Fic: Hiding in Plain Sight (2/5)
Title: Hiding in Plain Sight
Author: Gillian Taylor
Character/Pairing: Rose Tyler, Other Characters
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Doomsday
Beta: wendymr
Summary: There's no such thing as a quiet life when you're Defender of the Earth. But some things can still take your breath away
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
A/N: Thanks, as always, to the magnificent (and have I mentioned brilliant lately?) wendymr for BRing. This was written for the hearts_in_time "More than Friends" ficathon (thanks to measi for giving me an extension). Prompt will be shared at the end of this story to avoid spoilers. Merry Christmas, everyone!
Chapter 1: Fog
Chapter 2: Questions and No Answers
Fear has a sound. It's in the quickened breathing of your body as it readies you for fight or flight. It's in your racing heartbeat, echoing in your ears. But mostly it's in the sound of silence. When the ornithopter's wings stop beating and you're left with only the sounds your body is making.
Fear is replaced with terror as the ornithopter begins to plummet towards the ground, spinning out of control. She grips the armrests with her hands, her fingers turning white with the strain, as she braces herself for impact. Nothing can stop them now. Surely not.
Then something does.
The ground.
They left guards on duty. Of course they did. Wouldn't want anyone blundering in and mucking up a crime scene, would they? Or whatever this is. Alien scene? Whatever. Just makes this that much harder.
He's crouched just behind a few wooden boxes. They provide enough cover to avoid both the lights and the attention of the guards. Not that he's necessarily worried about these guards. It shouldn't be a problem to sneak past them.
He's about to leave the relative safety of his hiding spot behind the box when something explodes somewhere off to his right. The guards are already calling it in, unable to leave their posts. Unlike him. He can go. He can save lives. Indeed, that's his duty.
Abandoning his earlier goal of taking a look around the coastguard vessel, he moves away from the guards, keeping to the shadows, as he hurries towards the source of the explosion. It takes him five minutes to run the distance between the two points and he skids to a stop the instant he realises just what he's looking at.
There's something almost surreal about it. Part of the area's a park, complete with a playground and benches. The rest is a disaster scene.
These are the remains of an ornithopter. There are the wings. There the engines. And there is the fuselage. He picks his way through the burning debris, wincing as some of the embers land on his leather jacket. He's got to see if anyone's survived the crash.
He isn't surprised when he finds Rose Tyler slowly making her way out of the debris field, practically carrying Rickey's all but limp body.
"Are you hurt?" he asks. "I'm a police officer, I can help."
Rose looks startled - no, shocked - when she sees him. Is that recognition in her eyes? Impossible. And what's he doing thinking about that when he's got to get these two to safety?
She mouths a word in a rather exaggerated fashion. Probably a good thing, too. Been too long since he last had to read lips. "Doc-" something. "Doctor", that's it. She's asking for a doctor.
Of course she is. He's completely daft. She's injured and he's too busy wondering if she somehow recognises him. "Some blokes over at the docks have already called for an ambulance. Let's get you two out of this. Anyone left inside?"
There's a flash of despair in her eyes as she shakes her head. He's seen that look before. Death is never easy.
"I'm sorry." He moves to Rose's side to help her with Rickey. As they pick their way through the wreckage, he asks, "Can you tell me what happened?"
He catches movement in his peripheral vision and turns his head enough to notice that Rose's fingers are fluttering around her neck.
"You can't talk?"
She shakes her head.
Strange. He can't see any bruising or injuries around her neck. What could've caused her to lose her voice? "Rickey, isn't it? Rickey, can you hear me?"
"Yes," Rickey says, slurring that single word. He's probably been knocked in the head. Makes sense, really. Crash like that? It's amazing they aren't hurt words. One fatality - maybe two given the size of the ornithopter - is actually rather lucky.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"Who-?"
"DI John Smith, Gravesend police. Saw the crash, I did. Do you remember?"
"Fog- no. Sorry. Can't."
He frowns. Can't? Or is that won't? He's leaning towards the latter. Probably some sort of confidential what not. Bloody red tape, that. "Fine. Where're you hurt?" There. What's that? In his eyes? He leans down a bit and looks at the bloke's face. His eyes are white. Pure white. Like all the colour's been bleached out of them and then some. That's not right. That's not possible, more like it. What the hell could've caused that?
Some sort of degenerative disease? Not likely. Bloke was able to see earlier. He'd bet his life on it, given how he was wandering about down by that Coastguard vessel. So what could've caused blindness? Or, he adds to his mental tally, muteness?
Frowning, he glances upwards and is startled to find himself staring at a cloud barely a foot over his head. That's odd. That's really, really odd. He doesn't feel much of a breeze right now. And off to his left, just beyond the burning debris, is no cloud at all. Yeah, could be that this is another of those infamous London fogs rolling in, but he doubts it. He's seen fog before. This doesn't seem like fog. Doesn't seem much like a cloud either.
For a second, he's convinced that he feels something in his head. Something strange. And the next thing he knows, the cloud's moving away. Fast. With no wind to push it either.
"What the hell?" Aliens in the fog? That's just not right. None of this is right.
Neither of his companions bother to enlighten him. Not that he expected it. Rickey can't see and Rose can't talk. That really helps a lot.
He helps Rose and Rickey to one of the nearby benches, getting them to sit down while he tries to catalogue their injuries. Ambulance service'll be here shortly, judging by the sirens he's hearing in the distance. Doesn't look like much is wrong with these two beyond the obvious speech and vision impairments. Bumps and bruises, a few scrapes, but that's it.
Rose is watching him intently. Trying to figure out why a daft bloke like him's blundered into this mess, perhaps? It's actually rather unnerving. What's she looking at him like that for? Got something on his nose? He surreptitiously rubs the back of his hand against his nose and glances at it. Nope, nothing there.
"What?" he asks.
She shakes her head. But, before he can ask anything else, the ambulances arrive. He's caught up in the matters of explaining why he's here, what he knows, and having to call his Chief Inspector to explain just what he's doing getting involved in a Torchwood incident. By the time he's finished, Rose and Rickey have been taken to the hospital and he's left staring at the smouldering remains of an ornithopter.
He's done just about all he can do here. Sniffing slightly at the reek of burning fuel, he turns and leaves the circle of emergency vehicles behind. His sister's going to carry on by the time he gets home. But it can't be helped.
He's got a job to do. And now it's finished. Well, for now.
It was him. No. That's not possible. He said he's John Smith. Sure, the Doctor uses - used? No, uses - that alias every once in a while, but that's not proof. It could be a coincidence. Maybe there are no Time Lords in this universe. Maybe parallel worlds have human Doctors. Maybe this John's son will look like her last Doctor. Or maybe she's just dreaming.
That's got to be it. She was just in a crash. It's not like she can be expected to actually be processing things properly. She just imagined that nice John Smith looked like someone she trusted. Yeah. That's it.
That's a lie. She doesn't believe that one bit. It's too much of a coincidence.
The sharp prick of a needle pulls her out of her thoughts and she grimaces. "I'm fine," she says, trying and failing to convince the nurse that she can be freed from their not-so-tender mercies. Damn hospitals anyway. She doesn't have time for this.
"The doctor will be in shortly to look you over. If he's satisfied with your health, you'll be discharged," the nurse replies, efficiently drawing blood for some as yet unknown tests.
"I said I'm fine." Wait a minute. She just talked. "I just talked," she says wonderingly.
"Yes, you did," the nurse says, looking more like she wants to get her remanded to a psychiatrist. "Why? Was your throat damaged in the crash? Let me look."
"Oi! Enough. I'm fine," she says, sliding off the bed and edging away from the woman. "I'm discharging myself immediately."
"That's not allowed!" the nurse says, aghast.
"Call it against medical advice. Don't care. I'm leaving." She pushes past the woman and starts to head out of emergency.
"Rose! Rose, I can see!" Mickey's voice unexpectedly comes from off to the right.
She turns her head and sure enough Mickey's eyes are once again their normal warm brown colour. But how's this possible? Not like they drove off the fog or anything. It attacked them, after all. It tried to stop them.
So what could've caused this?
"The Doctor," she says, wonderingly. "Has to be."
"What?" Mickey asks as he joins her. "What about the doctor? Did they already discharge you, then?"
"No. Didn't you-? 'Course not. You were busy. Listen, Mick, remember the bloke who helped us out of the crash?"
He looks at her like she's lost her mind. "The Northern chap, right?"
"Please, Miss Tyler, Mr Smith, you need to return to your beds. The doctors haven't discharged you yet," a nurse says, interrupting their discussion.
She ignores the woman. "It was the Doctor. Like he was before, yeah? Before Christmas." She's not about to give this lot an excuse to lock her up. Then again, she can just pull the Torchwood card as needed and they won't bat an eyelid.
"Rose, that's not possible," Mickey replies. He does think she's mad. Gone off the deep end, that's her. Imagining the Doctor - and not even the last one - everywhere she turns.
"I think…what if it's like -" She stops, turns to face the insistent, hovering nurse and snaps, "We're discharging ourselves against medical advice, all right? You go and get me whatever I have to sign and we'll be on our way."
She then grabs Mickey's arm and drags him to a more secluded corner before she lets him go. It's not the best spot for this discussion, but she'd rather do it here than around other Torchwood agents. And especially not around her mum or Pete. "It's him, Mickey. I swear it is. He's going by John Smith. Probably why I never actually found him in the archives. He didn't recognise me, so maybe this is a parallel version of him. Makes sense, doesn't it? You know how much he's done, how many people he's saved. How else could this planet've lasted this long? It's got to be him."
"Rose, are you listening to yourself? It can't be him. You said it before. If there was another Time Lord about, don't you think our Doctor would've known? You told me he'd know in his head." Mickey grasps her shoulders and gives her a little shake. "Don't get your hopes up, okay? He's probably just some normal human who just so happens to remind you of the Doctor."
"Don't you think I know that?" she asks. "I know it's impossible. But I swear it's him." Though he does bring up a good point. It probably isn't him after all. She'd just been in a crash, after all. Mickey was hurt, their pilot killed; is it any wonder that she conjures up one of the faces she trusts the most in the world as their rescuer?
"Rose-" he starts and stops again, shaking his head. "Let's get back to Torchwood. And you can call your mum and let her know you're all right."
She gives him a look. She can easily read between the lines. If she doesn't call her mum, he will, and then she'll never heard the end of it. This is his way of distracting her. And, damnit all, it's working. Knowing Mum, she'll insist that she come over immediately so she can see her with her own eyes. Over the phone isn't enough with Mum, not that she can blame her.
Someone delicately clears their throat behind them. She turns to face the nurse. "You need to sign these to discharge yourselves." The woman holds out two pieces of paper and a pen.
She grabs the pen and signs vaguely in the area the nurse indicates. "There, I'm discharged. Let's go," she says and leads the way out of hospital.
What she doesn't tell Mickey is what she intends after they report back to Torchwood and get the latest on the fog. Then she's going to find this mysterious police officer John Smith.
Yes, she has her doubts that it's who she thinks it is, but miracles can happen, right? Maybe it is him. Well, this universe's version.
What then, though? What if it is him? What'll she do then?
That's the problem. She just doesn't know.
"Oi! Where the hell have you been?"
He sighs and closes the door to the flat with exaggerated care. Anything to avoid this. "Working," he replies.
"Working. And you didn't think you'd call to say sorry, I'm going to be late?"
"Donna-" he begins.
"Don't you Donna me," she retorts.
Why him, honestly? Why's he the lucky one with a sister like Donna? Well, half-sister. But same thing. "I work late every night."
"This is your day off! You went off for your walk. Back in an hour, you said. Try five." She's really working herself into a fine ire.
"Donna, honestly, I'm fine. This is me. Fine. You'd think you were the older sibling with the way you go on," he replies, brushing past her to go into the kitchen. The instant he touches her, something clatters to the floor.
Odd. He bends without thinking about it, picking up an old fob-watch. It's strangely warm, inviting even, but that doesn't make much sense. Shrugging to himself, he stands and puts the fob-watch back into Donna's hand. "You dropped this," he says.
"Th-thanks," she says, stuttering a little. Strangely, she actually looks a little scared.
Suddenly, the magnitude of what he just did occurs to him. He's got a dangerous job. Is it really any wonder that Donna's scared? He releases a heavy sigh. "Sorry."
She freezes, staring at him like he's grown a second head. Which is possible, just very, very unlikely. Especially since he's still very much himself. "Who are you and what did you do with John?"
"Ha. Ha. Very funny," he retorts. "You said somethin' about dinner?"
"Always thinking with your stomach," she replies, shaking her head as she leads him into the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, he's pushing the empty plate away from himself and feeling pleasantly full. He didn't realise just how hungry he was. "Thanks, Donna," he says.
"You're welcome. So what happened? And why do you smell like petrol?"
"There was an ornithopter crash," he replies, staring at his fingers. "I was the first on the scene."
"Oh, John." She reaches out and puts her hand over his own, her eyes brimming with sympathy. "Did anyone survive?"
"Yeah, two people. Rose Tyler and Rickey Smith."
Donna's hand wraps tightly around his. "You saw Rose Tyler?"
"Yup."
"So? Is she nice?"
"I s'pose."
"John!"
"Yes, all right? She's nice," he replies.
"I knew it! The tabloids are right." She looks like she's won the lottery. Like that's important. "So? What'd you think of her?" Donna looks at him intently.
He drops his eyes. She doesn't need to hear about his strange fascination with Rose. Listen to him. Thinking of her with her first name only. What happened to keeping his distance? "She's nice," he repeats.
"And-?"
"She's nice. Leave it, Donna."
Donna blows out a breath between her teeth. "Fine. I'm off to bed, then. Don't stay up too late, John."
That's a constant battle between them. He doesn't need much sleep, really. But she always insists. "I will." It's easier to give in than to object.
She leaves the kitchen and he can hear her puttering around as she gets ready for bed. He should probably follow her advice, but his mind's too busy replaying the events of the day. Weird fog, lost voices and sight, coastguard vessels where there shouldn't be any, and Rose Tyler.
It should probably bother him that he gives more weight to the thought of Rose Tyler than anything else.
It doesn't.
The sun's well on its way towards its zenith by the time she finds information about one John Smith. Sure, everything's in place. School records, training, his promotion to a DI, all of it is there. It's just too neat. Too perfect. And what's this with a sister, anyway? Could there actually be two Time Lords? Or, no, she's his companion. Has to be. And-
God, listen to her. Rationalising something that can't be rationalised. She doesn't know it's him, and she can't go on acting like it is. It's not fair to her. Nor to anyone else who has to deal with her.
Rose sighs and pushes John Smith's dossier to the far right corner of her desk. She should be thinking about that fog or cloud or whatever it is. Their sensors haven't been able to locate it again, but she's not convinced that it's gone. It might've been startled by something - or someone, a traitorous part of her mind suggests - and gone off to regroup or whatever a cloud might do.
She just wishes she knew why the fog attacked them. What it wanted. The ominous multi-tonal sound of its voice still has the power to send chills down her spine. What if-?
No. That's silly. Impossible, even. But isn't she the one who routinely defied the impossible during those years at his side? Well, she's exaggerating. A bit. Mostly it was him who dared to defy the impossible - except, of course, when it came to bringing her back from this universe. She just went along for the ride.
But maybe, just maybe, she's right. What if this is a creature that can't speak for itself? And maybe it can't see, either? And maybe, just maybe, it steals those abilities from others. This universe's version of the Absorbaloff, perhaps?
She shakes her head. She can speculate, but she just doesn't know. That's one of the most annoying things about this job. There are no absolutes. Nothing is definite. There're only questions.
Her eyes are drawn back to that deceptive-looking folder. John Smith, DI. She just can't seem to concentrate on what's the most important to this planet. She just keeps focusing on what's the most important to her.
There's the softest scuff of a shoe against the floor behind her. "Go an' talk to him," Mickey says, resting his hand on her shoulder. "You'll be useless to us until you do."
She leans into his touch and closes her eyes. "I know. I jus'…am I getting my hopes up?" She knows the answer to that.
"I don't want you to get hurt, Rose," Mickey says. "You have to be prepared to find out that he's not who you think he is. Can you live with that?"
Her lips quirk into a smile. "Gonna have to, aren't I?"
Mickey's hand tightens on her shoulder. "Rose-"
"I'm fine, Mick. Thanks. S'pose I'll go and have a chat with Mr Smith."
"If you need me…?" His voice trails off.
"I'll call you," she confirms.
Two hours later - after his shift's finished, according to Gravesend police - she's standing at John Smith's door.
Swallowing somewhat nervously, she raises her hand and knocks.
***
Chapter 3: Mr Smith
x-posted to: dark_aegis, time_and_chips & hearts_in_time
Author: Gillian Taylor
Character/Pairing: Rose Tyler, Other Characters
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Doomsday
Beta: wendymr
Summary: There's no such thing as a quiet life when you're Defender of the Earth. But some things can still take your breath away
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
A/N: Thanks, as always, to the magnificent (and have I mentioned brilliant lately?) wendymr for BRing. This was written for the hearts_in_time "More than Friends" ficathon (thanks to measi for giving me an extension). Prompt will be shared at the end of this story to avoid spoilers. Merry Christmas, everyone!
Chapter 1: Fog
Chapter 2: Questions and No Answers
Fear has a sound. It's in the quickened breathing of your body as it readies you for fight or flight. It's in your racing heartbeat, echoing in your ears. But mostly it's in the sound of silence. When the ornithopter's wings stop beating and you're left with only the sounds your body is making.
Fear is replaced with terror as the ornithopter begins to plummet towards the ground, spinning out of control. She grips the armrests with her hands, her fingers turning white with the strain, as she braces herself for impact. Nothing can stop them now. Surely not.
Then something does.
The ground.
They left guards on duty. Of course they did. Wouldn't want anyone blundering in and mucking up a crime scene, would they? Or whatever this is. Alien scene? Whatever. Just makes this that much harder.
He's crouched just behind a few wooden boxes. They provide enough cover to avoid both the lights and the attention of the guards. Not that he's necessarily worried about these guards. It shouldn't be a problem to sneak past them.
He's about to leave the relative safety of his hiding spot behind the box when something explodes somewhere off to his right. The guards are already calling it in, unable to leave their posts. Unlike him. He can go. He can save lives. Indeed, that's his duty.
Abandoning his earlier goal of taking a look around the coastguard vessel, he moves away from the guards, keeping to the shadows, as he hurries towards the source of the explosion. It takes him five minutes to run the distance between the two points and he skids to a stop the instant he realises just what he's looking at.
There's something almost surreal about it. Part of the area's a park, complete with a playground and benches. The rest is a disaster scene.
These are the remains of an ornithopter. There are the wings. There the engines. And there is the fuselage. He picks his way through the burning debris, wincing as some of the embers land on his leather jacket. He's got to see if anyone's survived the crash.
He isn't surprised when he finds Rose Tyler slowly making her way out of the debris field, practically carrying Rickey's all but limp body.
"Are you hurt?" he asks. "I'm a police officer, I can help."
Rose looks startled - no, shocked - when she sees him. Is that recognition in her eyes? Impossible. And what's he doing thinking about that when he's got to get these two to safety?
She mouths a word in a rather exaggerated fashion. Probably a good thing, too. Been too long since he last had to read lips. "Doc-" something. "Doctor", that's it. She's asking for a doctor.
Of course she is. He's completely daft. She's injured and he's too busy wondering if she somehow recognises him. "Some blokes over at the docks have already called for an ambulance. Let's get you two out of this. Anyone left inside?"
There's a flash of despair in her eyes as she shakes her head. He's seen that look before. Death is never easy.
"I'm sorry." He moves to Rose's side to help her with Rickey. As they pick their way through the wreckage, he asks, "Can you tell me what happened?"
He catches movement in his peripheral vision and turns his head enough to notice that Rose's fingers are fluttering around her neck.
"You can't talk?"
She shakes her head.
Strange. He can't see any bruising or injuries around her neck. What could've caused her to lose her voice? "Rickey, isn't it? Rickey, can you hear me?"
"Yes," Rickey says, slurring that single word. He's probably been knocked in the head. Makes sense, really. Crash like that? It's amazing they aren't hurt words. One fatality - maybe two given the size of the ornithopter - is actually rather lucky.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"Who-?"
"DI John Smith, Gravesend police. Saw the crash, I did. Do you remember?"
"Fog- no. Sorry. Can't."
He frowns. Can't? Or is that won't? He's leaning towards the latter. Probably some sort of confidential what not. Bloody red tape, that. "Fine. Where're you hurt?" There. What's that? In his eyes? He leans down a bit and looks at the bloke's face. His eyes are white. Pure white. Like all the colour's been bleached out of them and then some. That's not right. That's not possible, more like it. What the hell could've caused that?
Some sort of degenerative disease? Not likely. Bloke was able to see earlier. He'd bet his life on it, given how he was wandering about down by that Coastguard vessel. So what could've caused blindness? Or, he adds to his mental tally, muteness?
Frowning, he glances upwards and is startled to find himself staring at a cloud barely a foot over his head. That's odd. That's really, really odd. He doesn't feel much of a breeze right now. And off to his left, just beyond the burning debris, is no cloud at all. Yeah, could be that this is another of those infamous London fogs rolling in, but he doubts it. He's seen fog before. This doesn't seem like fog. Doesn't seem much like a cloud either.
For a second, he's convinced that he feels something in his head. Something strange. And the next thing he knows, the cloud's moving away. Fast. With no wind to push it either.
"What the hell?" Aliens in the fog? That's just not right. None of this is right.
Neither of his companions bother to enlighten him. Not that he expected it. Rickey can't see and Rose can't talk. That really helps a lot.
He helps Rose and Rickey to one of the nearby benches, getting them to sit down while he tries to catalogue their injuries. Ambulance service'll be here shortly, judging by the sirens he's hearing in the distance. Doesn't look like much is wrong with these two beyond the obvious speech and vision impairments. Bumps and bruises, a few scrapes, but that's it.
Rose is watching him intently. Trying to figure out why a daft bloke like him's blundered into this mess, perhaps? It's actually rather unnerving. What's she looking at him like that for? Got something on his nose? He surreptitiously rubs the back of his hand against his nose and glances at it. Nope, nothing there.
"What?" he asks.
She shakes her head. But, before he can ask anything else, the ambulances arrive. He's caught up in the matters of explaining why he's here, what he knows, and having to call his Chief Inspector to explain just what he's doing getting involved in a Torchwood incident. By the time he's finished, Rose and Rickey have been taken to the hospital and he's left staring at the smouldering remains of an ornithopter.
He's done just about all he can do here. Sniffing slightly at the reek of burning fuel, he turns and leaves the circle of emergency vehicles behind. His sister's going to carry on by the time he gets home. But it can't be helped.
He's got a job to do. And now it's finished. Well, for now.
It was him. No. That's not possible. He said he's John Smith. Sure, the Doctor uses - used? No, uses - that alias every once in a while, but that's not proof. It could be a coincidence. Maybe there are no Time Lords in this universe. Maybe parallel worlds have human Doctors. Maybe this John's son will look like her last Doctor. Or maybe she's just dreaming.
That's got to be it. She was just in a crash. It's not like she can be expected to actually be processing things properly. She just imagined that nice John Smith looked like someone she trusted. Yeah. That's it.
That's a lie. She doesn't believe that one bit. It's too much of a coincidence.
The sharp prick of a needle pulls her out of her thoughts and she grimaces. "I'm fine," she says, trying and failing to convince the nurse that she can be freed from their not-so-tender mercies. Damn hospitals anyway. She doesn't have time for this.
"The doctor will be in shortly to look you over. If he's satisfied with your health, you'll be discharged," the nurse replies, efficiently drawing blood for some as yet unknown tests.
"I said I'm fine." Wait a minute. She just talked. "I just talked," she says wonderingly.
"Yes, you did," the nurse says, looking more like she wants to get her remanded to a psychiatrist. "Why? Was your throat damaged in the crash? Let me look."
"Oi! Enough. I'm fine," she says, sliding off the bed and edging away from the woman. "I'm discharging myself immediately."
"That's not allowed!" the nurse says, aghast.
"Call it against medical advice. Don't care. I'm leaving." She pushes past the woman and starts to head out of emergency.
"Rose! Rose, I can see!" Mickey's voice unexpectedly comes from off to the right.
She turns her head and sure enough Mickey's eyes are once again their normal warm brown colour. But how's this possible? Not like they drove off the fog or anything. It attacked them, after all. It tried to stop them.
So what could've caused this?
"The Doctor," she says, wonderingly. "Has to be."
"What?" Mickey asks as he joins her. "What about the doctor? Did they already discharge you, then?"
"No. Didn't you-? 'Course not. You were busy. Listen, Mick, remember the bloke who helped us out of the crash?"
He looks at her like she's lost her mind. "The Northern chap, right?"
"Please, Miss Tyler, Mr Smith, you need to return to your beds. The doctors haven't discharged you yet," a nurse says, interrupting their discussion.
She ignores the woman. "It was the Doctor. Like he was before, yeah? Before Christmas." She's not about to give this lot an excuse to lock her up. Then again, she can just pull the Torchwood card as needed and they won't bat an eyelid.
"Rose, that's not possible," Mickey replies. He does think she's mad. Gone off the deep end, that's her. Imagining the Doctor - and not even the last one - everywhere she turns.
"I think…what if it's like -" She stops, turns to face the insistent, hovering nurse and snaps, "We're discharging ourselves against medical advice, all right? You go and get me whatever I have to sign and we'll be on our way."
She then grabs Mickey's arm and drags him to a more secluded corner before she lets him go. It's not the best spot for this discussion, but she'd rather do it here than around other Torchwood agents. And especially not around her mum or Pete. "It's him, Mickey. I swear it is. He's going by John Smith. Probably why I never actually found him in the archives. He didn't recognise me, so maybe this is a parallel version of him. Makes sense, doesn't it? You know how much he's done, how many people he's saved. How else could this planet've lasted this long? It's got to be him."
"Rose, are you listening to yourself? It can't be him. You said it before. If there was another Time Lord about, don't you think our Doctor would've known? You told me he'd know in his head." Mickey grasps her shoulders and gives her a little shake. "Don't get your hopes up, okay? He's probably just some normal human who just so happens to remind you of the Doctor."
"Don't you think I know that?" she asks. "I know it's impossible. But I swear it's him." Though he does bring up a good point. It probably isn't him after all. She'd just been in a crash, after all. Mickey was hurt, their pilot killed; is it any wonder that she conjures up one of the faces she trusts the most in the world as their rescuer?
"Rose-" he starts and stops again, shaking his head. "Let's get back to Torchwood. And you can call your mum and let her know you're all right."
She gives him a look. She can easily read between the lines. If she doesn't call her mum, he will, and then she'll never heard the end of it. This is his way of distracting her. And, damnit all, it's working. Knowing Mum, she'll insist that she come over immediately so she can see her with her own eyes. Over the phone isn't enough with Mum, not that she can blame her.
Someone delicately clears their throat behind them. She turns to face the nurse. "You need to sign these to discharge yourselves." The woman holds out two pieces of paper and a pen.
She grabs the pen and signs vaguely in the area the nurse indicates. "There, I'm discharged. Let's go," she says and leads the way out of hospital.
What she doesn't tell Mickey is what she intends after they report back to Torchwood and get the latest on the fog. Then she's going to find this mysterious police officer John Smith.
Yes, she has her doubts that it's who she thinks it is, but miracles can happen, right? Maybe it is him. Well, this universe's version.
What then, though? What if it is him? What'll she do then?
That's the problem. She just doesn't know.
"Oi! Where the hell have you been?"
He sighs and closes the door to the flat with exaggerated care. Anything to avoid this. "Working," he replies.
"Working. And you didn't think you'd call to say sorry, I'm going to be late?"
"Donna-" he begins.
"Don't you Donna me," she retorts.
Why him, honestly? Why's he the lucky one with a sister like Donna? Well, half-sister. But same thing. "I work late every night."
"This is your day off! You went off for your walk. Back in an hour, you said. Try five." She's really working herself into a fine ire.
"Donna, honestly, I'm fine. This is me. Fine. You'd think you were the older sibling with the way you go on," he replies, brushing past her to go into the kitchen. The instant he touches her, something clatters to the floor.
Odd. He bends without thinking about it, picking up an old fob-watch. It's strangely warm, inviting even, but that doesn't make much sense. Shrugging to himself, he stands and puts the fob-watch back into Donna's hand. "You dropped this," he says.
"Th-thanks," she says, stuttering a little. Strangely, she actually looks a little scared.
Suddenly, the magnitude of what he just did occurs to him. He's got a dangerous job. Is it really any wonder that Donna's scared? He releases a heavy sigh. "Sorry."
She freezes, staring at him like he's grown a second head. Which is possible, just very, very unlikely. Especially since he's still very much himself. "Who are you and what did you do with John?"
"Ha. Ha. Very funny," he retorts. "You said somethin' about dinner?"
"Always thinking with your stomach," she replies, shaking her head as she leads him into the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, he's pushing the empty plate away from himself and feeling pleasantly full. He didn't realise just how hungry he was. "Thanks, Donna," he says.
"You're welcome. So what happened? And why do you smell like petrol?"
"There was an ornithopter crash," he replies, staring at his fingers. "I was the first on the scene."
"Oh, John." She reaches out and puts her hand over his own, her eyes brimming with sympathy. "Did anyone survive?"
"Yeah, two people. Rose Tyler and Rickey Smith."
Donna's hand wraps tightly around his. "You saw Rose Tyler?"
"Yup."
"So? Is she nice?"
"I s'pose."
"John!"
"Yes, all right? She's nice," he replies.
"I knew it! The tabloids are right." She looks like she's won the lottery. Like that's important. "So? What'd you think of her?" Donna looks at him intently.
He drops his eyes. She doesn't need to hear about his strange fascination with Rose. Listen to him. Thinking of her with her first name only. What happened to keeping his distance? "She's nice," he repeats.
"And-?"
"She's nice. Leave it, Donna."
Donna blows out a breath between her teeth. "Fine. I'm off to bed, then. Don't stay up too late, John."
That's a constant battle between them. He doesn't need much sleep, really. But she always insists. "I will." It's easier to give in than to object.
She leaves the kitchen and he can hear her puttering around as she gets ready for bed. He should probably follow her advice, but his mind's too busy replaying the events of the day. Weird fog, lost voices and sight, coastguard vessels where there shouldn't be any, and Rose Tyler.
It should probably bother him that he gives more weight to the thought of Rose Tyler than anything else.
It doesn't.
The sun's well on its way towards its zenith by the time she finds information about one John Smith. Sure, everything's in place. School records, training, his promotion to a DI, all of it is there. It's just too neat. Too perfect. And what's this with a sister, anyway? Could there actually be two Time Lords? Or, no, she's his companion. Has to be. And-
God, listen to her. Rationalising something that can't be rationalised. She doesn't know it's him, and she can't go on acting like it is. It's not fair to her. Nor to anyone else who has to deal with her.
Rose sighs and pushes John Smith's dossier to the far right corner of her desk. She should be thinking about that fog or cloud or whatever it is. Their sensors haven't been able to locate it again, but she's not convinced that it's gone. It might've been startled by something - or someone, a traitorous part of her mind suggests - and gone off to regroup or whatever a cloud might do.
She just wishes she knew why the fog attacked them. What it wanted. The ominous multi-tonal sound of its voice still has the power to send chills down her spine. What if-?
No. That's silly. Impossible, even. But isn't she the one who routinely defied the impossible during those years at his side? Well, she's exaggerating. A bit. Mostly it was him who dared to defy the impossible - except, of course, when it came to bringing her back from this universe. She just went along for the ride.
But maybe, just maybe, she's right. What if this is a creature that can't speak for itself? And maybe it can't see, either? And maybe, just maybe, it steals those abilities from others. This universe's version of the Absorbaloff, perhaps?
She shakes her head. She can speculate, but she just doesn't know. That's one of the most annoying things about this job. There are no absolutes. Nothing is definite. There're only questions.
Her eyes are drawn back to that deceptive-looking folder. John Smith, DI. She just can't seem to concentrate on what's the most important to this planet. She just keeps focusing on what's the most important to her.
There's the softest scuff of a shoe against the floor behind her. "Go an' talk to him," Mickey says, resting his hand on her shoulder. "You'll be useless to us until you do."
She leans into his touch and closes her eyes. "I know. I jus'…am I getting my hopes up?" She knows the answer to that.
"I don't want you to get hurt, Rose," Mickey says. "You have to be prepared to find out that he's not who you think he is. Can you live with that?"
Her lips quirk into a smile. "Gonna have to, aren't I?"
Mickey's hand tightens on her shoulder. "Rose-"
"I'm fine, Mick. Thanks. S'pose I'll go and have a chat with Mr Smith."
"If you need me…?" His voice trails off.
"I'll call you," she confirms.
Two hours later - after his shift's finished, according to Gravesend police - she's standing at John Smith's door.
Swallowing somewhat nervously, she raises her hand and knocks.
***
Chapter 3: Mr Smith
x-posted to: dark_aegis, time_and_chips & hearts_in_time