Don't Cage the Wolf (1/?)
Beta: roxieflashPairing/Characters: Eleven/Rose, Amy, Rory, River
Chapter Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1,200
Summary: If you're smart, if you value your continued existence, if you have any plans about seeing tomorrow: Don't trap the Doctor, and don't cage the Wolf.
A/N: This... was not written on purpose. This is what happens when you're stuck in traffic with your beta reader and she starts asking "what if" questions. Finishing it is not too high on my priority list, but it will get done. Edit: Fine, fine, I take it back! This fic is now front burner by popular demand.
Big fancy dinners were hard to come by in fourth century Rome. Hard to come by, that is, unless you were rich. Or the centurion leader of the legion's first cohort. Or Cleopatra. Or the earth-bound avatar of the goddess Venus.
Fortunately for the peckish Doctor, his psychic paper managed to convince the local magistrate that his troupe encompassed all four of these particular traits. He could, of course, make a meal himself (he had managed gourmet training in French haute cuisine), but when one has an appetite for a Saturnalian feast, one goes to a proper Saturnalia celebration.
Amy and River wore togas and sandals, enjoying the freedom offered to women during this particular festival. Rory wore full centurion regalia, minus his gladius, which he'd left with a blacksmith to be repaired. The Doctor felt no self-consciousness strolling about 300 B.C. in his suit jacket and bowtie-he had finally managed to move his miniscule perception filters from his old trainers into the elbow pads of his coat to keep the locals from looking too closely.
Ten minutes after parking the TARDIS, they sat down to eat. (They skipped the opening ceremonies at the Forum. Ritualistic sacrifice, animal or otherwise, never had set well with the Doctor.) All was going quite well-though Amy complained about the hot wine-when a decidedly modern, electronic trill was heard.
"Sorry," River said to the rest as she dug her handheld communicator out of the pouch on her belt, "can't step out of the cell for two minutes or they start to miss me." She extricated the device and answered it, placing it up to her ear and earning several odd stares from the locals sharing their table. "No, really," she added in a whisper, "that's how long it takes the sensors to notice I'm gone." River finally spoke into the phone grill. "Yes, this is Dr. Song."
"You know, Amy," the Doctor addressed his red-haired friend, leaning across the table to speak in a conspiratorial whisper, "in the twenty-second century, they actually ban the use of mobile phones in fancy restaurants. Seem to think it's rude."
"Repeating what? Still?" River, still speaking to the caller, gave him an I-hate-you look.
"No you don't," the Doctor said aloud, setting down the chunk of bread he'd been eating on. "Where's Rory?"
"Over there," Amy motioned to her left, and the Doctor trailed his eyes in that direction until they landed on a group of armed guards. "Talkin' about swords and whatnot," she replied.
"'Bad Wolf'? What does that even mean?" River said into her phone.
"Said he'd be back in a mo', he knows this place apparently. D'you think he had a house here?" Amy continued pointlessly. "Doctor?"
His brain spun in perfect, dizzying clarity, and his hearts ignited with a cold fire. "River," the Doctor stated. She glanced in his direction and he was amazed that anyone could hear his voice over the thundering chaos in his mind. "Hand me your phone."
River held up a finger as though to say 'one moment'. "Has she said anything else since you've upped the dosage?"
"River." The chill in the Doctor's voice froze all activity at the table. All eyes, from River's to the Romans', turned to view this suddenly frightening man. "Hand me your phone. Now." He waited exactly four seconds for her to comply. When she didn't, he seized the device from across the table and addressed the caller in a calm, dangerous tone. "I want you to listen very carefully because your life and my sanity depend on it. You're going to tell me exactly where you are, right now, because you have something I want and I'm coming to take it from you. If you have any delusions of stopping me or harming her, I will ensure the destruction of your very existence. I'm the Doctor. I'm sure you know well enough what that means. Now-give me your coordinates."
The spoken numbers burned themselves into his memory like a hot brand, and he dropped the communicator, "Amy, stay with Rory!" the Doctor called over his shoulder before sprinting back towards the Trevi Fountain where the TARDIS was parked. River was right behind him, shouting for him to wait, that he needed more detail, and didn't he want to be apprised of the situation. He gave no indication that he cared he was being followed.
"Dr. Song! Dr. Song!" the still-active communicator buzzed from the table. Amy picked it up.
"Hello? Who is this?" she asked quietly, trying to avoid the stares of her fellow festivalgoers.
Amy heard a clink of metal and the electronic voice continued, "Where's Dr. Song?"
"She's-" Amy craned her neck over the heads of the milling crowd and caught a fleeting glimpse of two running figures on a far slope, "stepped out."
"When she gets back, tell her," the voice said. "She's saying something else. She says… she says the storm is coming."
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Rose was not cold, but she felt as though she should be. She'd been trapped... somewhere. Somewhere bright. Somewhere very bright for an impossibly long time. She lay still on her small cot and tried to work out where she'd been before and where she was now. Not enough information, she realized.
Motor functions appeared to be in order, she thought to herself as she flexed fingers and toes. Lungs were okay, though the stench of the prison didn’t exactly encourage deep breathing. Her voice felt hoarse from use, but she wasn’t aware of having spoken. It was the guards outside her cell that babbled endlessly. Hearing was fine, once she concentrated over the rush of her own blood. Whatever they'd given her-or weren't giving her-was starting a massive headache in her temples.
One of the guards right outside was now on a mobile, staring through the bars at Rose’s prone form in morbid curiosity. A shift in… something, Rose didn’t know what, caused her to look over at him, opening her eyes and rolling her neck until she faced the door. Whatever was being said to him caused his eyes to widen first in confusion, then in fear. Rose swore she could smell the guard’s terror as he rattled off a string of numbers. Numbers that resolved themselves in her mind’s eye as a distinct galactic coordinate. She knew where she was. Behind the guard’s babbling, a name rang out in his head-the reason he was now trembling and unlocking her cage. A name Rose clung to, and prepared herself to fight for.
"The Storm is coming," she said as her eyes began to glow.