Fic: Before I Met You (1/1)
Title: Before I Met You
Author: Gillian Taylor (dark_aegis)
Characters: Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness
Spoilers: Utopia(ish)
Rated: All Ages
Disclaimer: Not mine by any stretch of the imagination. I'm just having fun with them
Summary: One man out of time, one woman before hers.
Author's Notes: anepidemic requested "Rose, Jack (any era), glasses or umbrella or map." in my 'prompt me' meme. Thanks, as always, to the ever brilliant wendymr for her BRing assistance and for the title suggestion!
"Before I Met You"
by Gillian Taylor
Thunder rumbles overhead and she grumbles as the first few drops splatter against the pavement. It wasn’t supposed to rain today. The weathermen insisted it’d be a beautiful, sunny day. Ha! She should know better than to trust them. But her mum was insistent. She needed to go to the shops, since her mum had other things to do.
Rose isn’t wearing a proper jacket - just one of her favourite hoodies. She isn’t carrying an umbrella, because she trusted the news. The few raindrops turn into several that turn into a deluge. She runs - a difficult prospect given the poor visibility from the rain and the bags she was carrying from the supermarket - towards the nearest shelter.
There aren’t any convenient doorways here, or shops, where she can drip dry. The only source of shelter is a rather sorry-looking bus stop. She doesn’t much care at this point. She’ll wait as long as she has to for either a bus to come or the rain to stop, whichever happens first.
It’s when she reaches the shelter and ducks inside that she realises she isn’t alone. The man is huddled into a corner of the shelter, his tall frame curled into a much smaller one. She’s seen someone do that before - Shireen had curled into a tiny ball after that plonker of a boyfriend hit her.
Oh, god. This man’s hurt. Has to be. She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself now that she’s out of the rain. The temperature is starting to plummet. Knowing her luck, it’ll be below freezing before the rain’s over. She steals another glance at her companion. The man is wearing nice clothes. Far too nice for this neighbourhood. Maybe he was mugged? Happens around here, after all.
She shouldn’t get involved. She really shouldn’t. This bloke could be some sort of murderer or something. Luring in good Samaritans and then killing them. She shivers again and focuses on the bus route map, displayed prominently behind the man.
A red dot indicates her current position while helpful lines indicate the paths for the various bus routes that connect to and from this location. The one she needs should be here in twenty minutes. Twenty long minutes.
The man shudders on the bench and she can’t take it any more.
“Hi. Um. Do you need any help?” she asks. Stupid, Rose. Really stupid.
He unfolds himself from his position against the corner of the bus stop and she gasps when she sees the blood coating his shirt.
“Oh, god. Let me call an ambulance,” she says, dropping her bags and reaching into her purse to withdraw her mobile.
Somehow, the man moves, grasping her hand and stopping her before she can do more than lift the mobile free from the confines of her bag. She gasps, more from being startled than pain, and the man releases her, stepping away quickly.
“No ambulance,” he mutters, his accent indicating him as an American.
“But you’re hurt.”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine, really.” He returns to his previous position against the corner. She suspects that it’s only the walls of the bus shelter that are holding him upright.
“Liar. At least let me help you.” She can put a bandage of some sort on his wounds, right? Like on Casualty. Well, could do if she actually had some sort of bandage. Maybe she could cut up her shirt somehow? She’s got the hoodie, after all. And, while soaked through, at least it’d be something.
“No.”
She recoils slightly and curses the rain. If it weren’t for the rain, she wouldn’t be here, facing this man with the contents of her shopping on the ground, wanting to help but not sure if she can. She thinks she should be frightened of this man. He’s gorgeous, but his eyes are hard, almost uncaring though she thinks that to be a facade.
He’s an enigma, but she wants to know more. At least, she wants to soothe her own need to help somehow. “Please,” she says again, thinking frantically. She’s got some tissues in her pocket, and she’s wearing a scarf. It’s a little soaked - okay, a lot soaked - but it can be used as a bandage with the tissues as padding.
He sighs - a heavy sound - and she takes that as acceptance. She moves to his side, gently shifting bloody cloth to find the wound. No, not wound. Wounds. He’s been clawed.
“What did this?” she breathed in shock, even as she begins to unwind her scarf from around her neck. He’s lucky to be alive, he is. Gashes like that should’ve killed him.
“Nothing to concern yourself over,” he replies, hissing as she presses the first the tissues, then the wet wool against his body. “It’s gone.”
“Like hell it is,” she retorts, biting her lower lip as she tries to do her best by him. “I wish you’d let me call an ambulance.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he replies in a tight, pinched voice that tells her more of his pain than the loudest scream.
She sighs. “What’s your name?” she asks. “I’m Rose.”
He turns away. “No names,” he tells her. “Safer.”
Safer? Oh, god. What if he is in trouble with the law? What if he is some sort of murderer and it’s a dog protecting its owner clawed at him? “Is there anyone I can call for you at least? Friends? Family?”
“They know,” he replies, hissing as the fabric catches on his wounds.
She wants to ask where they are, why they’d leave him like this, but she holds her tongue.
“You should leave,” he says. “Not safe for you here.”
“You’re hurt,” she replies. Like she’d leave anyone like this. Even if he’s some sort of murderer. Yet her instincts tell her he would never hurt her.
His laugh has a bitter edge to it. “I’ll live. I’ll come and find you tomorrow. We can laugh about this over coffee.”
“You won’t know how to find me,” she retorts. If he’ll actually be alive by the end of the day.
“Course I will,” he replies. “But I won’t tell you how. Gotta keep some mystery.”
“I shouldn’t leave you,” she says again. “It’s raining.” Pouring more like. It doesn’t seem like it will ever end.
“Rose, please go. Take your shopping and go. You don’t want to be here when they come.” He curls around the blood-splattered remains of her scarf and offers her a smile that doesn’t have much feeling behind it. She focuses on the last two words. Who are ‘they’?
There’s a sound of squealing brakes and she lifts her head, spotting a dark Land Rover skidding to a stop just down the street.
The man’s seen them, too. “Rose, get out of here. Don’t argue. RUN.”
It’s the fear in his voice - fear for her - that does it. She grabs what’s left of her bags and runs out into the rain.
She turns the corner and lingers for a moment, peering through the rain towards the bus shelter. There are several people inside and she can only hope that the man is getting the help he needs. She shouldn’t stay for much longer. She doesn’t know what ‘they’ might do if they find her here.
So she moves on to the next bus stop, catches a ride home, and tries to dismiss him from her mind.
The following day, she sees him again outside the Powell Estate. He looks fine. Better than fine, actually, and he gives her a brilliant smile.
“How’d you find me?” she asks, startled.
“Thought I’d buy you a coffee,” he replies instead of answering, holding out a steaming cup.
She blinks at him. “You’re better?”
“All sorted,” he replies, still holding out the cup.
She knows she shouldn’t, but she accepts the cup, taking a sip of the comforting liquid. “Good,” she replies. “Still doesn’t answer how you found me.”
He grins, but there’s so much sadness behind it. “Magic.”
“Don’t believe you,” she replies, yawning suddenly. Strange, she felt awake earlier.
“You will,” he replies. “Have a good day, Rose Tyler.”
He’s gone before she has the chance to ask him how he knows her full name.
She doesn’t even remember the incident the following day.
END
Author: Gillian Taylor (dark_aegis)
Characters: Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness
Spoilers: Utopia(ish)
Rated: All Ages
Disclaimer: Not mine by any stretch of the imagination. I'm just having fun with them
Summary: One man out of time, one woman before hers.
Author's Notes: anepidemic requested "Rose, Jack (any era), glasses or umbrella or map." in my 'prompt me' meme. Thanks, as always, to the ever brilliant wendymr for her BRing assistance and for the title suggestion!
"Before I Met You"
by Gillian Taylor
Thunder rumbles overhead and she grumbles as the first few drops splatter against the pavement. It wasn’t supposed to rain today. The weathermen insisted it’d be a beautiful, sunny day. Ha! She should know better than to trust them. But her mum was insistent. She needed to go to the shops, since her mum had other things to do.
Rose isn’t wearing a proper jacket - just one of her favourite hoodies. She isn’t carrying an umbrella, because she trusted the news. The few raindrops turn into several that turn into a deluge. She runs - a difficult prospect given the poor visibility from the rain and the bags she was carrying from the supermarket - towards the nearest shelter.
There aren’t any convenient doorways here, or shops, where she can drip dry. The only source of shelter is a rather sorry-looking bus stop. She doesn’t much care at this point. She’ll wait as long as she has to for either a bus to come or the rain to stop, whichever happens first.
It’s when she reaches the shelter and ducks inside that she realises she isn’t alone. The man is huddled into a corner of the shelter, his tall frame curled into a much smaller one. She’s seen someone do that before - Shireen had curled into a tiny ball after that plonker of a boyfriend hit her.
Oh, god. This man’s hurt. Has to be. She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself now that she’s out of the rain. The temperature is starting to plummet. Knowing her luck, it’ll be below freezing before the rain’s over. She steals another glance at her companion. The man is wearing nice clothes. Far too nice for this neighbourhood. Maybe he was mugged? Happens around here, after all.
She shouldn’t get involved. She really shouldn’t. This bloke could be some sort of murderer or something. Luring in good Samaritans and then killing them. She shivers again and focuses on the bus route map, displayed prominently behind the man.
A red dot indicates her current position while helpful lines indicate the paths for the various bus routes that connect to and from this location. The one she needs should be here in twenty minutes. Twenty long minutes.
The man shudders on the bench and she can’t take it any more.
“Hi. Um. Do you need any help?” she asks. Stupid, Rose. Really stupid.
He unfolds himself from his position against the corner of the bus stop and she gasps when she sees the blood coating his shirt.
“Oh, god. Let me call an ambulance,” she says, dropping her bags and reaching into her purse to withdraw her mobile.
Somehow, the man moves, grasping her hand and stopping her before she can do more than lift the mobile free from the confines of her bag. She gasps, more from being startled than pain, and the man releases her, stepping away quickly.
“No ambulance,” he mutters, his accent indicating him as an American.
“But you’re hurt.”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine, really.” He returns to his previous position against the corner. She suspects that it’s only the walls of the bus shelter that are holding him upright.
“Liar. At least let me help you.” She can put a bandage of some sort on his wounds, right? Like on Casualty. Well, could do if she actually had some sort of bandage. Maybe she could cut up her shirt somehow? She’s got the hoodie, after all. And, while soaked through, at least it’d be something.
“No.”
She recoils slightly and curses the rain. If it weren’t for the rain, she wouldn’t be here, facing this man with the contents of her shopping on the ground, wanting to help but not sure if she can. She thinks she should be frightened of this man. He’s gorgeous, but his eyes are hard, almost uncaring though she thinks that to be a facade.
He’s an enigma, but she wants to know more. At least, she wants to soothe her own need to help somehow. “Please,” she says again, thinking frantically. She’s got some tissues in her pocket, and she’s wearing a scarf. It’s a little soaked - okay, a lot soaked - but it can be used as a bandage with the tissues as padding.
He sighs - a heavy sound - and she takes that as acceptance. She moves to his side, gently shifting bloody cloth to find the wound. No, not wound. Wounds. He’s been clawed.
“What did this?” she breathed in shock, even as she begins to unwind her scarf from around her neck. He’s lucky to be alive, he is. Gashes like that should’ve killed him.
“Nothing to concern yourself over,” he replies, hissing as she presses the first the tissues, then the wet wool against his body. “It’s gone.”
“Like hell it is,” she retorts, biting her lower lip as she tries to do her best by him. “I wish you’d let me call an ambulance.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he replies in a tight, pinched voice that tells her more of his pain than the loudest scream.
She sighs. “What’s your name?” she asks. “I’m Rose.”
He turns away. “No names,” he tells her. “Safer.”
Safer? Oh, god. What if he is in trouble with the law? What if he is some sort of murderer and it’s a dog protecting its owner clawed at him? “Is there anyone I can call for you at least? Friends? Family?”
“They know,” he replies, hissing as the fabric catches on his wounds.
She wants to ask where they are, why they’d leave him like this, but she holds her tongue.
“You should leave,” he says. “Not safe for you here.”
“You’re hurt,” she replies. Like she’d leave anyone like this. Even if he’s some sort of murderer. Yet her instincts tell her he would never hurt her.
His laugh has a bitter edge to it. “I’ll live. I’ll come and find you tomorrow. We can laugh about this over coffee.”
“You won’t know how to find me,” she retorts. If he’ll actually be alive by the end of the day.
“Course I will,” he replies. “But I won’t tell you how. Gotta keep some mystery.”
“I shouldn’t leave you,” she says again. “It’s raining.” Pouring more like. It doesn’t seem like it will ever end.
“Rose, please go. Take your shopping and go. You don’t want to be here when they come.” He curls around the blood-splattered remains of her scarf and offers her a smile that doesn’t have much feeling behind it. She focuses on the last two words. Who are ‘they’?
There’s a sound of squealing brakes and she lifts her head, spotting a dark Land Rover skidding to a stop just down the street.
The man’s seen them, too. “Rose, get out of here. Don’t argue. RUN.”
It’s the fear in his voice - fear for her - that does it. She grabs what’s left of her bags and runs out into the rain.
She turns the corner and lingers for a moment, peering through the rain towards the bus shelter. There are several people inside and she can only hope that the man is getting the help he needs. She shouldn’t stay for much longer. She doesn’t know what ‘they’ might do if they find her here.
So she moves on to the next bus stop, catches a ride home, and tries to dismiss him from her mind.
The following day, she sees him again outside the Powell Estate. He looks fine. Better than fine, actually, and he gives her a brilliant smile.
“How’d you find me?” she asks, startled.
“Thought I’d buy you a coffee,” he replies instead of answering, holding out a steaming cup.
She blinks at him. “You’re better?”
“All sorted,” he replies, still holding out the cup.
She knows she shouldn’t, but she accepts the cup, taking a sip of the comforting liquid. “Good,” she replies. “Still doesn’t answer how you found me.”
He grins, but there’s so much sadness behind it. “Magic.”
“Don’t believe you,” she replies, yawning suddenly. Strange, she felt awake earlier.
“You will,” he replies. “Have a good day, Rose Tyler.”
He’s gone before she has the chance to ask him how he knows her full name.
She doesn’t even remember the incident the following day.
END