Fic: Lapis Philosophorum, Interlude through Chapter Fourteen
TITLE: ‘Lapis Philosophorum’
AUTHOR: QKellie
FANDOM: Doctor Who (and Torchwood to a lesser extent)
CHARACTERS: Rose Tyler, the Doctor, the Doctor ‘10.5’, Donna Noble, Jackie Tyler, Pete Tyler, Jake Simmonds, John Hart, Lucy Saxon, Harold Saxon, others
PAIRINGS: Rose/Doctor 10.5, Lucy Saxon/Harold Saxon (implied), Jake/Mickey (implied), others
RATING: PG-13
GENRE: Gen/drama/romance
WARNINGS: Spoilers for DW through series 4 and TW series 2x01. OCs present but not used to ship with anyone besides other OCs. Moderate to extreme Doctor/Rose shippiness abounds. Discussions of angst, action, violence, and bisexuality, but at heart this is a genfic, honestly.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story takes a cut scene from DW’s series 4 finale as canon, but it does not depict it with a complete adherence to accuracy as it actually took place. TW spoilers spring up only after Chapter 23.
Prologues and Chapter One | Chapters Two and Three | Chapters Four through Six | Chapters Seven through Nine | Chapters Ten through Twelve
INTERLUDE
Resident sets townhome on fire
By Jackson Epps, Staff Writer
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
LONDON - The Natalia House has been a Marylebone institution since 1777. Now, it blackens the west end of the village in Central London, an empty husk of charred wood and smouldering ruins.
‘It’s a right shame,’ said James Turnbough, district fire chief of the Portman Estate. ‘This is going to devastate quite a few families.’
The once-regal townhome had been subdivided into multiple flats in 2004. The fire leaves four households displaced, including several children and elderly.
Police and fire officials believe the blaze began between 10:00 a.m. and noon on Monday, when many residents were away at work and school. The suspected arsonist is thought to be Natalia resident Jacob Andrew Simmonds. ‘He’s a bad sort,’ one of his neighbors (who wished to remain anonymous) reported. Little is known about Mr. Simmonds, excepting that he is currently on the books as being employed by the Torchwood Institute. Police reports indicate Mr. Simmonds was previously arrested for disturbing the peace and was thought to be a former member of the Preachers street gang.
In the meantime, residents in other areas of the Portman Estate are opening their homes and community centers to the victims of the blaze. Fortunately, there were no casualties, and even a pet managed to make it out alive and safe. ‘Fluffy’s fine,’ beamed third floor rear resident Archie Leach, an eighty-year-old retired postmaster. He was interviewed with his beloved feline looking quite well, minus a few whiskers.
One resident offered a dissenting view into the tragedy of the fire. ‘Natalia was a dump,’ said garden flat resident Martine Duquesne, a university student. ‘There were [expletive deleted] ants everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jake Simmonds had enough of the [expletive deleted] and set them all on fire.’
Repeated calls to Mr. Simmonds mobile telephone were unreturned. At the present time, the suspect’s whereabouts are unknown. If you have any information, contact Crime Watchers or this reporter.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The theatre was totally empty, and nobody had contacted Gilbert in hours. He briefly returned to the office in time for the rescheduled staff meeting, only to find an empty conference room. He slumped down in the chair he’d vacated earlier and pulled out his mobile.
The Torchwood microblog had filled three entire screens in only the past twenty minutes.
Gilbert read through the posts and felt his heart begin to palpitate. Once he’d finished them, he closed the browser and punched up Rose’s number.
Straight to voice mail.
‘This is no... bloody... good!’ he muttered to himself. With a reluctant sigh, he tried Jake instead.
On the other end, Jake sounded decidedly out of breath. There were sirens in the background.
‘Tell me it isn’t true,’ Gilbert began as soon as Jake picked up.
‘That you, Freeman?’ Jake sounded both far away and loud at the same time. ‘Can barely here a thing.’
Gilbert heard the sound of running footsteps, followed by a splash and a series of colourful oaths. ‘Jake?’
‘Yeah, sorry, got you a bit better now,’ Jake said. His voice was lower, and there was a slight echo now.
‘Where the devil are you?’ Gilbert asked. ‘You’re not in jail?’
‘Naw, it’s fine,’ Jake replied. ‘Heidi can get me out, just needs to spot a dose or twelve of Retcon to a few fire marshalls, and I’m home free.’
Gilbert grit his teeth. ‘Heidi may not be able to, mate,’ he said. ‘Not if we don’t get to her soon.’
‘What?’
‘You sent in your location,’ Gilbert said, ‘but did you bother to check anybody else’s?’
‘Oh, balls.’
Gilbert heard rustling, a harried and impatient ‘hang on’ from Jake, and then the unmistakable opening strains of ‘Rockferry,’ which Jake was apparently using as his hold music.
Gilbert chuckled softly. Touch of class there, he mused. Woulda thought old Jake’d opt for some decade-old Geri Halliwell effluvia.
In moments, Jake was back on the line. ‘Goddammit,’ he spat. ‘Shite, Gilbert, this is very, very bad.’
‘What’d I tell you?’
‘You got the Range Rover?’ Jake asked.
‘Rose and that Mr. Smith bloke took something. Suspect it was the primary,’ Gilbert replied. ‘I dunno what I got keys to.’ He got to his feet quickly and hurried to his desk. ‘Let me check what’s left.’
‘Don’t need to,’ Jake told him. ‘In the garage, go to the Coop. I keep a spare under the left rear wheel shaft in a magnet box.’
‘Great.’ Gilbert moved toward the stairwell. ‘Where will you meet me?’
There was a brief moment of silence.
‘Jake?’
‘I... I’ll sneak ‘round to the back of the building,’ he said. ‘I’m almost there now. But, Freeman, you gotta not say nothin’ ‘bout it.’
‘About what?’
Jake sighed. ‘About the smell, Freeman. Sod me, but I really, really reek at the moment.’
Gilbert laughed. ‘Bloody hell, Jake, I don’t care so long as we get to Heidi and the others in time.’
Ten minutes later, Gilbert was holding his nose tight, his eyes bugging out.
Jake hung his head in shame. ‘I warned you, mate. I totally warned you.’
Gilbert said nothing as he swung the car out of the alley.
‘It was the only way I could shake the cops, mate.’
‘The sewers?!’ Gilbert gasped. ‘You couldn’t hide anywhere but the sewers?!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It wasn’t him; he knew that, he rationalized it, and he understood with perfect clarity that everything he remembered, felt, and thought were residuals, echoes, and mere imprints of someone else. From here on out, he was making his own memories and sense of self, by God, and he was very keen to do so. Nothing had technically happened to his own real, true self prior to a scant few days ago when he was ‘born’, and yet seeing this woman in the flesh was like seeing someone with whom you’d gone through a warzone.
Lucy Saxon herself had done nothing to the Doctor, not directly. She was a victim, plain and simple, but she’d also done nothing to stop anything. Not as the Doctor, Jack, and Martha’s entire family had been abused over and over again. Not as he languished small, feeble, and aged in a birdcage, suffering innumerable indignities. Not as Martha soldiered on and bravely-oh, so brave and lovely, dear Martha Jones-saved the world. Lucy Saxon allowed them all to live in the most deplorable of states for an entire year.
And now here she was, so desperately close to being able to harm Rose and those whom Rose loved...
That wasn’t going to happen. Not for an instant.
He didn’t think, not like his biological progenitor over-thought everything. He just acted, and that’s how the fireplace poker wound up pinned up against Lucy’s throat, and how Rose ended up clawing at his back, trying to peel him off the other woman. For his part, he shrugged her off, his entire system run through with massive amounts of adrenaline.
Still felt weird, that single-heartbeat, especially the faster it got. It thrummed in his ears, a whooshing that wouldn’t stop...
‘Stop! You’ll kill her!’
Rose’s voice was but a distant buzzing. The only thing that mattered now was ascertaining whether or not Mrs. Saxon still remained a young window rather than a bride...
‘Where... is... he...’ With each word, the Doctor ratcheted the poker closer and closer to Lucy’s throat, pushing the sharp angles of her shoulder blades further and further into the wall.
Lucy gasped and clutched at her neck. Her eyes were widening in terror.
‘She can’t tell you a bloody thing if you don’t let her speak!’ Rose tried again to pull him off, but he whirled on her.
Rose gasped and took great steps backwards. ‘Please!’ she begged. ‘Please, for me, get off her!’
It was her eyes that did it. The last time he’d seen tears stream down her face, it had nearly destroyed him...
He didn’t fully release Lucy but loosened his grip enough that she began to cough. Turning back to Lucy, the Doctor cleared his own throat and took a moment to will his heart to slow down. ‘Shall I repeat the question?’ he finally asked.
Lucy shook her head. ‘He’s not here.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘There, there, he’s... nothing. Nothing but what’s in there!’ She pointed vaguely at the floor.
Rose knelt and picked up the discarded basket. Careful this time, she picked her way through the tablecloth folds to a mess of broken beakers and vials.
‘Your little science experiment?’ Rose asked. ‘What were you doing?’
The Doctor kept one hand on the poker but leaned closer to Rose and peered inside the basket with her.
Amongst the liquid and glass was a small but familiar bit of peach-coloured tissue and a glinting, gaudy ring. He glared back at Lucy again. ‘You’re trying to grow a TARDIS.’
‘And Harold,’ Lucy added. ‘He sealed himself inside another dimension, but I can get him back if I can harness the power of a TARDIS. A new one, one of our very own.’ Suddenly, she smiled. ‘Unless we can use yours instead.’
The Doctor pulled the almost identical piece of coral from the inside pocket of his coat. ‘’Fraid it’s a bit small at the moment,’ he replied. ‘Care to wait a few months? Be right as rain by then.’
‘Won’t take even that long,’ Lucy told him. ‘Not if we work together.’
He pulled the poker away from Lucy and frowned at her. ‘You’ve been experimenting with accelerating the dimensional stabilizer?’
Lucy shook her head and grinned at him. ‘It’s not an experiment if you know it’ll work.’
He swallowed hard. ‘No, I don’t suppose it is,’ he murmured. ‘Then it’s just… well, it’s just the doing, isn’t it?’
‘Are you saying you could have a TARDIS of your own even faster than Donna said?’ Rose asked. ‘How?’
‘I haven’t the foggiest how to make it grow faster than the better part of a year, even with Donna’s advice,’ the Doctor admitted. They would’ve been able to suss it out, though, his Time Lord self and the fantastic Miss Noble, two of ‘em together. That bit of esoteric Gallifreyan knowledge was cut off from his human mind… damn it, decreased lung capacity and now decreased brain capacity. What else were humans lacking that he used to have?
‘I’ll help you,’ Lucy offered. ‘But only if you’ll help me, too.’
AUTHOR: QKellie
FANDOM: Doctor Who (and Torchwood to a lesser extent)
CHARACTERS: Rose Tyler, the Doctor, the Doctor ‘10.5’, Donna Noble, Jackie Tyler, Pete Tyler, Jake Simmonds, John Hart, Lucy Saxon, Harold Saxon, others
PAIRINGS: Rose/Doctor 10.5, Lucy Saxon/Harold Saxon (implied), Jake/Mickey (implied), others
RATING: PG-13
GENRE: Gen/drama/romance
WARNINGS: Spoilers for DW through series 4 and TW series 2x01. OCs present but not used to ship with anyone besides other OCs. Moderate to extreme Doctor/Rose shippiness abounds. Discussions of angst, action, violence, and bisexuality, but at heart this is a genfic, honestly.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story takes a cut scene from DW’s series 4 finale as canon, but it does not depict it with a complete adherence to accuracy as it actually took place. TW spoilers spring up only after Chapter 23.
Prologues and Chapter One | Chapters Two and Three | Chapters Four through Six | Chapters Seven through Nine | Chapters Ten through Twelve
INTERLUDE
Resident sets townhome on fire
By Jackson Epps, Staff Writer
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
LONDON - The Natalia House has been a Marylebone institution since 1777. Now, it blackens the west end of the village in Central London, an empty husk of charred wood and smouldering ruins.
‘It’s a right shame,’ said James Turnbough, district fire chief of the Portman Estate. ‘This is going to devastate quite a few families.’
The once-regal townhome had been subdivided into multiple flats in 2004. The fire leaves four households displaced, including several children and elderly.
Police and fire officials believe the blaze began between 10:00 a.m. and noon on Monday, when many residents were away at work and school. The suspected arsonist is thought to be Natalia resident Jacob Andrew Simmonds. ‘He’s a bad sort,’ one of his neighbors (who wished to remain anonymous) reported. Little is known about Mr. Simmonds, excepting that he is currently on the books as being employed by the Torchwood Institute. Police reports indicate Mr. Simmonds was previously arrested for disturbing the peace and was thought to be a former member of the Preachers street gang.
In the meantime, residents in other areas of the Portman Estate are opening their homes and community centers to the victims of the blaze. Fortunately, there were no casualties, and even a pet managed to make it out alive and safe. ‘Fluffy’s fine,’ beamed third floor rear resident Archie Leach, an eighty-year-old retired postmaster. He was interviewed with his beloved feline looking quite well, minus a few whiskers.
One resident offered a dissenting view into the tragedy of the fire. ‘Natalia was a dump,’ said garden flat resident Martine Duquesne, a university student. ‘There were [expletive deleted] ants everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jake Simmonds had enough of the [expletive deleted] and set them all on fire.’
Repeated calls to Mr. Simmonds mobile telephone were unreturned. At the present time, the suspect’s whereabouts are unknown. If you have any information, contact Crime Watchers or this reporter.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The theatre was totally empty, and nobody had contacted Gilbert in hours. He briefly returned to the office in time for the rescheduled staff meeting, only to find an empty conference room. He slumped down in the chair he’d vacated earlier and pulled out his mobile.
The Torchwood microblog had filled three entire screens in only the past twenty minutes.
Gilbert read through the posts and felt his heart begin to palpitate. Once he’d finished them, he closed the browser and punched up Rose’s number.
Straight to voice mail.
‘This is no... bloody... good!’ he muttered to himself. With a reluctant sigh, he tried Jake instead.
On the other end, Jake sounded decidedly out of breath. There were sirens in the background.
‘Tell me it isn’t true,’ Gilbert began as soon as Jake picked up.
‘That you, Freeman?’ Jake sounded both far away and loud at the same time. ‘Can barely here a thing.’
Gilbert heard the sound of running footsteps, followed by a splash and a series of colourful oaths. ‘Jake?’
‘Yeah, sorry, got you a bit better now,’ Jake said. His voice was lower, and there was a slight echo now.
‘Where the devil are you?’ Gilbert asked. ‘You’re not in jail?’
‘Naw, it’s fine,’ Jake replied. ‘Heidi can get me out, just needs to spot a dose or twelve of Retcon to a few fire marshalls, and I’m home free.’
Gilbert grit his teeth. ‘Heidi may not be able to, mate,’ he said. ‘Not if we don’t get to her soon.’
‘What?’
‘You sent in your location,’ Gilbert said, ‘but did you bother to check anybody else’s?’
‘Oh, balls.’
Gilbert heard rustling, a harried and impatient ‘hang on’ from Jake, and then the unmistakable opening strains of ‘Rockferry,’ which Jake was apparently using as his hold music.
Gilbert chuckled softly. Touch of class there, he mused. Woulda thought old Jake’d opt for some decade-old Geri Halliwell effluvia.
In moments, Jake was back on the line. ‘Goddammit,’ he spat. ‘Shite, Gilbert, this is very, very bad.’
‘What’d I tell you?’
‘You got the Range Rover?’ Jake asked.
‘Rose and that Mr. Smith bloke took something. Suspect it was the primary,’ Gilbert replied. ‘I dunno what I got keys to.’ He got to his feet quickly and hurried to his desk. ‘Let me check what’s left.’
‘Don’t need to,’ Jake told him. ‘In the garage, go to the Coop. I keep a spare under the left rear wheel shaft in a magnet box.’
‘Great.’ Gilbert moved toward the stairwell. ‘Where will you meet me?’
There was a brief moment of silence.
‘Jake?’
‘I... I’ll sneak ‘round to the back of the building,’ he said. ‘I’m almost there now. But, Freeman, you gotta not say nothin’ ‘bout it.’
‘About what?’
Jake sighed. ‘About the smell, Freeman. Sod me, but I really, really reek at the moment.’
Gilbert laughed. ‘Bloody hell, Jake, I don’t care so long as we get to Heidi and the others in time.’
Ten minutes later, Gilbert was holding his nose tight, his eyes bugging out.
Jake hung his head in shame. ‘I warned you, mate. I totally warned you.’
Gilbert said nothing as he swung the car out of the alley.
‘It was the only way I could shake the cops, mate.’
‘The sewers?!’ Gilbert gasped. ‘You couldn’t hide anywhere but the sewers?!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It wasn’t him; he knew that, he rationalized it, and he understood with perfect clarity that everything he remembered, felt, and thought were residuals, echoes, and mere imprints of someone else. From here on out, he was making his own memories and sense of self, by God, and he was very keen to do so. Nothing had technically happened to his own real, true self prior to a scant few days ago when he was ‘born’, and yet seeing this woman in the flesh was like seeing someone with whom you’d gone through a warzone.
Lucy Saxon herself had done nothing to the Doctor, not directly. She was a victim, plain and simple, but she’d also done nothing to stop anything. Not as the Doctor, Jack, and Martha’s entire family had been abused over and over again. Not as he languished small, feeble, and aged in a birdcage, suffering innumerable indignities. Not as Martha soldiered on and bravely-oh, so brave and lovely, dear Martha Jones-saved the world. Lucy Saxon allowed them all to live in the most deplorable of states for an entire year.
And now here she was, so desperately close to being able to harm Rose and those whom Rose loved...
That wasn’t going to happen. Not for an instant.
He didn’t think, not like his biological progenitor over-thought everything. He just acted, and that’s how the fireplace poker wound up pinned up against Lucy’s throat, and how Rose ended up clawing at his back, trying to peel him off the other woman. For his part, he shrugged her off, his entire system run through with massive amounts of adrenaline.
Still felt weird, that single-heartbeat, especially the faster it got. It thrummed in his ears, a whooshing that wouldn’t stop...
‘Stop! You’ll kill her!’
Rose’s voice was but a distant buzzing. The only thing that mattered now was ascertaining whether or not Mrs. Saxon still remained a young window rather than a bride...
‘Where... is... he...’ With each word, the Doctor ratcheted the poker closer and closer to Lucy’s throat, pushing the sharp angles of her shoulder blades further and further into the wall.
Lucy gasped and clutched at her neck. Her eyes were widening in terror.
‘She can’t tell you a bloody thing if you don’t let her speak!’ Rose tried again to pull him off, but he whirled on her.
Rose gasped and took great steps backwards. ‘Please!’ she begged. ‘Please, for me, get off her!’
It was her eyes that did it. The last time he’d seen tears stream down her face, it had nearly destroyed him...
He didn’t fully release Lucy but loosened his grip enough that she began to cough. Turning back to Lucy, the Doctor cleared his own throat and took a moment to will his heart to slow down. ‘Shall I repeat the question?’ he finally asked.
Lucy shook her head. ‘He’s not here.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘There, there, he’s... nothing. Nothing but what’s in there!’ She pointed vaguely at the floor.
Rose knelt and picked up the discarded basket. Careful this time, she picked her way through the tablecloth folds to a mess of broken beakers and vials.
‘Your little science experiment?’ Rose asked. ‘What were you doing?’
The Doctor kept one hand on the poker but leaned closer to Rose and peered inside the basket with her.
Amongst the liquid and glass was a small but familiar bit of peach-coloured tissue and a glinting, gaudy ring. He glared back at Lucy again. ‘You’re trying to grow a TARDIS.’
‘And Harold,’ Lucy added. ‘He sealed himself inside another dimension, but I can get him back if I can harness the power of a TARDIS. A new one, one of our very own.’ Suddenly, she smiled. ‘Unless we can use yours instead.’
The Doctor pulled the almost identical piece of coral from the inside pocket of his coat. ‘’Fraid it’s a bit small at the moment,’ he replied. ‘Care to wait a few months? Be right as rain by then.’
‘Won’t take even that long,’ Lucy told him. ‘Not if we work together.’
He pulled the poker away from Lucy and frowned at her. ‘You’ve been experimenting with accelerating the dimensional stabilizer?’
Lucy shook her head and grinned at him. ‘It’s not an experiment if you know it’ll work.’
He swallowed hard. ‘No, I don’t suppose it is,’ he murmured. ‘Then it’s just… well, it’s just the doing, isn’t it?’
‘Are you saying you could have a TARDIS of your own even faster than Donna said?’ Rose asked. ‘How?’
‘I haven’t the foggiest how to make it grow faster than the better part of a year, even with Donna’s advice,’ the Doctor admitted. They would’ve been able to suss it out, though, his Time Lord self and the fantastic Miss Noble, two of ‘em together. That bit of esoteric Gallifreyan knowledge was cut off from his human mind… damn it, decreased lung capacity and now decreased brain capacity. What else were humans lacking that he used to have?
‘I’ll help you,’ Lucy offered. ‘But only if you’ll help me, too.’