Crossroads - Choices and Chances (8/11)
Title: Choices and Chances
Warnings: R. Oh, and it’s baby!fic.
Spoilers: For the sake of this story, S4 never happens.
Beta: runriggers
Part of the Crossroads series
A now AU and non-S4 compliant story. Ah well.
Part One: Reflections
Part Two: One Day
Part Three: Choices and Chances, Chapters One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven
Chapter Eight: Trusting Their Instincts..... In the aftermath of the explosion, Martha and the Doctor race to save Rose.
A/N: The Rosario was also an actual ship in the Spanish Armada, as was the Duke of Medina Sedonia in charge of the Spanish expedition, and what happens to both the Rosario and the San Salvador is documented fact. Julio’s still mine, though, although I’m willing to lend him out for parties.
Also, I'm going to try to make posts on a more regular schedule - starting next week, every Monday evening, maybe Mondays/Thursdays, I haven't decided which.
Chapter Eight: Trusting Their Instincts
The explosion of the Spanish galleon brought a gasp from the crowd watching from the shore. Martha’s eyes went wide - she’d never seen such a spectacular explosion that she could recall, not in her travels with the Doctor, not even in the movies at home. Until then, she’d been able to pretend the battle on the water was simply a play running before her eyes, but amidst the various bits of debris and flames which shot out from the ship, she’d also seen limp and bloody figures. After a moment, one of the sentries shouted out, “Spanish!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, and beside Martha, the queen gave a brief, grim smile. “Not by our cannon,” she said without emotion. “We are not so close to that particular ship. Sentry!”
“M’lady?”
“Pray tell which ship it was?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the sentry, and focused his sights on the burning ship in the distance.
“Was it their own cannon that caused the explosion, ma’am?” asked Martha. Elizabeth continued to scan the horizon.
“Perhaps.”
“The San Salvador!” called out the sentry, and though the crowd cheered mightily, Martha suddenly couldn’t hear them. Her eyes remained glued on the burning remains, and she strained to see if there was a figure in grey silk running around what remained of the once proud galleon.
“Good show,” said Elizabeth, and Martha felt sick. “The San Salvador burned, and the Rosario captured. It appears they are leaving the Salvador in droves - we can board later and learn something from their remains. Doctor Jones, perhaps you would enjoy joining that party?” Elizabeth turned to look at her, and frowned. “Are you unwell?”
“The heat, ma’am,” gasped Martha. “I - I suppose I’m a little faint.”
“That will not do,” said Elizabeth. “If you are faint, there are those who will say it can only be expected of a woman in your profession. Stand strong, Doctor Jones. Pray wipe the expression from your face - there is no pity for those who rally against England.”
“No, ma’am,” said Martha, and she bit her lip and pinched her leg, and continued to scan the sea. Rose was not dead - Rose could not be dead - the Doctor would not let Rose die. Martha watched, held her hand to her stomach, and waited.
*
The ship burned, black smoke twisting and curling into the air, hot as hellfire and thick as tar.
Half the ship was gone, leaving a jagged edge along the decks, and what remained was black with gunpowder and soot. The water below churned and boiled, as if it was on fire itself, and the froth that beat up against the remains of the ship were pink with blood. Everything that existed was either soaked with seawater or in flames.
Rose sputtered, trying to shove her damp hair from her eyes, struggling to move in her sodden skirts. The smoke was thick and difficult to breathe, and she coughed wildly as she scrambled through the now empty corridors, trying to determine which way led up to the deck. Everything was turned in circles, including her, and when she saw Julio walking towards her, calmly and serenely, she wondered if he was asleep or just a figment of her addled imagination.
“Captain!” she shouted at him, but he didn’t even blink, nearly walking right by her without so much as a nod, and she grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “Captain!”
“Ah, senorita,” said Julio absently. “I must go down with the ship!”
His face changed for a moment, his dull eyes suddenly flashing blue with life, and in that moment, he looked as frightened and horrified as Rose felt. Then his eyes turned dull and black again almost instantly, and Rose felt sick. “Time to join my brethren,” Julio continued. “My angels tell me I have served well and shall reap my reward.”
“No, you won’t,” said Rose, and the ship lurched, shoving them both against the wall. When Rose righted herself again, she found the captain had been knocked out cold. She dragged him in the direction from which he’d come, and in a short distance found a ladder leading up. Julio was too heavy to carry, so Rose left him at the base and quickly climbed it herself.
The deck was far from empty, but there were still few sailors about, frantically racing to either put out a last fire, or jump into the last lifeboat. “Oi!” Rose shouted. “Help! The captain, he needs help!”
None of them heard her, and when Rose tried to lift herself higher, the ship lurched again, giving a wretched groan, and she slid back down into the corridor, where Julio was beginning to groan as he woke.
“Captain,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Captain, we must get off this ship. You must help me get off this ship.”
It wasn’t Julio who spoke, but the Demuti. “He has served us well, and wishes to join his brethren.” Julio’s eyes were open, dark and dull, and Rose remembered the life of the blue eyes she’d seen so briefly, and realized that the black was only a mask.
Rose stared at the dark, dull eyes of the Demuti, so perfectly calm in her anger and certainty that it shocked even her. “I can’t get off this ship without him,” she said slowly, “and if I die with him, you’ll never have the TARDIS - never.”
There was a brief pause. Rose thought she could see her reflection in the dark eyes, and began to shrink back, but Julio reached out with a quick hand and took her by the wrist, holding it in a vise-like grip.
”Very well,” hissed the Demuti through his lips. “You make a valid point. But he will not thank you.”
There was another groan from the ship, a flash of light, and Rose fainted.
*
The Doctor wasn’t sure why he was on the dinghy, but Drake had been insistent, and the Rosario, with the TARDIS, was being towed back to port for repairs. Drake had every intention of using the galleon against the Spanish in a later battle, and the thought of using their own ship against them filled the pirate with such glee that the Doctor had debated telling him that it would only go down in another four months’ time, just to see the man deflate.
But he didn’t have the hearts for it. Let the man enjoy his bounty. The Doctor’s own hearts had stopped when the San Salvador exploded, and he wasn’t certain why he was on the dinghy headed toward the still faintly burning wreckage, a day after the battle, but nonetheless, there he was.
“Handy to have a doctor with us,” said a sailor, and Drake scoffed.
“We won’t find survivors. Nor gold, I imagine. Determine what can be kept for salvage and what can be sunk, and that’s all.” He glanced toward the horizon. “Row faster - I see the queen’s boat nigh, and I’ll wager her men will take it all for themselves if they land first.”
The Doctor was not rowing - he sat at the bow of the ship, his eyes keenly focused on the wreck of the San Salvador, on the remains of the stern where her name was painted in bright gold letters, just above the captain’s quarters. He wondered where Rose had been on the ship - surely, if they thought she were important, she would have been treated well? Perhaps she wasn’t in the brig below, which would have instantly flooded, perhaps there was a chance?
But there was nothing, not even a trace of nothing. Had Rose managed to leave the ship, the Doctor would have been able to sense her thoughts blinking into existence, a light bulb going on in a dark room. She had not done so; she had never left the ship again; she was gone. She had to be.
She had to be - and yet, the Doctor could not believe it. He supposed that was why he’d let Drake drag him along. If Rose had died, there would be trace of it on the ship. Her body, her clothes, her anything. He would know, no matter what the Beast had said to them so many years before. It was not this battle in which Rose would die, not today, not yesterday, not ever. The Doctor felt his hands clench on the rough wood of the dinghy, and ignored the splinters digging into his skin.
“Hell’s bells,” muttered Drake beside him as the other dinghy reached the wreckage. “Well, men, we’ve lost the spoils, but perhaps we’ll find ourselves some information. Keep rowing!”
It was another five minutes before the Doctor reached the ship and hauled himself onto the main deck. The scene was mildly horrific, but he’d seen worse than this. Sailors were throwing charred bodies into the sea below, one by one. Others had managed to find spare maps and charts from below, and were carefully rolling them for transport. Still others were organizing the various weaponry that had been left behind in haste. The Doctor stood apart, watching all of this, trying to gauge where on the ship Rose had been, if she had left anything of herself behind, when he heard a familiar voice say his name.
“Doctor!”
He turned, and was nearly knocked over by Martha, who had thrown herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. “I thought - you might have been-"
“I was on the Rosario,” he explained, his voice dull, and he realized it was the first thing he’d said since seeing the San Salvador explode the previous day. “The TARDIS - we couldn’t land here. Something kept pushing her back. Pushed her into the Vortex, actually. We landed there yesterday, in the thick of the battle, right before-" His voice choked.
Martha looked up at him. “There were fifty bodies, all charred, but none of them women. All men. I wasn’t sure if-"
“She didn’t die aboard the ship,” said the Doctor, looking around. “I - I’d feel it. I’d know. She’d have left - a sort of signature behind her. It’s not there. But I can’t tell how she left. I don’t know where she’s gone. I - I can’t find her.”
Martha backed away from him suddenly, and dug into her pocket. “Doctor,” she said, and pulled out her mobile, showing it to him. “Use this. It worked before the explosion. Maybe it still does.”
The Doctor stared at the mobile for half a second before ripping it out of Martha’s hands and walking a short distance away, pressing the numbers with trembling fingers. When he heard the line begin to ring, he closed his eyes in relief, and when Rose actually answered the phone, sounding groggy and disoriented, he almost couldn’t speak.
“Rose,” he finally managed, and on the other end, he heard Rose’s voice catch.
“I’m sorry,” she choked, and he could hear the sob in her voice. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Rose,” said the Doctor, dampening down his own relief and joy as soon as he heard the fear in her voice. If he was calm, she would remain calm - and more than anything, he needed her to remain calm. “It’s all right. Tell me - where are you?”
Rose sniffed, and the mobile let out a feeble beep. “I - I don’t know. We were on the San Salvador, and it was burning all around. And I said - I said they had to save us. They want the TARDIS, Doctor - they want its power source. I told them if I died, they’d never have it, that’s why they saved us - but you can’t let them have it, Doctor. Don’t bring it here!”
“I won’t, Rose. I promise. But where is here? Think, Rose. What do you see around you?”
Rose’s breathing was near even now. “I - I think we’re on a ship. I can feel it rocking back and forth, like before. And it’s cold. Julio’s shivering.”
The Doctor frowned. The mobile had beeped again, and he couldn’t quite make out Rose’s words. “Julio?”
“He was captain on the San Salvador - Doctor! They were controlling him. They’re using his life force to feed, they’re doing it to all the Spanish sailors.”
“Who, Rose? Who’s controlling them?”
“They blocked your thoughts from mine, Doctor, and I keep feeling you get further and further away from me. They want the TARDIS, Doctor, you mustn’t let them take it-"
“Rose, you’re hysterical, love, calm down,” pleaded the Doctor as the mobile let out another frantic beep. “Tell me, who are controlling the Spanish captains?”
“They called themselves the Demuti-"
The line went dead.
“Rose? Rose!” The Doctor shook the little mobile, which had gone silent and dark, and Martha ran up to him, pulling it away.
“The battery is gone,” she said. “It’s been running low ever since this morning, and I couldn’t charge it until we were back in the TARDIS.”
“She’s alive,” said the Doctor, and Martha broke into a grin.
“She’s alive?”
“We need to get back to the TARDIS, Martha Jones, and charge your mobile. We can use it to track Rose’s last location - and we can use that to rescue her.”
“But where is she?”
The Doctor stared at the mobile for a moment, his mind racing. “For now, she’s safe,” he said finally. “But I know the Demuti. They exist only in the body of a living being, feeding off the resident life force until they grow so powerful no one can dislodge them. If the Demuti learn she is pregnant - there are few forces greater than a gestating Time Lord. If the Demuti learn about the baby, neither of them will be safe for much longer.”
*
It took Rose a moment to catch her breath, once she’d lost the connection on her mobile. She wrapped her hands around it and held it close to her chest, almost as if she was holding the Doctor there, and tried to regulate her breathing. It wasn’t easy; she wanted to cry and scream, but neither of those actions would help her at all. What she needed more than release was to determine where exactly she was, so that when the mobile rang again, she could give the Doctor clearer instructions.
Rose slid the mobile back into her stomacher, and crept over to where Julio lay slumped on the floor. There was a cut above his eye, and some of his clothing appeared singed, but there were no other signs of distress Rose could see, and she thought he would be all right, provided she could wake him. Carefully, she shook his shoulder.
“Julio,” she whispered. “Wake up!”
His eyes sprung open almost immediately, and Rose was relieved to see that they were no longer black, but blue. He inhaled sharply, as if he’d been holding his breath while sleeping, and his hands cradled his head.
“Am I dead?”
“No,” said Rose.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know.”
“They’re gone,” he muttered suddenly, almost keening, and Rose shook him again.
“What’s gone?”
“My angels - they’re gone. I don’t feel them - they’ve left me. They’ve left me - I should have died.”
“Don’t say that,” snapped Rose. “They weren’t spirits - they’re some sort of alien taking over your mind. And they brought you here with me, obviously they think you’re better off alive than dead.”
“Better alive than in heaven?” retorted Julio. “That is not a gift - that is punishment!” He sat up and looked around. “We’re on a ship.”
“One of yours, I think,” said Rose.
Julio stood, one hand still to his head, and went to the small window, peering out. “I can see nothing - we are butted against another ship. I believe we are tied together.”
“Why?”
Julio shrugged. “Protection? I do not know. If I had my spirits, they might tell me - but whatever ship this is, it has a captain, and he will know.”
“Then let’s find the captain and find out where we are,” said Rose.
Julio shook his head. “No, my lady. I cannot protect you without my spirits guiding me.”
Rose stamped her foot. “They are not spirits. They’re not heavenly beings sent to guide you on a mission - they were feeding off of you, they were sapping your energy, like leeches-"
“None of your Protestant trap here,” said Julio quickly. “Come, my English lady - the spirits wanted you, and they have guided you and I to this ship. If they left me alive, as you say, then perhaps it is with good reason - so that I may deliver you to the captain.” Julio grabbed Rose’s forearm and smiled. “Perhaps I’ll have my reward yet!”
He flung open the door and pulled her into the corridor, and they were both hit with the strong smell of dirt and decay, of blood and gunpowder. Rose was nearly sick from it, and even Julio seemed to be somewhat unsteady on his feet for a moment, but he pulled Rose along, and she tried desperately to stay on her feet. They had not gone very far when a sailor stepped out from another cabin and, seeing them, stopped dead in shock.
“Wh-who?” gasped the sailor, and Julio stood straight.
“I am Captain Julio de Santiago of His Majesty’s great galleon San Salvador,” he said. “My ship has been lately lost and I demand to see your captain.”
The man’s eyes widened in fright, and he began to stumble backwards. “Be gone!” he shouted at them. “Be gone, spirits! Haunt me no longer!”
Julio’s brow furrowed. “My spirits have left me, good man. I mean you no harm.”
“Be gone,” shouted the man again, reaching the ladder behind him, and he scrambled upwards without looking back.
“He looks like he saw a ghost,” said Rose.
Julio glanced at her. “Perhaps he did,” he mused. “Follow him up the ladder, lady.”
“Oh, no,” said Rose. “You first.”
Julio didn’t blink; he simply picked her up and placed her several rungs up the ladder, putting his arms around her legs so she could not climb back down. Rose resisted the urge to kick him and climbed, finding herself on the deck of the ship. She had to stop before she was all the way up, so great was her shock, and she nearly lost her grip and fell back down. Somehow, she managed to finish the climb, and when Julio reached the deck, he let out a string of curses which she barely heard or understood.
They might have climbed upwards into Hell itself. The ship was at the epicenter of a sea of galleons, tied together and moving as one through the rolling waves. The sky above was dark with heavy, grey clouds, and the wind whipped around them so strongly it might have picked Rose up and carried her away had she attempted to stand. It was much colder on deck than it had been below, and the air itself felt heavy and damp. Bloodstains covered the deck, and there was evidence of fire which scorched the masts and rope lines. Rose could hear the men shouting, and above that, the high-pitched screams that were not entirely human, but eerily familiar.
“The horses,” breathed Julio. “They’re tossing the horses overboard.”
Another scream filled the air, and Rose winced. “Why?”
“Either they cannot feed them, and drowning is a faster death, or they are injured and cannot waste the bullets,” replied the captain, and Rose covered her ears, not wanting to hear the equine screams any longer.
Slowly, the men on the deck began to turn to them, staring at first, then slowly backing away, filled with the same fear as the first sailor. Julio slowly rose to his feet, keeping a hand on Rose’s shoulder, and looked at all of them in turn.
“What ship is this?” he called out. “And where is its captain?”
“Dead,” called out one of the men. “So you should know, spirit.”
Julio frowned. “How should I know he is dead?”
The man who saw them below deck spoke. “The San Salvador burned - and its crew with it, including its captain. If you are who you say you are, you’re dead with them.”
Rose glanced up at Julio, and was surprised to see him smiling. “Then I am dead, for I am the captain of the San Salvador. As such, I demand to see who is in charge here.”
There was silence for a moment, and no one moved. Then, toward the rear, a younger man - really, a boy - moved away from the rest and began to scramble over the rigging to the next ship. He paused to look back at them.
“Float if you must, Spirits, but follow me, and I’ll take you to him,” he said, the brave words belying the trembling Rose saw in his legs. Julio offered a hand to Rose, and together they began to follow the boy. Rose could feel every sailor’s eye on her as she left the ship, and she wasn’t certain if they watched her because she was a ghost, or because she was a woman. It was Julio’s warm hand in hers that convinced her that only the latter could possibly be true.
The boy did not take them far - just one ship over, and then into the captain’s quarters at the stern. The rooms were similar to those aboard the now-lost San Salvador, but there was no bed visible, and the table holding the maps was larger and more highly decorated. There were half a dozen men in the room, all of whom looked gaunt and tired. There were stains on their clothes, so darkened that it was difficult to tell if it was blood, smoke, or gunpowder. One of the men stood suddenly, his dark eyes focused squarely on Julio.
“Santiago,” he breathed. “How can this be?”
Julio’s eyes widened, and instantly he went down on his knees, pulling Rose with him. “My lord Duke,” he said quickly, bowing his head, but Rose kept her eyes on the standing man. “I bring you a gift, but first ask your pardon.”
“Stand,” said the duke. “If the spirits have taken you, there is no need for you to kneel to me. Nor was there ever.”
Julio stood, but kept his hand firmly on Rose’s shoulder, keeping her on the ground. “My lord duke,” he said. “Pray tell, what has happened here?”
“You do not know?” said the duke, surprised. “You could not see our suffering from heaven?”
“You think we were in heaven?” said Rose, and Julio clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Protestant infidel,” he said smoothly. “She does not understand. My lord duke?”
The duke walked around the table and tentatively reached for Julio, who took his forearms with a fierce grip. The duke gasped. “Flesh and blood - how is this possible?”
“All things are possible,” said Julio.
“I did not think I would see you again.” Tears sprang to the duke’s eyes, and Rose wondered how the man was able to feel so much emotion when still controlled by the Demuti. Perhaps it had only been Julio - but Rose doubted it. There was something in the back of her mind bothering her about the duke, only she couldn’t remember what it was. “When I saw your ship burning three weeks hence-"
“Three weeks?” blurted out Rose, and this time, no one covered her mouth.
The duke glanced down at her. “Who is this girl?”
Julio’s face had gone slack. “Don Alonso,” he gasped, losing his formality. “Three weeks? It’s been - three weeks since my ship-"
The duke turned to the retinue behind him. “A chair!” he barked, and quickly a chair was brought forth, and Julio was lowered into it. Rose slumped on the floor next to it, unable to take her eyes off the duke, and suddenly she remembered her fifth form history lessons.
“Duke of Medina,” she said, and he glanced at her.
“Medina Sedonia,” he corrected her, almost gently. “Who are you?”
“Rose,” she replied, without thinking, and he smiled.
“An English Rose? Were you martyred for your faith by the Protestant queen? Is that why you return with my friend to help us?”
Rose didn’t answer him.
“Don Alonso,” said Julio. “Tell me - what has happened in the last three weeks?”
The duke turned his gaze to Julio, his dark eyes instantly clouding over. “We have lost,” he began, his voice suddenly heavy and tired. “Eleven ships at Gravelines were lost. Half the men are dead, a quarter of my captains. We have food and water for two weeks. My aides tell me that our only hope is help from the Irish if we are to make for Spain. The English close in on us even now.”
He reached and grabbed Julio’s arm again. “But, my friend, you are here. The angels have brought you back to us - all hope cannot be lost. They tell me even now, that you bring hope.”
Julio’s face lit up as Rose’s hearts sank. “Your spirits are still with you?”
“Yes!”
He grinned, and took the duke’s forearm. “All hope is not lost, my lord duke. This is why they have returned me now, here, and with this girl. The English double in on us, and expect to find us weak and without reserves - but this girl is the key - she is the bait with which we set our trap - it is this girl which our spirits need in order to allow us to prevail.”
Rose was suddenly aware that every man in the room was staring at her, with eyes hungry for power, not lust, and she dug her fingernails into the chair, her hearts pounding in her ears.
“What is this girl?” asked the duke. “What bait can she be?”
“The Doctor,” said Julio, and the air filled with the suddenly whispering, Doctor Doctor Doctor, the men around the room repeating the word, and below their chants, Rose thought she could hear the gratingly harmonious whisper of the Demuti saying the same.
“He won’t come for me,” she said bravely. “He’s too clever for any trap you might set.”
The duke smiled at her. “Oh,” he said softly, but it was not his voice which Rose heard, but the multiple whisper of the alien being who possessed him, so much like the one which had possessed Julio before that Rose’s hearts nearly stopped. “Oh…we rather think he might.”
Jump to Chapter Nine
Warnings: R. Oh, and it’s baby!fic.
Spoilers: For the sake of this story, S4 never happens.
Beta: runriggers
Part of the Crossroads series
A now AU and non-S4 compliant story. Ah well.
Part One: Reflections
Part Two: One Day
Part Three: Choices and Chances, Chapters One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven
Chapter Eight: Trusting Their Instincts..... In the aftermath of the explosion, Martha and the Doctor race to save Rose.
A/N: The Rosario was also an actual ship in the Spanish Armada, as was the Duke of Medina Sedonia in charge of the Spanish expedition, and what happens to both the Rosario and the San Salvador is documented fact. Julio’s still mine, though, although I’m willing to lend him out for parties.
Also, I'm going to try to make posts on a more regular schedule - starting next week, every Monday evening, maybe Mondays/Thursdays, I haven't decided which.
Chapter Eight: Trusting Their Instincts
The explosion of the Spanish galleon brought a gasp from the crowd watching from the shore. Martha’s eyes went wide - she’d never seen such a spectacular explosion that she could recall, not in her travels with the Doctor, not even in the movies at home. Until then, she’d been able to pretend the battle on the water was simply a play running before her eyes, but amidst the various bits of debris and flames which shot out from the ship, she’d also seen limp and bloody figures. After a moment, one of the sentries shouted out, “Spanish!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, and beside Martha, the queen gave a brief, grim smile. “Not by our cannon,” she said without emotion. “We are not so close to that particular ship. Sentry!”
“M’lady?”
“Pray tell which ship it was?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the sentry, and focused his sights on the burning ship in the distance.
“Was it their own cannon that caused the explosion, ma’am?” asked Martha. Elizabeth continued to scan the horizon.
“Perhaps.”
“The San Salvador!” called out the sentry, and though the crowd cheered mightily, Martha suddenly couldn’t hear them. Her eyes remained glued on the burning remains, and she strained to see if there was a figure in grey silk running around what remained of the once proud galleon.
“Good show,” said Elizabeth, and Martha felt sick. “The San Salvador burned, and the Rosario captured. It appears they are leaving the Salvador in droves - we can board later and learn something from their remains. Doctor Jones, perhaps you would enjoy joining that party?” Elizabeth turned to look at her, and frowned. “Are you unwell?”
“The heat, ma’am,” gasped Martha. “I - I suppose I’m a little faint.”
“That will not do,” said Elizabeth. “If you are faint, there are those who will say it can only be expected of a woman in your profession. Stand strong, Doctor Jones. Pray wipe the expression from your face - there is no pity for those who rally against England.”
“No, ma’am,” said Martha, and she bit her lip and pinched her leg, and continued to scan the sea. Rose was not dead - Rose could not be dead - the Doctor would not let Rose die. Martha watched, held her hand to her stomach, and waited.
*
The ship burned, black smoke twisting and curling into the air, hot as hellfire and thick as tar.
Half the ship was gone, leaving a jagged edge along the decks, and what remained was black with gunpowder and soot. The water below churned and boiled, as if it was on fire itself, and the froth that beat up against the remains of the ship were pink with blood. Everything that existed was either soaked with seawater or in flames.
Rose sputtered, trying to shove her damp hair from her eyes, struggling to move in her sodden skirts. The smoke was thick and difficult to breathe, and she coughed wildly as she scrambled through the now empty corridors, trying to determine which way led up to the deck. Everything was turned in circles, including her, and when she saw Julio walking towards her, calmly and serenely, she wondered if he was asleep or just a figment of her addled imagination.
“Captain!” she shouted at him, but he didn’t even blink, nearly walking right by her without so much as a nod, and she grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “Captain!”
“Ah, senorita,” said Julio absently. “I must go down with the ship!”
His face changed for a moment, his dull eyes suddenly flashing blue with life, and in that moment, he looked as frightened and horrified as Rose felt. Then his eyes turned dull and black again almost instantly, and Rose felt sick. “Time to join my brethren,” Julio continued. “My angels tell me I have served well and shall reap my reward.”
“No, you won’t,” said Rose, and the ship lurched, shoving them both against the wall. When Rose righted herself again, she found the captain had been knocked out cold. She dragged him in the direction from which he’d come, and in a short distance found a ladder leading up. Julio was too heavy to carry, so Rose left him at the base and quickly climbed it herself.
The deck was far from empty, but there were still few sailors about, frantically racing to either put out a last fire, or jump into the last lifeboat. “Oi!” Rose shouted. “Help! The captain, he needs help!”
None of them heard her, and when Rose tried to lift herself higher, the ship lurched again, giving a wretched groan, and she slid back down into the corridor, where Julio was beginning to groan as he woke.
“Captain,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Captain, we must get off this ship. You must help me get off this ship.”
It wasn’t Julio who spoke, but the Demuti. “He has served us well, and wishes to join his brethren.” Julio’s eyes were open, dark and dull, and Rose remembered the life of the blue eyes she’d seen so briefly, and realized that the black was only a mask.
Rose stared at the dark, dull eyes of the Demuti, so perfectly calm in her anger and certainty that it shocked even her. “I can’t get off this ship without him,” she said slowly, “and if I die with him, you’ll never have the TARDIS - never.”
There was a brief pause. Rose thought she could see her reflection in the dark eyes, and began to shrink back, but Julio reached out with a quick hand and took her by the wrist, holding it in a vise-like grip.
”Very well,” hissed the Demuti through his lips. “You make a valid point. But he will not thank you.”
There was another groan from the ship, a flash of light, and Rose fainted.
*
The Doctor wasn’t sure why he was on the dinghy, but Drake had been insistent, and the Rosario, with the TARDIS, was being towed back to port for repairs. Drake had every intention of using the galleon against the Spanish in a later battle, and the thought of using their own ship against them filled the pirate with such glee that the Doctor had debated telling him that it would only go down in another four months’ time, just to see the man deflate.
But he didn’t have the hearts for it. Let the man enjoy his bounty. The Doctor’s own hearts had stopped when the San Salvador exploded, and he wasn’t certain why he was on the dinghy headed toward the still faintly burning wreckage, a day after the battle, but nonetheless, there he was.
“Handy to have a doctor with us,” said a sailor, and Drake scoffed.
“We won’t find survivors. Nor gold, I imagine. Determine what can be kept for salvage and what can be sunk, and that’s all.” He glanced toward the horizon. “Row faster - I see the queen’s boat nigh, and I’ll wager her men will take it all for themselves if they land first.”
The Doctor was not rowing - he sat at the bow of the ship, his eyes keenly focused on the wreck of the San Salvador, on the remains of the stern where her name was painted in bright gold letters, just above the captain’s quarters. He wondered where Rose had been on the ship - surely, if they thought she were important, she would have been treated well? Perhaps she wasn’t in the brig below, which would have instantly flooded, perhaps there was a chance?
But there was nothing, not even a trace of nothing. Had Rose managed to leave the ship, the Doctor would have been able to sense her thoughts blinking into existence, a light bulb going on in a dark room. She had not done so; she had never left the ship again; she was gone. She had to be.
She had to be - and yet, the Doctor could not believe it. He supposed that was why he’d let Drake drag him along. If Rose had died, there would be trace of it on the ship. Her body, her clothes, her anything. He would know, no matter what the Beast had said to them so many years before. It was not this battle in which Rose would die, not today, not yesterday, not ever. The Doctor felt his hands clench on the rough wood of the dinghy, and ignored the splinters digging into his skin.
“Hell’s bells,” muttered Drake beside him as the other dinghy reached the wreckage. “Well, men, we’ve lost the spoils, but perhaps we’ll find ourselves some information. Keep rowing!”
It was another five minutes before the Doctor reached the ship and hauled himself onto the main deck. The scene was mildly horrific, but he’d seen worse than this. Sailors were throwing charred bodies into the sea below, one by one. Others had managed to find spare maps and charts from below, and were carefully rolling them for transport. Still others were organizing the various weaponry that had been left behind in haste. The Doctor stood apart, watching all of this, trying to gauge where on the ship Rose had been, if she had left anything of herself behind, when he heard a familiar voice say his name.
“Doctor!”
He turned, and was nearly knocked over by Martha, who had thrown herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. “I thought - you might have been-"
“I was on the Rosario,” he explained, his voice dull, and he realized it was the first thing he’d said since seeing the San Salvador explode the previous day. “The TARDIS - we couldn’t land here. Something kept pushing her back. Pushed her into the Vortex, actually. We landed there yesterday, in the thick of the battle, right before-" His voice choked.
Martha looked up at him. “There were fifty bodies, all charred, but none of them women. All men. I wasn’t sure if-"
“She didn’t die aboard the ship,” said the Doctor, looking around. “I - I’d feel it. I’d know. She’d have left - a sort of signature behind her. It’s not there. But I can’t tell how she left. I don’t know where she’s gone. I - I can’t find her.”
Martha backed away from him suddenly, and dug into her pocket. “Doctor,” she said, and pulled out her mobile, showing it to him. “Use this. It worked before the explosion. Maybe it still does.”
The Doctor stared at the mobile for half a second before ripping it out of Martha’s hands and walking a short distance away, pressing the numbers with trembling fingers. When he heard the line begin to ring, he closed his eyes in relief, and when Rose actually answered the phone, sounding groggy and disoriented, he almost couldn’t speak.
“Rose,” he finally managed, and on the other end, he heard Rose’s voice catch.
“I’m sorry,” she choked, and he could hear the sob in her voice. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Rose,” said the Doctor, dampening down his own relief and joy as soon as he heard the fear in her voice. If he was calm, she would remain calm - and more than anything, he needed her to remain calm. “It’s all right. Tell me - where are you?”
Rose sniffed, and the mobile let out a feeble beep. “I - I don’t know. We were on the San Salvador, and it was burning all around. And I said - I said they had to save us. They want the TARDIS, Doctor - they want its power source. I told them if I died, they’d never have it, that’s why they saved us - but you can’t let them have it, Doctor. Don’t bring it here!”
“I won’t, Rose. I promise. But where is here? Think, Rose. What do you see around you?”
Rose’s breathing was near even now. “I - I think we’re on a ship. I can feel it rocking back and forth, like before. And it’s cold. Julio’s shivering.”
The Doctor frowned. The mobile had beeped again, and he couldn’t quite make out Rose’s words. “Julio?”
“He was captain on the San Salvador - Doctor! They were controlling him. They’re using his life force to feed, they’re doing it to all the Spanish sailors.”
“Who, Rose? Who’s controlling them?”
“They blocked your thoughts from mine, Doctor, and I keep feeling you get further and further away from me. They want the TARDIS, Doctor, you mustn’t let them take it-"
“Rose, you’re hysterical, love, calm down,” pleaded the Doctor as the mobile let out another frantic beep. “Tell me, who are controlling the Spanish captains?”
“They called themselves the Demuti-"
The line went dead.
“Rose? Rose!” The Doctor shook the little mobile, which had gone silent and dark, and Martha ran up to him, pulling it away.
“The battery is gone,” she said. “It’s been running low ever since this morning, and I couldn’t charge it until we were back in the TARDIS.”
“She’s alive,” said the Doctor, and Martha broke into a grin.
“She’s alive?”
“We need to get back to the TARDIS, Martha Jones, and charge your mobile. We can use it to track Rose’s last location - and we can use that to rescue her.”
“But where is she?”
The Doctor stared at the mobile for a moment, his mind racing. “For now, she’s safe,” he said finally. “But I know the Demuti. They exist only in the body of a living being, feeding off the resident life force until they grow so powerful no one can dislodge them. If the Demuti learn she is pregnant - there are few forces greater than a gestating Time Lord. If the Demuti learn about the baby, neither of them will be safe for much longer.”
*
It took Rose a moment to catch her breath, once she’d lost the connection on her mobile. She wrapped her hands around it and held it close to her chest, almost as if she was holding the Doctor there, and tried to regulate her breathing. It wasn’t easy; she wanted to cry and scream, but neither of those actions would help her at all. What she needed more than release was to determine where exactly she was, so that when the mobile rang again, she could give the Doctor clearer instructions.
Rose slid the mobile back into her stomacher, and crept over to where Julio lay slumped on the floor. There was a cut above his eye, and some of his clothing appeared singed, but there were no other signs of distress Rose could see, and she thought he would be all right, provided she could wake him. Carefully, she shook his shoulder.
“Julio,” she whispered. “Wake up!”
His eyes sprung open almost immediately, and Rose was relieved to see that they were no longer black, but blue. He inhaled sharply, as if he’d been holding his breath while sleeping, and his hands cradled his head.
“Am I dead?”
“No,” said Rose.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know.”
“They’re gone,” he muttered suddenly, almost keening, and Rose shook him again.
“What’s gone?”
“My angels - they’re gone. I don’t feel them - they’ve left me. They’ve left me - I should have died.”
“Don’t say that,” snapped Rose. “They weren’t spirits - they’re some sort of alien taking over your mind. And they brought you here with me, obviously they think you’re better off alive than dead.”
“Better alive than in heaven?” retorted Julio. “That is not a gift - that is punishment!” He sat up and looked around. “We’re on a ship.”
“One of yours, I think,” said Rose.
Julio stood, one hand still to his head, and went to the small window, peering out. “I can see nothing - we are butted against another ship. I believe we are tied together.”
“Why?”
Julio shrugged. “Protection? I do not know. If I had my spirits, they might tell me - but whatever ship this is, it has a captain, and he will know.”
“Then let’s find the captain and find out where we are,” said Rose.
Julio shook his head. “No, my lady. I cannot protect you without my spirits guiding me.”
Rose stamped her foot. “They are not spirits. They’re not heavenly beings sent to guide you on a mission - they were feeding off of you, they were sapping your energy, like leeches-"
“None of your Protestant trap here,” said Julio quickly. “Come, my English lady - the spirits wanted you, and they have guided you and I to this ship. If they left me alive, as you say, then perhaps it is with good reason - so that I may deliver you to the captain.” Julio grabbed Rose’s forearm and smiled. “Perhaps I’ll have my reward yet!”
He flung open the door and pulled her into the corridor, and they were both hit with the strong smell of dirt and decay, of blood and gunpowder. Rose was nearly sick from it, and even Julio seemed to be somewhat unsteady on his feet for a moment, but he pulled Rose along, and she tried desperately to stay on her feet. They had not gone very far when a sailor stepped out from another cabin and, seeing them, stopped dead in shock.
“Wh-who?” gasped the sailor, and Julio stood straight.
“I am Captain Julio de Santiago of His Majesty’s great galleon San Salvador,” he said. “My ship has been lately lost and I demand to see your captain.”
The man’s eyes widened in fright, and he began to stumble backwards. “Be gone!” he shouted at them. “Be gone, spirits! Haunt me no longer!”
Julio’s brow furrowed. “My spirits have left me, good man. I mean you no harm.”
“Be gone,” shouted the man again, reaching the ladder behind him, and he scrambled upwards without looking back.
“He looks like he saw a ghost,” said Rose.
Julio glanced at her. “Perhaps he did,” he mused. “Follow him up the ladder, lady.”
“Oh, no,” said Rose. “You first.”
Julio didn’t blink; he simply picked her up and placed her several rungs up the ladder, putting his arms around her legs so she could not climb back down. Rose resisted the urge to kick him and climbed, finding herself on the deck of the ship. She had to stop before she was all the way up, so great was her shock, and she nearly lost her grip and fell back down. Somehow, she managed to finish the climb, and when Julio reached the deck, he let out a string of curses which she barely heard or understood.
They might have climbed upwards into Hell itself. The ship was at the epicenter of a sea of galleons, tied together and moving as one through the rolling waves. The sky above was dark with heavy, grey clouds, and the wind whipped around them so strongly it might have picked Rose up and carried her away had she attempted to stand. It was much colder on deck than it had been below, and the air itself felt heavy and damp. Bloodstains covered the deck, and there was evidence of fire which scorched the masts and rope lines. Rose could hear the men shouting, and above that, the high-pitched screams that were not entirely human, but eerily familiar.
“The horses,” breathed Julio. “They’re tossing the horses overboard.”
Another scream filled the air, and Rose winced. “Why?”
“Either they cannot feed them, and drowning is a faster death, or they are injured and cannot waste the bullets,” replied the captain, and Rose covered her ears, not wanting to hear the equine screams any longer.
Slowly, the men on the deck began to turn to them, staring at first, then slowly backing away, filled with the same fear as the first sailor. Julio slowly rose to his feet, keeping a hand on Rose’s shoulder, and looked at all of them in turn.
“What ship is this?” he called out. “And where is its captain?”
“Dead,” called out one of the men. “So you should know, spirit.”
Julio frowned. “How should I know he is dead?”
The man who saw them below deck spoke. “The San Salvador burned - and its crew with it, including its captain. If you are who you say you are, you’re dead with them.”
Rose glanced up at Julio, and was surprised to see him smiling. “Then I am dead, for I am the captain of the San Salvador. As such, I demand to see who is in charge here.”
There was silence for a moment, and no one moved. Then, toward the rear, a younger man - really, a boy - moved away from the rest and began to scramble over the rigging to the next ship. He paused to look back at them.
“Float if you must, Spirits, but follow me, and I’ll take you to him,” he said, the brave words belying the trembling Rose saw in his legs. Julio offered a hand to Rose, and together they began to follow the boy. Rose could feel every sailor’s eye on her as she left the ship, and she wasn’t certain if they watched her because she was a ghost, or because she was a woman. It was Julio’s warm hand in hers that convinced her that only the latter could possibly be true.
The boy did not take them far - just one ship over, and then into the captain’s quarters at the stern. The rooms were similar to those aboard the now-lost San Salvador, but there was no bed visible, and the table holding the maps was larger and more highly decorated. There were half a dozen men in the room, all of whom looked gaunt and tired. There were stains on their clothes, so darkened that it was difficult to tell if it was blood, smoke, or gunpowder. One of the men stood suddenly, his dark eyes focused squarely on Julio.
“Santiago,” he breathed. “How can this be?”
Julio’s eyes widened, and instantly he went down on his knees, pulling Rose with him. “My lord Duke,” he said quickly, bowing his head, but Rose kept her eyes on the standing man. “I bring you a gift, but first ask your pardon.”
“Stand,” said the duke. “If the spirits have taken you, there is no need for you to kneel to me. Nor was there ever.”
Julio stood, but kept his hand firmly on Rose’s shoulder, keeping her on the ground. “My lord duke,” he said. “Pray tell, what has happened here?”
“You do not know?” said the duke, surprised. “You could not see our suffering from heaven?”
“You think we were in heaven?” said Rose, and Julio clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Protestant infidel,” he said smoothly. “She does not understand. My lord duke?”
The duke walked around the table and tentatively reached for Julio, who took his forearms with a fierce grip. The duke gasped. “Flesh and blood - how is this possible?”
“All things are possible,” said Julio.
“I did not think I would see you again.” Tears sprang to the duke’s eyes, and Rose wondered how the man was able to feel so much emotion when still controlled by the Demuti. Perhaps it had only been Julio - but Rose doubted it. There was something in the back of her mind bothering her about the duke, only she couldn’t remember what it was. “When I saw your ship burning three weeks hence-"
“Three weeks?” blurted out Rose, and this time, no one covered her mouth.
The duke glanced down at her. “Who is this girl?”
Julio’s face had gone slack. “Don Alonso,” he gasped, losing his formality. “Three weeks? It’s been - three weeks since my ship-"
The duke turned to the retinue behind him. “A chair!” he barked, and quickly a chair was brought forth, and Julio was lowered into it. Rose slumped on the floor next to it, unable to take her eyes off the duke, and suddenly she remembered her fifth form history lessons.
“Duke of Medina,” she said, and he glanced at her.
“Medina Sedonia,” he corrected her, almost gently. “Who are you?”
“Rose,” she replied, without thinking, and he smiled.
“An English Rose? Were you martyred for your faith by the Protestant queen? Is that why you return with my friend to help us?”
Rose didn’t answer him.
“Don Alonso,” said Julio. “Tell me - what has happened in the last three weeks?”
The duke turned his gaze to Julio, his dark eyes instantly clouding over. “We have lost,” he began, his voice suddenly heavy and tired. “Eleven ships at Gravelines were lost. Half the men are dead, a quarter of my captains. We have food and water for two weeks. My aides tell me that our only hope is help from the Irish if we are to make for Spain. The English close in on us even now.”
He reached and grabbed Julio’s arm again. “But, my friend, you are here. The angels have brought you back to us - all hope cannot be lost. They tell me even now, that you bring hope.”
Julio’s face lit up as Rose’s hearts sank. “Your spirits are still with you?”
“Yes!”
He grinned, and took the duke’s forearm. “All hope is not lost, my lord duke. This is why they have returned me now, here, and with this girl. The English double in on us, and expect to find us weak and without reserves - but this girl is the key - she is the bait with which we set our trap - it is this girl which our spirits need in order to allow us to prevail.”
Rose was suddenly aware that every man in the room was staring at her, with eyes hungry for power, not lust, and she dug her fingernails into the chair, her hearts pounding in her ears.
“What is this girl?” asked the duke. “What bait can she be?”
“The Doctor,” said Julio, and the air filled with the suddenly whispering, Doctor Doctor Doctor, the men around the room repeating the word, and below their chants, Rose thought she could hear the gratingly harmonious whisper of the Demuti saying the same.
“He won’t come for me,” she said bravely. “He’s too clever for any trap you might set.”
The duke smiled at her. “Oh,” he said softly, but it was not his voice which Rose heard, but the multiple whisper of the alien being who possessed him, so much like the one which had possessed Julio before that Rose’s hearts nearly stopped. “Oh…we rather think he might.”
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