The One True Free Life 9/26
Title: The One True Free Life (9/26)
Characters: Alt!Ten/Rose, and everyone else I can cram in to the Alt!Verse, plus several OCs
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Everything
Disclaimer: It would be a very different, and possibly quite upsetting, world if I owned these characters. For the sake of the world's children, I don't.
This chapter is as of yet unbeta'd, so read at your own risk.
Summary: When Rose and Alt!Ten return to Pete's World, after a much longer absence than planned, they find that things have begun to go a bit pear-shaped there. Can Our Heroes save the British Republic while at the same time working out their own Byzantinely complicated personal issues?
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26/ Epilogue | Whole story on Teaspoon
Pete passed a note under a jar of conserve as he and Rose made an attempt to choke down some lunch. Lucy had insisted that they'd be of no use to anyone if they were passing out from hunger, and Rose was again touched by how the staff had rallied around the family, even when Pete had insisted they could stay home for the day.
2330 Carriage House
Rose nodded and ripped the paper in to several smaller pieces, which she then shoved in to a pocket of her jeans. "How's mum?"
"Sleeping for now. I'm not sure what I'll tell her when she wakes up and finds we don't know any more than we did twelve hours ago." He put a piece of cheese on to a hunk of bread and shoved it in to his mouth, chewing listlessly. "Patience was never her strong suit."
Rose let the obvious invitation to compare herself to her mother in that department go. "No replies yet on your inquiries?"
"No, and no surprise there either," he said, but Rose noted a certain look about him as he spoke. One thing Pete Tyler had never been very good at was lying to his family.
"Mm," replied Rose around a grape. She couldn't say out loud what she wanted to, what she was thinking or planning or about to go and do, and she found finally that she just lacked the energy to make anything up. She jerked her thumb towards the staircase as she stood, and Pete nodded.
Walking down the hall to her room, she passed the Doctor's, and resisted the temptation to just go in there and wallow. All the things she could do in there, look at the impression of his head that was likely still in the pillow , smell the scent of him, and of their lovemaking, touch his clothing, affirm that he really had been here, none of these things would be productive. She skirted by the partially opened door almost hugging the wall on the far side, as if the gravity of what lay inside would pull her in of its own accord.
She ticked off the list of things she had learned the first three times she had lost the Doctor and found him again: stay focused, don't panic, believe in yourself, believe in him. Make the right choices that will lead you back together again. And right now that meant a visit to the bottom of her wardrobe and absolutely no tears.
Trying to be quiet about it, for the sake of the invisible listeners as well as the residents of the household, she removed from her wardrobe a black messenger bag and unpacked its contents on to her bed. Field first aid kit, lock-pick kit (though she was rubbish at that and almost no one had locks that used actual keys any more), abseiling rope and tackle, palm computer, and two small but powerful torches, which she turned on in order to check the batteries. To these items she added a couple of nutrition bars that she'd found on her dresser, a bag of general toiletries that she kept packed for spur-of-the-moment Torchwood missions, and the envelop containing her severance cash, repacking the lot neatly in to the messenger bag. She slid the bag under her bed and moved to her bedside table, where she opened the drawer, pulled out a small key strung on a simple metal chain, and put it around her neck and under her shirt.
The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent entertaining Tony, who had more or less recovered from the trauma of the previous night, though occasionally inquired about where the Doctor was, or demanded a magic trick, which made everyone wince and fall silent.
To Rose, every object in the house was now a potential enemy. Was it that flower pot that contained a mic? Could the transmitter be concealed behind that painting? She knew Pete couldn't risk the Doctor's safety by doing a sweep and alerting whomever had done this that the family was taking proactive steps to resist. So, she wandered around the house, from room to room, not touching anything, warily eyeing every object d'art and knick-knack.
And she lied to her mother. Maybe it was just for the sake of the bugs that she asked, for Jackie should have known the answer without having to utter a word.
"You're not going to go off all half-cocked and try to rescue him, are you?"
Yes. "No."
"Good, because we don't even know what's become of him yet. They could let him go. He could be on his way back right now. It could all just be one big mistake."
Rose looked unblinking back at her mother. "I know."
Jackie ploughed on. "Just let Pete make some calls, get some information, and we'll get this all sorted." She squeezed her daughter's hand, in a way that Rose was sure meant, "He is in danger. Go, save him again."
"I love you, mum." She said it as she'd said it so many times before, as if it would be the last.
"I love you too, sweetheart."
As the clocks in the house struck eleven, Rose slipped out a side door, the one that Lucy usually used to bring in groceries or take out the washing. The night was dark and cloudy and it smelled like it might rain soon. She hitched her bag up across her back and made sure to skirt around the area of the garden that was illuminated by motion-detector lights. They didn't know if anyone was watching in addition to listening, but she couldn't take any chances.
The door to the carriage house was unlocked, as it had been two nights previous. The ghosts of two old friends and new lovers materialized and dematerialized in her peripheral vision as she entered and ascended the narrow staircase. It all looked the same, all the furniture arranged as it was before, the shadows all in the same places, the bed just there, against the wall. The smell of the room caught in the back of her throat; oil from the floor of the garage below, the astringent tang of mould, the sweet smell of old wood that's been oiled and washed a hundred times, dust, and something that smelled like the lineament old Gordon swore by for his arthritis. She'd not had the time before to catalogue the odours that had swirled around them that night, but now it was as if each separate smell was one number in a combination, the tumblers all falling in to place one by one and opening something in her.
The space now exposed was empty and hollow. She even had to reach down and feel where her heart was, to make sure it was just an illusion, as ridiculous in hindsight as that was. Heaving her bag off of her back, she approached the bed like a lion tamer approaches the wild beast, hesitating, but drawn to the danger. Now is the time, Rose Tyler. What will you do?
She touched the quilt with one finger, pressed it there, making contact with the past and testing herself. What will you do?
There was the sound behind her of the door being opened and closed again quietly, and footsteps on the stairs. "Rose," whispered Pete's familiar voice.
She turned on her heel, eyes blazing, jaw set. "I'm here. I'm ready."
Pete entered, dressed all in black, as she was as well. Two properly trained covert operatives, though both had ridden a desk or a lab table for the majority of the past couple of years. "We haven't much time, which sounds like a line from a very bad film, but it's true."
Rose smiled. "I know."
"I received a message from a friend. I'm sorry but it's all I have to give you. The word Liberty, does it mean anything to you?"
Rose had to make a concious effort to slow her thoughts, to carefully pick through her memory banks rather than race around them aimlessly. "No. Should it?"
"It's all I have right now. And these things." He reached in to his back pocket and pulled out a metal case about the size of a deck of cards, a small book of sudoku puzzles, and an envelope, then handed the lot over to Rose. "Once you find him--"
There was the sound of a branch breaking outside, and a pair of foxes shrieked in alarm. Rose and Pete stood stock still and trained their eyes out the window, but the low dormers made seeing anything impossible, even if it wasn't the middle of the night.
"Shit," hissed Pete, and he reached in to a pocket one last time, pulling out a key chain. "There's no time. There's a motorbike, on the far side of the stile between here and the Andrews'. Go now."
Rose wheeled around and grabbed her bag, shoving the various items Pete had given to her into the front zip pocket. "Thank you," she whispered. "Tell mum I love her. And Tony."
Pete's eyes were very wide now as he strode over to the window and placed himself flat against the wall next to it, craning his neck to see out. "Go."
And she went.
~o0o~
When the Doctor woke, the pounding in his head was like nothing he'd ever experienced thus far in his human body. It was as if the wall he'd been periodically running in to over the past few days had in fact run over him, and was backing up and doing it again, for good measure. The light in the room was bright and he could barely stand to open his eyes at all for the pain it caused. The blood pounded in his ears relentlessly and it took a good bit of time for him to realize that there were others with him, people talking, and even some mechanical sounds fading in and out.
Between trembling lashes he could barely make out fuzzy shapes, wearing white and all seemingly busy with other tasks, bent over this or that, working and talking with one another. He tried to move, thinking perhaps they could help him, get him an aspirin and a damp flannel at the very least, but found he could not. It took even more time to work out that he wasn't just immobile from the pain but was in fact restrained at both wrists and ankles where he lay on a table that would have been none too comfortable at the best of times. He couldn't raise his head either, not even an inch, as he felt a band across his forehead compressing his brow like someone had placed an iron bar there. Struggling with the geometry, which should have been elementary even for a human child, he worked out that while he was laying on a table, it must be at an angle for him to be able to see the whole room rather than just the ceiling.
The pain was coming in waves, always a terrible throbbing ache, but at regular intervals excruciating stabbing pinpoints prickled over his head, reducing his powers of thought and speech to normal human levels. "Help," he groaned, and it came out sounding hoarse and dry, barely a word at all. Between the low rolling sounds that flooded his ears, he heard the talking in the room cease all at once.
"He's awake," said a woman's voice, closer to him than the voices had been before.
"Interesting," said a low male voice thoughtfully. "Better get Mr. Carney."
"Should we continue?" asked the woman again.
"Yes. Keep going," replied the man.
"No. Please." The words were ripped from the Doctor's chest without concious thought.
"Keep going," said the man, more emphatically.
"Right," chirped the woman.
Wrong, thought the Doctor. This is all wrong.
(To Chapter 10)
Characters: Alt!Ten/Rose, and everyone else I can cram in to the Alt!Verse, plus several OCs
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Everything
Disclaimer: It would be a very different, and possibly quite upsetting, world if I owned these characters. For the sake of the world's children, I don't.
This chapter is as of yet unbeta'd, so read at your own risk.
Summary: When Rose and Alt!Ten return to Pete's World, after a much longer absence than planned, they find that things have begun to go a bit pear-shaped there. Can Our Heroes save the British Republic while at the same time working out their own Byzantinely complicated personal issues?
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26/ Epilogue | Whole story on Teaspoon
Pete passed a note under a jar of conserve as he and Rose made an attempt to choke down some lunch. Lucy had insisted that they'd be of no use to anyone if they were passing out from hunger, and Rose was again touched by how the staff had rallied around the family, even when Pete had insisted they could stay home for the day.
2330 Carriage House
Rose nodded and ripped the paper in to several smaller pieces, which she then shoved in to a pocket of her jeans. "How's mum?"
"Sleeping for now. I'm not sure what I'll tell her when she wakes up and finds we don't know any more than we did twelve hours ago." He put a piece of cheese on to a hunk of bread and shoved it in to his mouth, chewing listlessly. "Patience was never her strong suit."
Rose let the obvious invitation to compare herself to her mother in that department go. "No replies yet on your inquiries?"
"No, and no surprise there either," he said, but Rose noted a certain look about him as he spoke. One thing Pete Tyler had never been very good at was lying to his family.
"Mm," replied Rose around a grape. She couldn't say out loud what she wanted to, what she was thinking or planning or about to go and do, and she found finally that she just lacked the energy to make anything up. She jerked her thumb towards the staircase as she stood, and Pete nodded.
Walking down the hall to her room, she passed the Doctor's, and resisted the temptation to just go in there and wallow. All the things she could do in there, look at the impression of his head that was likely still in the pillow , smell the scent of him, and of their lovemaking, touch his clothing, affirm that he really had been here, none of these things would be productive. She skirted by the partially opened door almost hugging the wall on the far side, as if the gravity of what lay inside would pull her in of its own accord.
She ticked off the list of things she had learned the first three times she had lost the Doctor and found him again: stay focused, don't panic, believe in yourself, believe in him. Make the right choices that will lead you back together again. And right now that meant a visit to the bottom of her wardrobe and absolutely no tears.
Trying to be quiet about it, for the sake of the invisible listeners as well as the residents of the household, she removed from her wardrobe a black messenger bag and unpacked its contents on to her bed. Field first aid kit, lock-pick kit (though she was rubbish at that and almost no one had locks that used actual keys any more), abseiling rope and tackle, palm computer, and two small but powerful torches, which she turned on in order to check the batteries. To these items she added a couple of nutrition bars that she'd found on her dresser, a bag of general toiletries that she kept packed for spur-of-the-moment Torchwood missions, and the envelop containing her severance cash, repacking the lot neatly in to the messenger bag. She slid the bag under her bed and moved to her bedside table, where she opened the drawer, pulled out a small key strung on a simple metal chain, and put it around her neck and under her shirt.
The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent entertaining Tony, who had more or less recovered from the trauma of the previous night, though occasionally inquired about where the Doctor was, or demanded a magic trick, which made everyone wince and fall silent.
To Rose, every object in the house was now a potential enemy. Was it that flower pot that contained a mic? Could the transmitter be concealed behind that painting? She knew Pete couldn't risk the Doctor's safety by doing a sweep and alerting whomever had done this that the family was taking proactive steps to resist. So, she wandered around the house, from room to room, not touching anything, warily eyeing every object d'art and knick-knack.
And she lied to her mother. Maybe it was just for the sake of the bugs that she asked, for Jackie should have known the answer without having to utter a word.
"You're not going to go off all half-cocked and try to rescue him, are you?"
Yes. "No."
"Good, because we don't even know what's become of him yet. They could let him go. He could be on his way back right now. It could all just be one big mistake."
Rose looked unblinking back at her mother. "I know."
Jackie ploughed on. "Just let Pete make some calls, get some information, and we'll get this all sorted." She squeezed her daughter's hand, in a way that Rose was sure meant, "He is in danger. Go, save him again."
"I love you, mum." She said it as she'd said it so many times before, as if it would be the last.
"I love you too, sweetheart."
As the clocks in the house struck eleven, Rose slipped out a side door, the one that Lucy usually used to bring in groceries or take out the washing. The night was dark and cloudy and it smelled like it might rain soon. She hitched her bag up across her back and made sure to skirt around the area of the garden that was illuminated by motion-detector lights. They didn't know if anyone was watching in addition to listening, but she couldn't take any chances.
The door to the carriage house was unlocked, as it had been two nights previous. The ghosts of two old friends and new lovers materialized and dematerialized in her peripheral vision as she entered and ascended the narrow staircase. It all looked the same, all the furniture arranged as it was before, the shadows all in the same places, the bed just there, against the wall. The smell of the room caught in the back of her throat; oil from the floor of the garage below, the astringent tang of mould, the sweet smell of old wood that's been oiled and washed a hundred times, dust, and something that smelled like the lineament old Gordon swore by for his arthritis. She'd not had the time before to catalogue the odours that had swirled around them that night, but now it was as if each separate smell was one number in a combination, the tumblers all falling in to place one by one and opening something in her.
The space now exposed was empty and hollow. She even had to reach down and feel where her heart was, to make sure it was just an illusion, as ridiculous in hindsight as that was. Heaving her bag off of her back, she approached the bed like a lion tamer approaches the wild beast, hesitating, but drawn to the danger. Now is the time, Rose Tyler. What will you do?
She touched the quilt with one finger, pressed it there, making contact with the past and testing herself. What will you do?
There was the sound behind her of the door being opened and closed again quietly, and footsteps on the stairs. "Rose," whispered Pete's familiar voice.
She turned on her heel, eyes blazing, jaw set. "I'm here. I'm ready."
Pete entered, dressed all in black, as she was as well. Two properly trained covert operatives, though both had ridden a desk or a lab table for the majority of the past couple of years. "We haven't much time, which sounds like a line from a very bad film, but it's true."
Rose smiled. "I know."
"I received a message from a friend. I'm sorry but it's all I have to give you. The word Liberty, does it mean anything to you?"
Rose had to make a concious effort to slow her thoughts, to carefully pick through her memory banks rather than race around them aimlessly. "No. Should it?"
"It's all I have right now. And these things." He reached in to his back pocket and pulled out a metal case about the size of a deck of cards, a small book of sudoku puzzles, and an envelope, then handed the lot over to Rose. "Once you find him--"
There was the sound of a branch breaking outside, and a pair of foxes shrieked in alarm. Rose and Pete stood stock still and trained their eyes out the window, but the low dormers made seeing anything impossible, even if it wasn't the middle of the night.
"Shit," hissed Pete, and he reached in to a pocket one last time, pulling out a key chain. "There's no time. There's a motorbike, on the far side of the stile between here and the Andrews'. Go now."
Rose wheeled around and grabbed her bag, shoving the various items Pete had given to her into the front zip pocket. "Thank you," she whispered. "Tell mum I love her. And Tony."
Pete's eyes were very wide now as he strode over to the window and placed himself flat against the wall next to it, craning his neck to see out. "Go."
And she went.
~o0o~
When the Doctor woke, the pounding in his head was like nothing he'd ever experienced thus far in his human body. It was as if the wall he'd been periodically running in to over the past few days had in fact run over him, and was backing up and doing it again, for good measure. The light in the room was bright and he could barely stand to open his eyes at all for the pain it caused. The blood pounded in his ears relentlessly and it took a good bit of time for him to realize that there were others with him, people talking, and even some mechanical sounds fading in and out.
Between trembling lashes he could barely make out fuzzy shapes, wearing white and all seemingly busy with other tasks, bent over this or that, working and talking with one another. He tried to move, thinking perhaps they could help him, get him an aspirin and a damp flannel at the very least, but found he could not. It took even more time to work out that he wasn't just immobile from the pain but was in fact restrained at both wrists and ankles where he lay on a table that would have been none too comfortable at the best of times. He couldn't raise his head either, not even an inch, as he felt a band across his forehead compressing his brow like someone had placed an iron bar there. Struggling with the geometry, which should have been elementary even for a human child, he worked out that while he was laying on a table, it must be at an angle for him to be able to see the whole room rather than just the ceiling.
The pain was coming in waves, always a terrible throbbing ache, but at regular intervals excruciating stabbing pinpoints prickled over his head, reducing his powers of thought and speech to normal human levels. "Help," he groaned, and it came out sounding hoarse and dry, barely a word at all. Between the low rolling sounds that flooded his ears, he heard the talking in the room cease all at once.
"He's awake," said a woman's voice, closer to him than the voices had been before.
"Interesting," said a low male voice thoughtfully. "Better get Mr. Carney."
"Should we continue?" asked the woman again.
"Yes. Keep going," replied the man.
"No. Please." The words were ripped from the Doctor's chest without concious thought.
"Keep going," said the man, more emphatically.
"Right," chirped the woman.
Wrong, thought the Doctor. This is all wrong.
(To Chapter 10)