when they refused to back off, and rehomed an entire nest of sentient vampire fish in Venice to an island off the coast of Spain run by three spinsters and their aging retired sea captain father, (who also housed mermaids from Triton Persei 8, Boobri birds left behind by Martians, and the infamous Kraken of Omnicron. It made for wild parties, or so Myrtle, the youngest, liked to tell her when they chatted every Tuesday).
She was Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth!
And she hoped she was making Him proud.
~?~?~?~
It is the inevitable scientific rule that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. With the power of lambda energy—dark matter to those human scientists who know—this is a universal constant and must be remembered under these peculiar circumstances, especially since it is so receptive to thought patterns and imagination, taking what it finds and giving in to creating what those thought patterns desire.
So it was on this very night when Miss Pettigrew left her dance studio in Oxford a little later than normal on this fine summer night, the moon just a waxing gibbous in the smog-covered night sky.
Usually Miss Pettigrew tried to avoid leaving the studio so late, but with the latest dance recitals coming up and with Miss Page, the studio owner, on sick leave for hip surgery, it left Miss Pettigrew in charge. Rubbing the back of her neck and rolling her shoulders in order to alleviate the tension, she double checked the locks on all side and back doors, the windows, and any other points of access before setting the alarm and locking up. A little more exuberant even at the late hour of five to midnight, Miss Alicia Pettigrew was looking forward to going home and relaxing for the day before dress rehearsal this upcoming Saturday.
As the brisk summer breeze swept through her light jacket and chilled her, Alicia barely noticed when a light flute sounded through the air, causing her to hum and tap her fingers against the strap of her bag as she walked down the quiet Oxford street. Behind her, several young women and young girls, some as young as thirteen, yet no older than twenty-six, started to follow her, leaving their doors wide open as Alicia absently walked past her building and into the crisp night.
Trembling from his position behind his front door, only one little boy took the time to notice the lilting sound of pipes on the wind.
And a few miles south of Oxford, a weary pair of women parked their car and entered a bed and breakfast, the stylized T on their license plate gleaming in the low lamplight.
~?~?~?~
Waving goodnight to Gwen as her brunette partner left for the communal bath and she turned down her twin bed, Rose sighed wearily, appreciating the reprieve from driving. Gwen had driven to their halfway checkpoint before they’d switched, and it had been a long drive from London. Stripping off her shirt and exchanging her jeans for soft cotton pajama bottoms, she removed her earrings and readjusted the simple ball chain necklace that many at Torchwood deceptively thought carried dog tags. Removing her hair clip and letting the waterfall of dishwater blonde hair pool to her lower back, she grimaced and mused that she’d need a cut soon. Fingering the necklace again, she pulled it from under her white vest and placed a delicate kiss to the ice-cold silver key, an ornate infinity symbol the only hint to its alien origins.
They’d gotten a call from Torchwood as she was driving that the energy levels had spiked around the hills at the center of the district, while phone calls from a frantic woman in Oxford had alerted them that something had happened, causing multiple young girls to disappear in the night. They were interviewing her tomorrow while Diana tracked the energy spikes from HQ.
Snuggling into her bed and flicking off the lamp on her bedside table, she let her head hit the pillow, forcing her mind not to dream of heartfelt reunions and kisses that never could be. The only witness to the tears she quietly shed in the night were a Gwen awakened by violent dreams and the figure on the roof across from her who flickered from existence just as the horizon turned purple with dawn.
Chapter Text
DISCLAIMER: PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE; LYRICS FROM MURRAY GOLD SEASON 2 SOUNDTRACK AND I’M MERELY BORROWING THEM.
~?~?~?~
Chapter Three
“Search for Spock”
~?~?~?~
Yawning into her teacup, Gwen Cooper smiled briefly as the familiar figure of Rose Tyler slid into a chair opposite her and ordered some fruit and toast, a fact that Gwen had noted in the last two weeks would have had team leader Mickey Smith down her throat for not eating properly.
“Morning Rose. Light breakfast again?” Gwen inquired mildly over the rim of her mug.
“Got to keep this old thing trim and fit, don’t I?” Rose replied lightly, taking a large chunk out of her slice of rye. “Despite what Mickey says, I can afford it and still maintain a keen mind on the job. Sharp as a tack, me.”
Smiling wryly, Gwen pushed the folder she’d been examining earlier across the table. “Did you read the specs yet?”
Rose shook her head. “Figured since we have about an hour to Oxford I’d look it over in the car. Now’s as good a time as any, though.”
Flicking through the meticulous file Jake and Diana had prepared for them before they’d left and the boys took an area up by the Lake District, Rose’s eyes scanned the information slowly, eyebrows rising every so often when she found something intriguing.
Her hands nearly trembled, causing her to drop her toast, when the eight year old visage of James Valentine, a young boy with blonde hair, appeared on the next page of witnesses, standing next to his twenty-year old mother, Nancy Valentine.
“Ah,” Gwen clucked sadly, “poor little boy to lose his Mum that way. He’s staying with one of the officers in his precinct, little dear.”
Nodding as her mind flew elsewhere, Rose kept the concern about the little boy and his mother resembling another mother and son she’d met long ago, in a London raid amidst gas-mask zombies and a man she’d just begun to see as more than a simple crush, more than a hero whom she admired.
Perhaps she would have just decided to let it lie, but later, as they pulled into the police precinct where the boy was being kept for safety in order to question him, Rose nearly bashed her head into a doorway when she glimpsed a passing police officer’s civilian jacket with the badge BAD WOLF CRICKET sewn into its upper arm.
~?~?~?~
Sitting down next to little Jamie on the couch in the coffee lounge, Rose set the crayons and coloring book she and Gwen had picked up as a gift on the cushion between them and watched him carefully. He was fidgeting something awful, she noted, a bit like Tony when he became nervous or frightened and tried to snuggle into bed with her when she’d still been living in the Tyler Mansion.
“Jamie,” she began softly, “did anyone tell you why my friend and I are here?”
He fidgeted a while longer before speaking timidly, “They said you wanted to speak with me about…about Mummy.”
“That’s right…because you saw what happened, didn’t you?”
His lower lip quivered, tears pooling in his eyes. “They don’t believe me,” his little voice cracked, his belief in adults diminished, Rose could tell.
“But I think I will,” Rose urged, reaching forward to awkwardly pat his hand and hold it for a bit. “Try me; I’ve seen things you could scarcely begin to imagine.”
“Like wot?”
“Oh…far off places…people of all sorts…storms that could carry you away if you didn’t concentrate…planets,” she added with a whisper, seeing his eyes go wide in slight disbelief and eagerness, “double sun rises and mermaids, giant heads in jars that could speak, and…cat nuns,” she ended conspiratorially, causing him to giggle a bit.
Handing him a tissue, she let him scoot closer to her and cuddle into her side, giving him a minute to think and compose himself.
“There was music,” he whispered, “it sounded like…like Miss Cassandra at school, our music teacher,” he added, seeing her confused look, “she likes to play the flute, Miss O’Brien does. An’ then Mummy got out of bed and I thought she’d left our cat out by accident, but she just went out, an’ when I looked out the front door, there was lots of ‘em…just walking, following the flute music.”
“Was there anything else? Someone else?” she asked gently.
His face scrunched up as he thought. “No, jus’…jus’ the music. It was pretty. Like a dance.”
“Can you…remember any of it?”
He paused for a moment, then hummed a few bars. Recognition lit up on Rose’s face. “You know…I think I sang that once. Wasn’t much older’n you, you know. Was a bit of all right at singin’.”
Getting out her Torchwood issue smartphone, she logged on to the Internet and looked up the sound track she thought his humming sounded like. Pressing play and turning up the volume, she asked if this was what it sounded like.
Meanwhile, Gwen was going through the other fifteen missing persons reports and was getting frustrated when no connections seemed to surface between the women save that they all had dark hair and eyes, and were all between a young age range.
“Did you find anything?” she asked when she saw Rose stride into the room, hazel eyes glowing.
“Only that the women seemed to be in a trance, and this was the song Tony identified,” she replied, playing the sound track again.
A niggling sensation of familiarity plagued Gwen as the seemingly modern tune blared forth from the tinny miniature speakers of Rose’s smartphone.
“Well, I've roamed about this Earth
With just a suitcase in my hand,
And I've met some bug-eyed Joe's,
I've met the blessed, I've met the damned.
But of all the strange, strange creatures
In the air, at sea, on land,
Oh, my girl, my girl, my precious girl,
I love you, you understand.
So, reel me in, my precious girl,
Come on, take me home.
'Cause my body's tired of travelling
And my heart don't wish to roam. No, no.
I have wandered, I have rambled
I have crossed this crowded sphere,
And I've seen a mass of problems
That I long to disappear.
Now, all I have's this anguished heart,
For you have vanished too.
Oh, my girl, my girl, my precious girl,
Just what is this man to do?
So, reel me in, my precious girl,
Come on, take me home.
'Cause my body's tired of travelling
And my heart don't wish to roam…”
“But wasn’t that written back in the 1950s by the song writing duo Barrowman and Gold?”
“The modern version was,” Rose corrected her excitedly, “but, look, I double checked with Trinit-I mean, Triad College, their Dublin branch. The song was actually taken from an old Irish ballad song about a King who lost his Queen; the original lyrics and tune are different, more similar in style to the sixteenth century ‘Greensleeves’.”
Gwen bit her lip and chewed on it thoughtfully as she contemplated Rose’s words. A beeping noise distracted them both as a text from Diana came in with a message about a new location. Suddenly, Gwen had a nagging thought. “Rose…those other locations Mickey, Jake, and Owen went to check out…what were their names?”
“Er…” Rose searched the desk and found the original specs file. “Well, we have Stratford-Upon-Avon next, and they have…Gloucester and Bath. Why?”
“Rose,” Gwen began hesitantly, “About twenty girls have gone missing here, and we just found out that another dozen disappeared around Stonehenge. Does this seem familiar to you?”
Rose thought for a moment then snapped her fingers, pointing at Gwen excitedly as comprehension washed through her; for a minute, Rose thought how it felt like she was working with the Doctor again. “Finvarra! A 6th Century Fair Folk King who lost his Queen…”
“And whose most noted trait was her dark hair, which all these girls have!” Gwen nearly squealed as she and Rose jumped up and down as they held hands, drawing awkward looks from the police force nearby.
With a cough, the two separated and began to organize a plan. “Right, so, ahem, does this mean we should avoid Stratford and head over to Stonehenge?” Gwen asked as they shuffled their papers together and headed to the copy room.
Rose shook her head no. “Not necessarily. Look, how much of my personnel file did Mickey and Pete give you access to?”
Gwen looked around furtively, before staring at Rose with sympathetic sorrow. “Enough to know that friend you mentioned a week ago is the same man who helped stop the Cyber invasion,” she admitted quietly. “After losing my own man,” she forced back the tense feeling in her throat, and gave the blonde a small smile, “I could tell you probably didn’t want me to bring it up.”
Rose smiled gratefully. “Not as bad as it was then, but…when I looked up Shakespeare early on here to see what was, you know, similar, I found he’d published a lot less here than he did in my universe, but, one of the plays he DID write here was A Midsummer Night’s Dream—it’s a wedding play that takes place in Athens—don’t worry, I’m getting to my point—but! The important thing is, it involves fairies. A fight between Titania, Queen of the Fairies, and Oberon, their King, is central to the main plot. And that makes Stratford-Upon-Avon a likely hot spot, if only due to the fact that he’d have to get his inspiration somewhere,” Rose finished with relish as they reached the copy room and began faxing the files over to Diana.
“That’s all well and good, Rose, but he was a writer, a brilliant one, and he could have merely based their characters off people he knew,” Gwen protested with a grimace. Rose’s idea was brilliant, but even then, it was only speculation and had more holes in it than Swiss cheese. “Although, I think you’re right; maybe if we go there and see if we can pick up the same readings we got around Oxford earlier?”
“All right,” Rose said with a grin, understanding Gwen’s reluctance to avoid a potential lead and her distaste at being anything but thorough on a case. Something in her gut anticipated success, though, and she could feel it in her bones that she was spot on with this. In fact, had she thought more about it, she could’ve likened it to the hunch she’d had over eight years ago with a little girl name Chloe and an Isolus.
From his position at the desk he’d commandeered using his psychic paper and a bit of hacking, Lieutenant Grey Harkness avidly kept his eyes on the pair of Torchwood employees, frowning a bit as he overheard their conversation from the micro microphone he’d planted under their desk earlier. Recalling the little tech piece into a special case mimicking a cell phone holder on his hip, he angled his head a bit to avoid any potential recognition as the women stormed out and headed for their vehicle.
This just took the cake, he thought grimly, something was officially wrong with the time stream here, Starfleet Command had been right.
Where the hell was James Noble?
Chapter Text
DISCLAIMER: PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE
~?~?~?~
Chapter Four
Spirited Away
~?~?~?~
Two days later and several side trips into new areas of interest as they headed north, Rose and Gwen were ushered into Stratford-Upon-Avon by furious rainfall, lightning forking across the sky and the following collapse of thunder echoing like a launched rocket. Cursing and struggling to haul their drenched luggage into the foyer of the Arden Hotel, Rose and Gwen checked in for the night before seeking out some dinner before turning in to bed.
Curled up beneath her comforter, Rose’s eyes absently took in the pouring rain and constant rumbles of thunder, her mind involuntarily straying toward another storm. As she re-listened to the latest version of the ballad they’d found, a 1950s version crooned by Frank Sinatra, Rose couldn’t help but think of how well it fit her relationship with the Doctor, albeit with several words switched out.
“My boy, my boy, my precious boy, I love you, you understand,” were the words she murmured only within the confines of her head; the last thing she needed was to wake the snoring Gwen in the twin bed across from her.
Shaking her head to thwart unwanted emotions, Rose killed her mp3 player and laid it on the night table next to her, exchanging it for the pair of retainers her dentist had given her to maintain her straightened teeth. Stretching out and settling one final time beneath the covers, she allowed herself to be swept into the land of sleep, her heart both hopeful and filled with dread for whomever she might, or might not, see within her dreamscape.
“…reel me in, me precious girl,
Come, come, take me home.
My body's tired of travelling
And me heart don' wish to roam...”
Frowning, Rose turned back to face her night table, exasperated that she’d left her music on, only to find it snoozing away happily without a care in the world. Unsettled, her instincts on red alert (and she wasn’t being camp, she was sure of it), Rose slid out her retainers and grabbed the firearm she’d stored under her pillow. “Gwen,” she hissed urgently, “Gwen, did you hear that?”
Gwen gave no answer, and it was with a frightened jolt that Rose realized her partner’s snores had been silent for a while. “Gwen?” she asked, fear tingeing her query.
Sitting up with a wolf-like snarl, Rose cursed and struggled into a pair of jeans and boots, making sure to grab her jacket and ID on the way out.
Because all that was left of Gwen Cooper, was a disheveled bed and a blood red rose on her pillow.
~?~?~?~
Rushing down the stairs two at a time, Rose leapt from the landing, startling the man behind the front desk, and momentarily flashed her badge at him, barking orders to call Torchwood immediately for back up as she exited the building. Gulping, her incredulous eyes took in the thirty plus women strolling down the street in varying states of dress as if it were an average summer day instead of raining cats, dogs, and the entire mammalian genus. All of them were drenched zombies, the thunder and lighting booming overhead to no adverse affect upon their sensibilities, none of them twitching in shock or fear at the storm that raged around them.
Pushing her way past a sixteen-year-old girl dressed in frog pajamas, plaits, and a green facemask, Rose frantically called out for her partner.
“Gwen? GWEN!” her hoarse voice called out, only to be swallowed by another boom overhead.
Sharp eyes found her quarry at the head of the queue. Stretching her hand forward in relief, she was unprepared for the body slam she received instead of clarity. A zombie brown gaze bore into her without recognition as Rose struggled beneath Gwen’s feet, but a well-aimed kick took the brunette’s feet out from under her. Scrambling on top of Gwen, Rose shook her shoulders frantically, hoping to shake her out of her trance.
Strong arms lifted her off her partner, dragging the struggling, wilting Rose away from her partner. Cursing when Gwen and the others disappeared in a flash of light, Rose pulled herself away from her savior and hinderer, irritation and sorrow coursing through her. Turning to him, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw.
“Jack?”
“No,” the young man said after a startled glance down at her petite figure, “But we’ll get to that later. Names Grey. Lieutenant Grey Harkness, ma’am, and I think we need to talk.”
Rose felt her left eye twitch, a habit she’d developed when dealing with people she normally regarded as daft or moronic. Mickey liked to say it was a direct copyright violation of their Mancunian Doctor, but in this situation, Rose was beginning to feel it was warranted. “Sorry, but we’ll have to postpone our coffee date,” she hissed, sarcasm dripping from every word, “if you haven’t just noticed, thirty girls or more have disappeared into thin air, my partner amongst them, and Torchwood is on their way!”
“I know, and I can help with that!” he replied impatiently, hands grasping both her arms as his green eyes peered into hers frantically, “but more importantly, I need to know, where the hell is your husband?”
~?~?~?~
Gwen felt as if she was walking in a dream. She had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep, intent on making headway in the home of the Bard early the next morning, when a lilting medieval tune, complete with lute and pipes, had settled gently on her ears, encouraging her to sing and dance to its alluring beat instead of curl up into the arms of sleep.
A sudden pressure had almost distorted the jubilant song, but she had brushed it aside, intent on following the musician wherever he led her. It was important that she do so; the King was searching, and her resemblance to the Queen was astonishing, more so than any other girl or woman whom he had seen thus far into the Midsummer Season—wait.
Frowning, Gwen concentrated, focusing her mind on her totem. During Torchwood operative training, all future members of the task force, office personnel, and other employees that made up the hive of Torchwood were required to undergo basic training in neural stimulus blocking and expansion. In other words, everyone was tested for ESP and taught how to block out anyone who attempted to access their minds without permission. Which was why Gwen thought about her totem, the one object or element that could help clear her mind and reassert her control.
Which was why, at this very moment the unknown musician was leading her to this “King” personage, (most likely that fairy one Rose had mentioned), Gwen was thinking of only one thing:
“I’ve got a looo-vely bunch of coconuts, deedley dee! There they are all standing in a row, bum, bum, bum…”
Going through three repeats of her favorite Monty Python theme and blinking slowly to bring herself back into awareness, her astonished gaze drank in the crystalline rainbow around her, a vast tunnel of beauty that reminded her of a story her Auntie had read her as a child, one of a rainbow bridge that led to the realms of brave gods and benevolent goddesses, amongst other beings.
It’s like Iris, or the Bifrost, she thought, keeping her eyes forward like the other girls but trying to snatch looks at them out the corner of her eye.
Ahead of her, the music began to wind down, its regular, intense tone softening as they reached a split in the road, a heavy oaken door carved to great detail, a hunt and a feast and quest, with nights and fair ladies and robust kings with jeweled crowns. Several figures such as Brigid, the Morrigan, Ogma, and Nuada she recognized, their appearances undisputed from the rubies and white gown of the triple goddess to the silver hand that glinted loftily on his right arm, where Nuada’s original right hand had been severed in battle.
As the music finally faded, eager looking servants approached all the women, still dazed from their journey. When they got closer, Gwen say that their basic shape was the only human trait about them. Male and female alike in form, their hair was made of shiny gold or white fish scales, weeping willow branches, twigs with new spring growth, or the feathers of sparrows and wrens. Skin colors ranged from the gnarled dark of English oak to the pale cream and silver of birch, their texture reflecting the trees they resembled and, she surmised, most probably their environment, if this fairytale world was to be believed. (Then again, with Torchwood, who knew?)
“Take each woman to a chamber and prepare them for the Wedding Feast,” the lead musician, the one who had sang the ballad, commanded, his youthful face lined and tired. Pointed fox ears upon his rust-brown hair twitched irritably, his busy tail a bottlebrush from behind him. Each servant gently led a girl or woman down several hallways up the stairs. It was as Gwen passed by the fox singer that her arm was grabbed, her clear brown gaze pinned by the glimmering black and gold of the fox’s narrowed gaze, which widened in excitement at something only Gwen could guess at.
“Except this one,” he breathed, “oh my…how you resemble her…Leechwood! Merryweather, summon the king! You heard me,” he demanded impatiently, seeing their reluctance. “Get him out of bed at once! I think we’ve found her! Oh, your majesty,” he gushed, clutching her closely in a bear hug. “How we’ve longed for this day!”
“What day?” Gwen’s voice was heard to echo throughout the hall sharply.
“Why, the day our Queen returned to us, of course,” a smooth baritone drawled huskily from the top of a grand staircase that suddenly built itself out of nearby thick branches and stone.
“Maeve, my love,” his tender voice caressed Gwen’s ears in a manner she was uncomfortable with, “Welcome home.”
~?~?~?~
“Husband?” Rose repeated, disbelief written on her face. “But I’m only 28, and if any man were to…” here her resolution faltered, a shadow falling across her face. “Look, Lieutenant Harkness, was it? You’ve got it all wrong, and I really don’t have time for this. I’ve only lost a partner once, and after him…I don’t plan on losing any more.”
“Please,” Grey begged, becoming desperate. Something about tonight had sat badly with him ever since he’d seen Rose and Gwen’s altercation in the street before the Welsh woman had been spirited away by those Pipers. And when he’d tried to return to his commanding officer’s ship in order to locate the differentiation variable in the time line, no one had responded, leaving a cold, hard feeling in his chest.
“Please, Ms. Tyler. If you haven’t guessed by my attire and introduction, I’m from the—”
“Future, yeah, I got that the moment you asked where my bloody husband was, thanks. Also, judging by that sonic blaster under your jacket, I’ve got to ask, how’s Villengard these days?”
“How did you—? Look, I’m from a Terran organization in the future whose mission is to specifically manage and insure the integrity of Earth’s timelines. A few months ago, this anomaly popped up and a HUGE chunk of history was rewritten, all centered around you and your family.”
For a minute, Rose considered he was having her on, maybe even working with the enemy; why else stall her rescue of Gwen? If it weren’t for the sonic blaster…Rose crossed her arms and leaned against the wall as Grey babbled on and on about the anomaly. Eyeing the poster behind her, she interrupted his nervous babbling.
“What happened, this anomaly? Are we talking erasure, time loop, delay of events, rewritten history, wot?” she asked heavily, her usually delayed south London accent coming on heavy and thick.
Grey looked at her with dawning hope. “So…you believe me?”
Rose looked at him dubiously, “What do you lot have on file about me anyway, if you’re askin’ me that?”
“Rose Marion Tyler-Noble, first appeared in the year 2006 and claimed to be the adult child of Jackie and Peter Tyler. Torchwood archives record the entirety of her life on a parallel world, A-level records, degrees in university, license to perform detective and forensics positions…and one marriage, annulled after five years, to one James Noble, code named “The Doctor.””
Rose remained silent for a bit, trying to absorb the information he had given her. “You know,” she said after a while, feeling a bit hysterical as she heard the Torchwood sirens in the distance, “if it weren’t for the fact that that dance recital poster said “Bad Wolf Ballet” behind you, I think I’d haul off and slap ya. Then put ya in cuffs. Naked. An’ dangle ya off the bridge we crossed into town.”
Silence prevailed for a few minutes, during which Grey pondered how wise it would be to simply knock her out and duck tape her to a chair until she listened to him.
“Anyway,” she continued, “so, what’s so bad about me being married to the Doctor?”
You’ve just given me hope he’ll return someday…and get divorced, or whatnot, but I’d still want to see him, she thought wistfully.
“It’s not your marriage that was the problem,” Grey began hesitantly, “it’s that you were married six years ago…and now, it’s like he never existed.”
Chapter 5
Notes:
BEFORE YOU ASK: After seeing “The Doctor’s Wife”—great episode, by the way!—I noticed that the TARDIS/IDRIS made the Doctor’s companions seem trivial; in a sense, yes their role is meant to ground him, the main character, but I honestly thought that her being the slightly omnipotent being featured in the show, let alone New Who, would’ve made her remember the Doctor’s companions more fondly. Thus, I have therefore strove to make it that in my story, and all others hereafter, that the TARDIS remembers select companions and their history based on her relationship with them. So Rose, as Bad Wolf, would be remembered, as would Donna/The Doctor Donna, Jack Harkness, etc.
Are we savvy?? Thoughts?? How do you picture the TARDIS?
Thank you for reading; I very much appreciate it (and, of course, reviews)!!
~QW
Chapter Text
~?~?~?~
Chapter Five
The Temporal-Spatial Ripple Effect of Caves
~?~?~?~
If anyone were to ask, Gwen Cooper did not squeak, especially like a mouse after a human foot had trod on its tail.
However, she had, in fact, done that very action when she’d been tossed (reverently guided) into a cramped, darkened tower room (it was actually quite cozy and spacious enough, not like one of those overdone rooms she’d seen on House Hunters International), and told she would remain there until the next day, when His Royal Creepiness (Gwen’s nickname, not the servant’s) would finally have time to “gaze upon the beauteous and splendiferous form of his beloved.”
Oh joy, she thought with dawning dread as she plopped onto the soft down feather mattress of a lavish four-poster designed like it had been pulled straight out of a medieval fairy tale. This probably had to do with THAT THING over the fireplace.
“THAT THING,” was, in actuality, a harmless painting that hung above the fireplace, one that featured a likeness of herself elegantly dressed and her (slightly more buxom) form enveloped lovingly in the arms of the man from before—no, male being, for he was certainly no human—her own eyes just as lovingly gazing up at him over what seemed to be a late-term pregnancy.
Pacing the room to calm her nerves, she attempted to assess her situation:
One, she thought with panic threatening to set in, I’ve just come out from an odd form of hypnosis, and been stolen, no, “escorted,” to an unknown location straight out of a folk tale, complete with a mythical king and several other young women.
She didn’t even want to consider the complications and awkwardness associated with number two; it wasn’t every woman who’d be thrilled to find out they resembled a handsome king’s deceased wife. The man had to be mad, to kidnap so many women! If anyone understood loss, it was she…after all, what she’d had with Rhys was no relationship to be scorned. Why, if that Weevil hadn’t crashed that fancy business affair where she’d been so sure he was going to propose…oh, it wasn’t worth thinking of, not any more.
At least Rose would look for her if she went missing; that girl was more persistent than a dog with a bone. No, a wolf with a bone, an inner voice in Gwen’s mind murmured. There’s something of the wolf about that girl…
Well, if Rose was anything like a canine, then here was to hoping she’d find her in time!
Eyeing the washbasin on the corner dresser, Gwen shook her head and discarded her jacket. Might as well sleep it off; maybe something would come to her in the night.
~?~?~?~
“It’s not your marriage that was the problem,” Grey began hesitantly, “it’s that you were married six years ago…and now, it’s like he never existed.”
How could he not exist if all this was still here?
While the panic of losing her partner to a mysterious force had been shoved to the back burner of her mind for a little bit, Rose Tyler instead decided to direct her attention to something she could do, something she could handle: the magnificent ship she was currently standing in.
If Rose had felt she was worthless, if she had felt that her existence helped no one and she was a parasite in this universe—
(Oh, how she had felt that way when she saw how rich and successful her parents had been without her there. How she had felt this way what felt like eons ago in a secondary school long gone from the other earth, and again much later on the tainted 18th Century France/51st century ship…)
—then this very moment would have been her validation that, in some way, some how, someone had needed her presence to form the organization responsible for the gorgeous Planetary Alliance class IV Wells exploration space vessel, ironically named Rose Bud.
Gleaming silver panels covered in computer screens that had graphs, words, and numbers streaming across them covered the walls to her left and right, while before her a half-circle console held keyboards arranged neatly with buttons and levers, presumably to fly the ship, as Grey had claimed before ducking below into another level, presumably to retrieve more tools to help them find Gwen.
“Tom Paris, eat your hearts out,” she murmured, letting her awe eclipse her worry for Gwen, an escape from the pain of losing yet another partner.
Doctor…how you’d love this…
“So, what do you think? Impressive, isn’t it?” Grey spoke from behind her, a holo disk in his hands.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Rose replied casually, eyes flitting eager to each shiny screen and trying to soak up foreign data. “Seeing as you seem to know so much about me, I think I ought to let you know I’ve seen better, and worse.”
Grey laughed, blue eyes twinkling as he smirked at her remark. “Well, I guess I can’t blame you for saying so; a TARDIS is hard to beat, after all.”
Her face fell in shock. “How did you know about—?”
“The same way I knew all those facts I spouted off about you on Earth. You’re quite the celebrity thirty centuries from now, and when your brother’s descendants sold your diaries to the Pan Galactic Museum of New Terra, they made millions.”
“Did they now; I’ll have to remember to burn them!” she glared angrily over such an invasion of privacy. “Those were meant for my therapy, nothing else!”
“I know,” Grey spoke soothingly, “and we’ll get to that in a minute. Right now, I need you to take a look at these temporal radii recordings. They’re off the charts in terms of the changes made to your time line field.”
Rose hesitated. While that sounded important…there was still Gwen. “Only if you tell me where Gwen is and how I can rescue her,” she stated firmly, hands across her chest and posture defiant.
“Deal,” Grey nodded, falling into one of the chairs before the main screen and loading his holo disk.
“Right, so these were recorded by my main ship, Valiant, a few weeks ago, radiating from three places: Lake Silencio, Utah; Stonehenge on the Salisbury Plains; Cardiff, Wales, and finally, a little beach in Norway, Darlig Ulv Stranden. Sound familiar?”
“Only two, Cardiff and the Bay. Both were places touched by cracks in time and space. Only Cardiff remains slightly active now. We never saw anything out of Stonehenge and the MIB has told us nothing about Utah.”
“Right. Well, those last two don’t have such high levels, but all four give off increasing amounts of Dark Matter, and those places, like where all those girls keep disappearing, suddenly begin radiating loads of the stuff. We think it has to do with this temporally dilated radius around here,” Grey instructed, his map of twenty-first century London zooming in on a large cottage just outside of London.
“The Cole family estate? But that’s been national property for years, since before Queen Victoria was overthrown.”
“Yeah, which is what makes this so confusing,” Grey murmured, running a hand through his thick dark brown hair. “The dilation here is like a wormhole effect, and time-wise, that place is linked with this.” A familiar date and location, the Norwegian base just off that damn bay, popped up on screen.
“That’s the date we first tested the Dimension Cannon, when the stars were going out,” Rose murmured. “We detected high traces of what we later called Anti-Matter energy; it destroyed anything it came into contact with. Hundreds of stars and systems lost, from what we could see. So Pete thought we should try seeing if we could reach someone who could even begin to grasp what was going on…it was the first time Torchwood considered ripping dimensions apart, especially after Canary Wharf.”
“Yeah,” Grey said, his green eyes sympathetic, “but what do you remember about the Dimension Canon?”
“Dimension Canon my ass,” Rose sneered, bad memories drug up from the first tests. “It failed. Utterly.”
Instead, the entire experience reminded her of a discussion session they’d had in a university literature class about Plato and Socrates’ Allegory of the Cave. It had involved people kept locked up, no touch and no exposure to others, who only knew what they could see in the shadows off a candle against a cave wall. And then there’s the philosopher, who’s roll is to “enlighten” those people, since they’ve broken free and can supposedly see what life is really like.
The Dimension Canon was like that: the key to her freedom as a “philosopher,” dangled in front of her face like the one route back home to someone she’d have given her forever to, no holds barred. Yet she couldn’t see the reality. That merely hopping across dimensions was impossible.
That, even if it had worked, that a bunch of measly humans could figure it out, what’s to say he did too, and just didn’t want her anymore? Because, after all: “humans decay, you wither, and then you die.”
“Look, we’re kind of running out of time, Harkness; give me the coordinates for Gwen’s location, and we can discuss this later, yeah? M’not feeling up to discussing this kind of thing at the mo’,” Rose said quietly, her stance awash in anxiety and frustration. This was too much to consider; the ideas and theories she was already formulating in her head were overwhelming, to say the least. She couldn’t deal with this right now.
“Right,” Gray said disappointedly, “Okay, we’ll discuss that later, then. As for your pal Gwen, well,” he shrugged, pulling up a live image of the Giant’s Causeway, activating the filters that detected different energies. “Voila; as you can see, heavy amounts of “Anti-Matter” energy, along with the standard Artron and Huon; Nasty, those two. Wish we were advanced enough to get rid of ‘em, cause without them, Time Travel would be so much easier,” he murmured absently, typing in several coordinates and trying to examine the causeway a little closer.
For the next half hour, Grey showed Rose how to read the spectrum of energies his ship was picking up, as well as how to navigate several of the controls.
“Wait, pan back that way, Rosie—”
Readjusting the camera’s trajectory to focus on the seabed between the two island countries, Rose and Grey watched in fascination as the refinement of the ship’s sensors revealed—“Seriously? A statue head of Richard Harris? Dumbledore’s head in the Irish Sea?”
“No, Luna Lovegood, not Dumbledore’s head—that’s the lost head of the Horned God—see the protrusions from his head? That’s where the antlers would’ve been. They built the statue for their Midsummer festival, and it sat opposite his goddess wife, Rhiannon, for over six hundred years. It was destroyed in an epic sea battle between the Britons and the Romans.”
That’s right, Rose remembered idly as Grey sent under water cameras to scan the head. The Romans didn’t come into Britain and the surrounding isles until what would’ve been the Dark Ages, leaving the native peoples to develop their own technology further, allowing them to foist off what remained of the Empire. Lord it’s difficult to keep these alternate time lines straight!
“But why that statue? And…what’s that in it’s mouth?”
No, she thought to herself, nothing was really that—“Annnd, just when you think life hates you, it gives you a window when the door closes,” she murmured, zooming in on what at first looked like ordinary water but gained a sheen and rippled like the reflection on a bubble when their probe shone a light through the Horned God’s mouth.
“You’re right,” Grey murmured, pressing a few keys as he kept his eyes on screen. “That’s a Danaari Gate—Tua de Danna to you lot—but the Danaari were some of the first races to settle here after their original planet was destroyed. Between them and us, our gene pool is a field day for the scientists back home. The things we discovered—”
“That’s nice,” Rose said with faked pleasantry, “but aren’t you forgetting something?”
Grey smiled sheepishly. “Ah. Yes. Well. Ready to go exploring?” With another tap on the screen, Gwen’s and several other human and nonhuman bio signatures came up in the computer’s scan.
~?~?~?~
She loved the new look. She was so SEXY!! Thrumming with renewed vigor, the TARDIS, now temporal, magnificent, and boasting a slightly more technologically savvy console room desktop than Her coral theme, checked all Her newly grown systems and purred in happiness. Life with this latest incarnation of Her Thief was really growing on Her. Her Wolf Cub would—
Ah. Therein lay the crux of Her happiness.
She had regenerated as much as Her Thief had, and although exploding and having to Reset the entire Universe was vastly unpleasant—as well as that recent mess with that horrid graveyard with her Sisters maligned corpses (oh! But at least she got to speak in humanoid terms with her Thief!)—there was much fun to be had!
But…Pretty and Red and her River-Child weren’t her Wolf Cub. As much as She recognized the transience of her Thief’s strays, the Cub had become Hers, and how She very dearly missed her.
The Wolf Cub had been her first attempt to pass along her DNA and revive the Time Lords. Even though they had enslaved her race and forced them to travel Time and Space for them, among other horrible things, a deep part of her longed to see her Sisters fly freely through the Vortex as she did with Her Thief. Having Her compassionate, loving Wolf Cub aboard traveling with Her Thief’s Ninth form had inspired her to try experimenting, thus leading to her and the Wolf Cub seeing into one another’s souls. But before any lasting changes could occur, Her stupid, brilliant Thief had kissed Her Wolf Cub and removed Her from Her Wolf Cub with that brief contact, rendering Her first try a spectacular failure.
Goodbye dreams of Time Tots who respected TARDISes and could cultivate more of Her kind; goodbye Time Lords and Ladies who worked symbiotically with their TARDISes instead of in a Master/Slave relationship.
It was becoming harder and harder, too, to attempt to pass on Her genetic code as well as Her Thief’s. Her River-Child was, insofar, a good attempt—how brave and intelligent she was, how Gallifreian! —But she wasn’t the BEST attempt; after all, she’d been stolen by that Eye Patch Lady, and her poor, poor River-child had almost been lost, like that horrid Destroyer who called himself the Master.
Back to the drawing board it would have to go. Perhaps attempt number three would be successful…
It was a pity she couldn’t even try again with her poor Wolf Cub, in a parallel world such as she was, cut off from Herself and Her Thief And the Other Thief, the Metacrisis Thief, would be of no use—
Halting that absentminded thought, the TARDIS rethought that last statement.
The Metacrisis WAS a viable option, possessing three quarters of Gallifreian DNA as he did…just enough to create more Time Lords. And he had a chunk of TARDIS coral as well, to cultivate and grow. So why, in the name of the Vortex, did she suddenly feel as if he was no longer a viable option for more Time Lord/TARDIS procreation, parallel universe or no?
Since she and the Wolf Cub had seen into one another’s souls, their very beings, She and the Wolf Cub had retained a connection. Seeing as now was as good a time as any (Her Thief and his strays were currently on Earth, and hmm, what WAS a Ganger anyway?), the TARDIS decided to check on her Wolf Cub’s Timeline. She could still do that much, anyway.
As focused as he was on his Ganger counterpart and Amy’s peculiar behavior, the Doctor still felt the conflicted emotions mentally projected by his TARDIS, those of Fire and Ice and Rage.
Had she still been human, she would’ve been mortified to note she almost resembled his Tenth self:
“What? What? WHAT?!?!?”
For all his curiosity, he couldn’t work an answer out of her later, and in the deluge of action and emotional distress followed by the kidnapping of baby Melody and meeting her at the beginning of their relationship in Hitler’s Germany, the TARDIS’ behavior completely slipped his mind.
hungrytiger on Chapter 5 Mon 31 Dec 2012 02:43PM UTC
Comment Actions
Asvire on Chapter 5 Fri 01 Mar 2013 11:51PM UTC
Comment Actions