Fic: Don't Ask, Don't Tell 1/3
Title: Don't Ask, Don't Tell
Author: wmr wendymr
Characters: The Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jackie Tyler
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not my characters!
Beta: dark_aegis, without whom I could NOT have written one character in this story.
Summary: Ask not-we cannot know-what end the gods have set for you, for me.
Originally written for the hearts_in_time RUN Ficathon, for ameretrifle; her prompts will appear at the end. (And I'm still working on Weaving - this fic was the one with the deadline!
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
Ask not-we cannot know-what end the gods have set for you, for me;
How much better to endure whatever comes
- Horace, Ode to Leuconoe
Chapter 1: Anomalous
“There’s something I don’t understand, Doctor.”
“Just one thing?” He smirks. Oh, he thinks he’s so clever. Well, all right, he is, but it’d be nice if once in a while he wasn’t quite so smug.
She confines her reaction to a roll of her eyes. “We can go anywhere we like in time and space, right?”
“That’s the general idea with a TARDIS, yep.”
“That’s what I thought. So how come we keep ending up in London?” She gestures to the street around them. “An’ 2006 London, too?”
“Oi!” he retorts, eyebrows shooting up. “I’m not the one whose mother lives here. Or who insists on visitin’ her all the time.”
“All the time?” It’s her turn to stare indignantly at him. “I’ve asked to see her twice in all this time I’ve been travelling with you. Haven’t even asked today. An’ what’s it been? Three months? Four?”
“Depends whether you count that time loop on Tarraxin.” He grins, and she knows he’s settling in for a good game of one-up-manship that he intends to win. Well, she’ll see about that. “And, yep, don’t see why you shouldn’t see her today. We’re here, after all.”
“You still haven’t said, though.” She pokes him with her elbow. “What are we doin’ here?”
“Looking for something.” His response is blithe, cheerful.
“What, though?”
He glances at her, rolling his eyes as if it should be obvious. “Well, I don’t know, do I? I’ll know what it is when I see it.”
“Okay...” She shakes her head. Sometimes, alien or not, he’s such a bloke. “So how do you know you’re looking for something at all?”
“Cause I do!” He shrugs, a loose-limbed gesture that flows through his entire body.
“Well, what sort of thing is it, then? Alien?” she tries.
“Nah. ‘S more like...” He seems to be searching for the right word. “Some sort of anomaly.”
“Anomaly. Right. So we’re just walking along Charing Cross Road on a Tuesday afternoon lookin’ for somethin’ strange. Unusual. Yeah?”
“Yep!” He looks extremely proud, though whether it’s of her or of himself she can’t tell.
She shakes her head. “This is so weird. I mean, it’s Charing Cross Road. In London. An’ I’m with you lookin’ for an anomaly. Four months ago I’d’ve been back up there-” She jerks her head in the direction of Trafalgar Square and the shopping district beyond it. “-foldin’ clothes an’ dealing with stroppy customers. Now I’m travellin’ the universe with you.”
He nods. “This a better life, then?”
“Oh, yeah.” She looks up at him with a wide grin. “Though, you know, I can’t help wondering... does it ever stop feelin’ so exciting? I mean, I can’t ever imagine this life seemin’ normal. You know, get up, go to work, come home, watch telly, go to bed normal. But for you this is normal, right?”
He shrugs. “Normal as it gets, I s’pose. ‘S what I do. Travel. See things.” He throws her an impish grin. “Run for my life.” Another loose shrug. “Yep. Normal.”
Right. And he’s been doing this for nine hundred years. That’s just amazing. But then he’s amazing. She hangs off his arm for a moment. “I’m just glad I was late bringin’ the lottery money downstairs that day. Never would’ve met you otherwise.”
“Prob’ly not,” he agrees. “Dunno, though. Someone as curious as you, Rose Tyler - you’d’ve been out there askin’ questions. Gettin’ in the way. Would prob’ly have bumped into you sooner or later.”
“Maybe,” she agrees. “Just as well you did, though. Saved your life, I did.”
“Saved yours first.” There’s that grin again. “See, can’t manage without me, can you?”
“Oi!” She punches him lightly. “You’re such a show-off.”
“Oi!” he echoes. “Genius, me. Think I’m entitled.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Letting go of him, she stands and surveys the street. Cars bumper-to-bumper on the road, as usual, and exhaust-fumes everywhere. The pavement’s full of people, all in a rush, some tutting impatiently as they have to walk around the two of them. It’s just the usual hustle and bustle of a weekday in London.
Once, she was part of this. She’d have been one of those people hurrying along the street, running for her bus, or to get to work on time, or to meet Mickey for lunch. It wasn’t all that long ago, yet it feels like another life.
This is her life now. Maybe, yes, one day it’ll feel as normal to her as it does to the Doctor. Though she knows what her mum’ll think of that. “It’s all right for the moment, I suppose, not that I like it,” her mum said last time she was home. “S’pose it’s like other people havin’ a gap year between school an’ college, travelling the world. But you’ve got to come home some day, Rose. Get a job, or go back to college. You can’t live like this for ever.”
Maybe not - though she’s only interested in thinking about here and now. Later can look after itself. And, anyway, who says she can’t stay with the Doctor as long as she wants, as long as he wants her there?
Someone bumps into her, making her stumble. “Oi! Watch where you’re-” she begins, but it’s pointless, of course. The person’s long gone. As she steadies herself, what feels like a slight gust of wind hits her. Maybe she should have worn a coat after all, even if the Doctor did tell her, before the left the TARDIS, that it’s a lovely late spring day.
And speaking of...
“Doctor?” She looks to her right. There’s no sign of a tall, dark man in black leather. Typical. For all his moaning about companions wandering off, most of the time he’s the one doing the wandering.
Right. So where would he have got to? Further down the street, most likely; any minute now he’ll come striding back, huffing and moaning about companions who can’t keep up. But, as she scans the people in front of her, she can’t see the back of a close-shorn head anywhere.
What else, then? Oh, right. There’s Foyle’s right across the road. Just the kind of place the Doctor would’ve decided to explore, isn’t it? One of the oldest bookshops in the world, and the most famous - it’d definitely appeal to his sense of history. He’ll probably come out any minute and announce that he was there at the shop’s opening, too.
Oh, she’s going to kill him. They’re supposed to be looking for this anomaly of his, and he’s just wandered off on her. Now what’s she supposed to do? Just stand here in the middle of the street and wait for him to decide to come back?
Not bloody likely. They’re supposed to be finding an anomaly. Right. Well, she’s going to look for his anomaly, and with any luck by the time it occurs to him to come back for her she’ll have found it. That’ll serve his smug Time Lord self right.
With a determined straightening of her shoulders, she strides off down the road towards Shaftesbury Avenue.
***
Now where’s she gone?
She was there just a second ago. He could’ve sworn...
Companions. Always wandering off. Honestly, one of these days he’s going to insist that they wear a collar and lead.
All right. So where would a nineteen-year-old Londoner go in the middle of London? They’re surrounded by shops, so - But it’s mostly bookshops here - Foyle’s, second-hand bookshops, a couple of specialist record shops. Not really Rose’s type.
Another slow scan of the street around him confirms that there’s no Rose anywhere in sight. But there’s a newspaper-seller a few feet away, shouting out something incomprehensible that has to be this evening’s Standard headline. With an impatient huff, he walks over.
“ ‘Scuse me, mate. You seen a blonde anywhere in the last couple of minutes? ‘Bout so high-” He mimes. “Looks around nineteen, wearin’ a red hooded top, hair down past her shoulders?”
“You think I got time to be lookin’ out for everyone’s bits o’ fluff?” The vendor turns away and resumes his sales pitch, yelling right next to the Doctor’s left ear. “Read all abou’ it! Congestion charge increased!”
Covering his ears, the Doctor backs away, glancing at the headlines as he does. Typical newspaper stuff - tax increases, nude pictures found of someone famous for five minutes, the Prime Minister’s mother died in her sleep.
Harriet Jones’ mother? He digs in his pocket, produces a pound coin and hands it to the vendor, then grabs a copy of the paper without waiting for change.
It is Harriet’s mother. Found dead early this morning in Flydale Cottage Hospital. The Prime Minister cancelled her engagements for the rest of the day as soon as she was informed, and was taken straight to her constituency.
Harriet Jones. Facing the end of the world locked in the Cabinet Room in Downing Street, and the person she was most worried about her mother. It’s almost enough to make him want to go and see her to tell her he’s sorry. But he doesn’t do things like that. Too domestic by far. Solve the problem, move on; that’s how he does things.
He rolls up the paper and stuffs it in his pocket. Right. Rose. Now, where on earth has she got to?
With a sigh and another huff, he heads on down the road towards Shaftesbury Avenue and Leicester Square.
***
Still no sign of the Doctor. He probably is poking around in that bloody bookshop, completely lost track of time or even of the fact that he had someone with him. For someone who’s supposed to be a Lord of Time, he doesn’t keep track of it at all well - he’s always getting caught up in some project when they’re supposed to be going somewhere and then, two hours later, emerges wondering where she’s got to.
A car speeds past her, horn blaring, and she automatically glances into the street. Just a typical London driver, of course, impatient over being cut up or about some pedestrian trying to cross the road. She’s about to turn her attention back to the pavement when she hesitates. That’s odd. There’s a few dozen cars in her line of vision and not one of them’s newer than five years old. Course, she can blame Mickey for the fact that she even noticed that, him and his obsession with cars. Weird, all the same.
She shrugs and carries on walking, keeping her eye out for a tall bloke in a leather jacket - or any kind of trouble, because if there’s anything like that she just knows he’s going to be right in the middle of it. If there was such a thing as a Doctor detector, that’d be it. Though one of these days she’s going to insist that he get a mobile. Not much use having a phone on the TARDIS if he’s not in the TARDIS when she needs to find him.
Music blares from a car whose driver’s got windows down and speakers on full blast. God, she hasn’t heard that song in years. Teenage Dirtbag, that’s what it’s called, though she can’t for the life of her remember who it’s by. She’s humming it before she remembers that she hated it when it was in the charts. Used to moan at Mickey, didn’t she, when he always wanted to play it at full blast.
Still scanning the street, she notices a tiny sandwich shop across the road. She’s half-tempted to get something to eat. That’s one thing about travelling with the Doctor: he’s not particularly focused on mundane stuff like eating and sleeping, and she’s learned to grab food when opportunities arise. Not there, though - she’s got a vague recollection of that particular shop being investigated by health inspectors a couple of years back. Actually... wait a minute, didn’t they close it down? Though obviously not, if it’s still in business. Maybe it was just temporary, though she could have sworn...
Nah. Can’t be.
She crosses the road at Shaftesbury Avenue, still looking everywhere for the Doctor. That’s when she sees it, tucked neatly into the entrance to an alleyway. A distinctive, and very familiar, blue box.
What’s the TARDIS doing here? They left it back in Charing Cross. No wonder she couldn’t find the Doctor anywhere! He’s been off in the TARDIS, obviously. The git. He could at least have told her.
Shaking her head and vowing to give him a piece of her mind for wandering off, she hurries over to the time-ship, key in hand.
“So what the hell’ve you been up to, then?” she demands as she pushes the door open. And then she freezes, staring around her in shock.
The interior of the ship’s completely changed. Instead of the curving coral struts, the grating on the floor and the green glow of the interior that she’s used to, the inside of the TARDIS is all steel girders and wooden panelling, and the console’s a plain wooden hexagon with none of the curves and soft glow that she’s used to.
Standing behind the console is a man she’s never seen before in her life, and he’s looking at her in puzzled confusion.
“Who are you, and how can you have a key to my TARDIS?”
***
This is getting ridiculous. There’s no sign of her, and she could be anywhere by now. London’s a huge place, and with the bus and Tube system it’d be easy for one blonde woman with a penchant for wandering off to disappear.
Of course, ten years ago the solution would have been simple. Phone-boxes everywhere - real phone-boxes - so he could’ve just phoned her mobile. One where the hell have you wandered off to? later and he’d have her. Now, though, everyone’s got mobiles and there’s no need for those handy little BT boxes any more.
Well, there’s one solution, and that’s to go back to the TARDIS and call her from there. Muttering darkly and glowering - and attracting a few startled glances and disapproving glares as a result - he spins on his heel and starts striding back the way he came.
It takes him close to fifteen minutes to reach the TARDIS, mainly because the streets are getting busier and he’s having to dodge more people. What is it about big cities that makes supposedly sensible people turn into complete zombies?
One thing he does realise after a couple of minutes of walking, though, is that the odd sensation he’s had ever since they stepped out of the TARDIS close to half an hour ago has gone. He’s not sure when it vanished. But what he does know is what it means. The anomaly, whatever it was, has gone. Resolved itself, disappeared, snapped back into place. And without his help, too.
Well, all right, it does happen that way sometimes. Could’ve been something quite simple, a little bubble of misplaced... something... and it’s vanished back to where it came from. Maybe a being, an alien, out of place and out of time, a member of a vaguely telepathic species, so them being here where they shouldn’t be was telegraphing itself to him. No matter. All gone. Now, all he has to do is find Rose.
Finally, he’s back at the TARDIS, and he hurries to the phone and dials Rose’s mobile, all prepared to launch into a completely justified tirade of indignation.
But there’s no answer. The phone rings and rings, but she’s not there.
***
“Who am I? Who are you?”
The stranger raises one eyebrow, and in that moment he looks exactly like a character in one of those period dramas her mum likes, all heaving bodices and tight knee-breeches. Autocratic, that’s the word. Like he’s lord of the manor and she’s a servant who’s dared to use the main staircase instead of the back stairs.
And, actually, it matches perfectly what she can see of the way he’s dressed. A shirt with ruffles - ruffles! And a cravat. And is that jacket velvet?
"I'm the Doctor. Though, considering you do have a key to my TARDIS, you already know that. Or will know that, depending on when you're from. I do love how time travel mixes up the tenses, don't you? So, since we haven't met yet, at least as far as I recall, we should get the introductions out of the way. You already know me. And you are?"
What? What the hell is he talking about?
“You’re not the Doctor. No way.” She advances on him, noting his height relative to hers and deciding that she can take him, if she needs to. “I know the Doctor. He looks nothin’ like you. And this is his TARDIS, an’ he’s going to be furious when he sees what you’ve done to it. So if I were you I’d get out of here while you still can, before he gets back.”
The man stares at her, and he actually seems to be trying not to laugh. Git, whoever he is. "Oh, but I am. I am, absolutely and positively, the Doctor. A Time Lord, from Gallifrey. The question is when are you from? You obviously don't know me, which means you're probably a companion of a future me. Only explanation for the key, after all."
“A later you?” What is he talking about? And Galli-whatever that was? Is that the name of his planet? The Doctor’s never told her what it was called. Never. He won’t even talk about it.
“Tell me.” He steps out from behind the console, and now she can see his complete outfit. She wasn’t so far wrong when she thought he spoke like someone out of Pride and Prejudice, though he’s not wearing those tight knee-length trousers. “The Doctor you know. What does he look like?”
“Nothing like you,” she retorts.
“Well, yes, I believe we’ve already established that. But humour me, please.”
She hesitates. “How do I know you’re not tryin’ to hurt the Doctor?”
Unbelievably, he smiles. “You’re loyal. I like that. Well, of course I do. I imagine it’s one of the reasons I asked you to come with me. Or, rather, will ask you.” He takes a step towards her. “I really am the Doctor - and you are?”
“Rose. Rose Tyler.” There can’t be any harm in telling him that, surely.
He slides a hand into his jacket pocket and removes two objects. A key, and something that looks sort of like the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver, but it’s different. “Familiar, no, Rose Tyler?”
“Yeah. Sort of. But-”
“But I could have stolen them from your Doctor. Yes, I could. But I didn’t.”
Her breath’s caught in her throat. It can’t be - he can’t be. How can he claim to be the Doctor and not look a bit like him?
There’s one way she’ll know. She takes a step forward, then another, until she’s standing in front of him. Ignoring his hand with the key and the screwdriver, she places her hand on his chest, first the left side and then the right.
Heartbeats. On both sides. But this doesn’t make any sense!
“You’ve got two hearts.” A choke in her voice, she stares at him. “I don’t understand, but... you are the Doctor, aren’t you?”
***
No answer from her phone. She’s not in the TARDIS. No sign of her anywhere.
Well, there’s only one thing he can do. And it’s probably about the last thing he wants to do.
Go to Jackie Tyler and tell her he’s lost her daughter and needs her help to find Rose? It’d be as good as putting his head on the block and asking her to swing the axe. After the last time, when he brought Rose back a year late and Jackie thought she was dead, and then he couldn’t give her any guarantees that he could keep Rose safe, turning up like this is only going to reinforce everything she already believes about his attitude to Rose’s safety.
He can’t do it. And yet what if Rose is already there? She did say she wants to see her mum, after all. Even if she’s not, Jackie knows Rose’s friends. Shareen, Keisha, even Mickey, and all those others Rose mentions in conversation occasionally. She could have met up with any of them and gone off for a drink and a natter.
“Tellin’ me would’ve been nice. Could’ve left a message, even,” he mutters as he sets co-ordinates on the console.
Jackie Tyler, here he comes. As the TARDIS starts to materialise in the courtyard outside Bucknall House, he presses a hand gingerly to his cheek, almost in anticipation of what he knows is about to come.
Taking a deep breath, he walks towards the door and, very probably, his next regeneration.
***
"Yes, I'm the Doctor," the stranger agrees. "But I wouldn't base that conclusion solely on my hearts. It's a bit like saying you're Rose Tyler because you've got brown eyes."
“But-” she begins, but cuts herself off instantly. But the Doctor’s the last one, she was about to say, but she can’t. It makes sense now - well, at least part of it does. This Doctor - and she still has no idea how he can be the Doctor - has to be from before the War. Before his planet - Gallifrey? - burned. “Doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “S’pose you’re just too convincing. Had to be him - you.”
The man - the Doctor, she has to remember that - gives her a keen, searching look, but then shakes his head. “Well, the important thing is to work out how you got here. I’m assuming you expected to walk into your own Doctor’s TARDIS?”
“Yeah.” She nods, and then remembers. “But it wasn’t where we left it. It should’ve been up at Charing Cross.”
The Doctor nods in return. “The real question may be when your Doctor’s TARDIS is.”
“When?” She frowns. “We only left it about twenty minutes ago.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Right. Timelines and so on, yes? “2006. July.”
“I see.” The Doctor looks very serious suddenly. “And what were you doing?”
“Just walking. The Doctor said he was looking for an anomaly. Said he - you,” she amends, though it still feels wrong.
“You can say he if it’s easier,” the stranger-Doctor tells her. “What kind of anomaly? Did he say?”
“No, just said he’d know what it was when he saw it.”
“I see.” The Doctor’s expression is suddenly very kind and very professor-like. “Yes, I would. Looks like I missed it, though - both of me. And in the meantime you need to know that this isn’t July 2006 any more.”
“It’s not?” Okay, now what? He’s telling her that she time-travelled on her own or something?
“We’re here because Sam - that’s my current companion, by the way - wanted to visit her parents. She’ll be back in a few hours. The month is September, and the year is 2001.”
Five years? She’s gone back in time almost five years?
Though, as the truth sinks in, she almost laughs.
She’s found the Doctor’s anomaly, hasn’t she?
***
tbc
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Link to original post on hearts_in_time.
Author: wmr wendymr
Characters: The Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jackie Tyler
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not my characters!
Beta: dark_aegis, without whom I could NOT have written one character in this story.
Summary: Ask not-we cannot know-what end the gods have set for you, for me.
Originally written for the hearts_in_time RUN Ficathon, for ameretrifle; her prompts will appear at the end. (And I'm still working on Weaving - this fic was the one with the deadline!
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
Ask not-we cannot know-what end the gods have set for you, for me;
How much better to endure whatever comes
- Horace, Ode to Leuconoe
Chapter 1: Anomalous
“There’s something I don’t understand, Doctor.”
“Just one thing?” He smirks. Oh, he thinks he’s so clever. Well, all right, he is, but it’d be nice if once in a while he wasn’t quite so smug.
She confines her reaction to a roll of her eyes. “We can go anywhere we like in time and space, right?”
“That’s the general idea with a TARDIS, yep.”
“That’s what I thought. So how come we keep ending up in London?” She gestures to the street around them. “An’ 2006 London, too?”
“Oi!” he retorts, eyebrows shooting up. “I’m not the one whose mother lives here. Or who insists on visitin’ her all the time.”
“All the time?” It’s her turn to stare indignantly at him. “I’ve asked to see her twice in all this time I’ve been travelling with you. Haven’t even asked today. An’ what’s it been? Three months? Four?”
“Depends whether you count that time loop on Tarraxin.” He grins, and she knows he’s settling in for a good game of one-up-manship that he intends to win. Well, she’ll see about that. “And, yep, don’t see why you shouldn’t see her today. We’re here, after all.”
“You still haven’t said, though.” She pokes him with her elbow. “What are we doin’ here?”
“Looking for something.” His response is blithe, cheerful.
“What, though?”
He glances at her, rolling his eyes as if it should be obvious. “Well, I don’t know, do I? I’ll know what it is when I see it.”
“Okay...” She shakes her head. Sometimes, alien or not, he’s such a bloke. “So how do you know you’re looking for something at all?”
“Cause I do!” He shrugs, a loose-limbed gesture that flows through his entire body.
“Well, what sort of thing is it, then? Alien?” she tries.
“Nah. ‘S more like...” He seems to be searching for the right word. “Some sort of anomaly.”
“Anomaly. Right. So we’re just walking along Charing Cross Road on a Tuesday afternoon lookin’ for somethin’ strange. Unusual. Yeah?”
“Yep!” He looks extremely proud, though whether it’s of her or of himself she can’t tell.
She shakes her head. “This is so weird. I mean, it’s Charing Cross Road. In London. An’ I’m with you lookin’ for an anomaly. Four months ago I’d’ve been back up there-” She jerks her head in the direction of Trafalgar Square and the shopping district beyond it. “-foldin’ clothes an’ dealing with stroppy customers. Now I’m travellin’ the universe with you.”
He nods. “This a better life, then?”
“Oh, yeah.” She looks up at him with a wide grin. “Though, you know, I can’t help wondering... does it ever stop feelin’ so exciting? I mean, I can’t ever imagine this life seemin’ normal. You know, get up, go to work, come home, watch telly, go to bed normal. But for you this is normal, right?”
He shrugs. “Normal as it gets, I s’pose. ‘S what I do. Travel. See things.” He throws her an impish grin. “Run for my life.” Another loose shrug. “Yep. Normal.”
Right. And he’s been doing this for nine hundred years. That’s just amazing. But then he’s amazing. She hangs off his arm for a moment. “I’m just glad I was late bringin’ the lottery money downstairs that day. Never would’ve met you otherwise.”
“Prob’ly not,” he agrees. “Dunno, though. Someone as curious as you, Rose Tyler - you’d’ve been out there askin’ questions. Gettin’ in the way. Would prob’ly have bumped into you sooner or later.”
“Maybe,” she agrees. “Just as well you did, though. Saved your life, I did.”
“Saved yours first.” There’s that grin again. “See, can’t manage without me, can you?”
“Oi!” She punches him lightly. “You’re such a show-off.”
“Oi!” he echoes. “Genius, me. Think I’m entitled.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Letting go of him, she stands and surveys the street. Cars bumper-to-bumper on the road, as usual, and exhaust-fumes everywhere. The pavement’s full of people, all in a rush, some tutting impatiently as they have to walk around the two of them. It’s just the usual hustle and bustle of a weekday in London.
Once, she was part of this. She’d have been one of those people hurrying along the street, running for her bus, or to get to work on time, or to meet Mickey for lunch. It wasn’t all that long ago, yet it feels like another life.
This is her life now. Maybe, yes, one day it’ll feel as normal to her as it does to the Doctor. Though she knows what her mum’ll think of that. “It’s all right for the moment, I suppose, not that I like it,” her mum said last time she was home. “S’pose it’s like other people havin’ a gap year between school an’ college, travelling the world. But you’ve got to come home some day, Rose. Get a job, or go back to college. You can’t live like this for ever.”
Maybe not - though she’s only interested in thinking about here and now. Later can look after itself. And, anyway, who says she can’t stay with the Doctor as long as she wants, as long as he wants her there?
Someone bumps into her, making her stumble. “Oi! Watch where you’re-” she begins, but it’s pointless, of course. The person’s long gone. As she steadies herself, what feels like a slight gust of wind hits her. Maybe she should have worn a coat after all, even if the Doctor did tell her, before the left the TARDIS, that it’s a lovely late spring day.
And speaking of...
“Doctor?” She looks to her right. There’s no sign of a tall, dark man in black leather. Typical. For all his moaning about companions wandering off, most of the time he’s the one doing the wandering.
Right. So where would he have got to? Further down the street, most likely; any minute now he’ll come striding back, huffing and moaning about companions who can’t keep up. But, as she scans the people in front of her, she can’t see the back of a close-shorn head anywhere.
What else, then? Oh, right. There’s Foyle’s right across the road. Just the kind of place the Doctor would’ve decided to explore, isn’t it? One of the oldest bookshops in the world, and the most famous - it’d definitely appeal to his sense of history. He’ll probably come out any minute and announce that he was there at the shop’s opening, too.
Oh, she’s going to kill him. They’re supposed to be looking for this anomaly of his, and he’s just wandered off on her. Now what’s she supposed to do? Just stand here in the middle of the street and wait for him to decide to come back?
Not bloody likely. They’re supposed to be finding an anomaly. Right. Well, she’s going to look for his anomaly, and with any luck by the time it occurs to him to come back for her she’ll have found it. That’ll serve his smug Time Lord self right.
With a determined straightening of her shoulders, she strides off down the road towards Shaftesbury Avenue.
***
Now where’s she gone?
She was there just a second ago. He could’ve sworn...
Companions. Always wandering off. Honestly, one of these days he’s going to insist that they wear a collar and lead.
All right. So where would a nineteen-year-old Londoner go in the middle of London? They’re surrounded by shops, so - But it’s mostly bookshops here - Foyle’s, second-hand bookshops, a couple of specialist record shops. Not really Rose’s type.
Another slow scan of the street around him confirms that there’s no Rose anywhere in sight. But there’s a newspaper-seller a few feet away, shouting out something incomprehensible that has to be this evening’s Standard headline. With an impatient huff, he walks over.
“ ‘Scuse me, mate. You seen a blonde anywhere in the last couple of minutes? ‘Bout so high-” He mimes. “Looks around nineteen, wearin’ a red hooded top, hair down past her shoulders?”
“You think I got time to be lookin’ out for everyone’s bits o’ fluff?” The vendor turns away and resumes his sales pitch, yelling right next to the Doctor’s left ear. “Read all abou’ it! Congestion charge increased!”
Covering his ears, the Doctor backs away, glancing at the headlines as he does. Typical newspaper stuff - tax increases, nude pictures found of someone famous for five minutes, the Prime Minister’s mother died in her sleep.
Harriet Jones’ mother? He digs in his pocket, produces a pound coin and hands it to the vendor, then grabs a copy of the paper without waiting for change.
It is Harriet’s mother. Found dead early this morning in Flydale Cottage Hospital. The Prime Minister cancelled her engagements for the rest of the day as soon as she was informed, and was taken straight to her constituency.
Harriet Jones. Facing the end of the world locked in the Cabinet Room in Downing Street, and the person she was most worried about her mother. It’s almost enough to make him want to go and see her to tell her he’s sorry. But he doesn’t do things like that. Too domestic by far. Solve the problem, move on; that’s how he does things.
He rolls up the paper and stuffs it in his pocket. Right. Rose. Now, where on earth has she got to?
With a sigh and another huff, he heads on down the road towards Shaftesbury Avenue and Leicester Square.
***
Still no sign of the Doctor. He probably is poking around in that bloody bookshop, completely lost track of time or even of the fact that he had someone with him. For someone who’s supposed to be a Lord of Time, he doesn’t keep track of it at all well - he’s always getting caught up in some project when they’re supposed to be going somewhere and then, two hours later, emerges wondering where she’s got to.
A car speeds past her, horn blaring, and she automatically glances into the street. Just a typical London driver, of course, impatient over being cut up or about some pedestrian trying to cross the road. She’s about to turn her attention back to the pavement when she hesitates. That’s odd. There’s a few dozen cars in her line of vision and not one of them’s newer than five years old. Course, she can blame Mickey for the fact that she even noticed that, him and his obsession with cars. Weird, all the same.
She shrugs and carries on walking, keeping her eye out for a tall bloke in a leather jacket - or any kind of trouble, because if there’s anything like that she just knows he’s going to be right in the middle of it. If there was such a thing as a Doctor detector, that’d be it. Though one of these days she’s going to insist that he get a mobile. Not much use having a phone on the TARDIS if he’s not in the TARDIS when she needs to find him.
Music blares from a car whose driver’s got windows down and speakers on full blast. God, she hasn’t heard that song in years. Teenage Dirtbag, that’s what it’s called, though she can’t for the life of her remember who it’s by. She’s humming it before she remembers that she hated it when it was in the charts. Used to moan at Mickey, didn’t she, when he always wanted to play it at full blast.
Still scanning the street, she notices a tiny sandwich shop across the road. She’s half-tempted to get something to eat. That’s one thing about travelling with the Doctor: he’s not particularly focused on mundane stuff like eating and sleeping, and she’s learned to grab food when opportunities arise. Not there, though - she’s got a vague recollection of that particular shop being investigated by health inspectors a couple of years back. Actually... wait a minute, didn’t they close it down? Though obviously not, if it’s still in business. Maybe it was just temporary, though she could have sworn...
Nah. Can’t be.
She crosses the road at Shaftesbury Avenue, still looking everywhere for the Doctor. That’s when she sees it, tucked neatly into the entrance to an alleyway. A distinctive, and very familiar, blue box.
What’s the TARDIS doing here? They left it back in Charing Cross. No wonder she couldn’t find the Doctor anywhere! He’s been off in the TARDIS, obviously. The git. He could at least have told her.
Shaking her head and vowing to give him a piece of her mind for wandering off, she hurries over to the time-ship, key in hand.
“So what the hell’ve you been up to, then?” she demands as she pushes the door open. And then she freezes, staring around her in shock.
The interior of the ship’s completely changed. Instead of the curving coral struts, the grating on the floor and the green glow of the interior that she’s used to, the inside of the TARDIS is all steel girders and wooden panelling, and the console’s a plain wooden hexagon with none of the curves and soft glow that she’s used to.
Standing behind the console is a man she’s never seen before in her life, and he’s looking at her in puzzled confusion.
“Who are you, and how can you have a key to my TARDIS?”
***
This is getting ridiculous. There’s no sign of her, and she could be anywhere by now. London’s a huge place, and with the bus and Tube system it’d be easy for one blonde woman with a penchant for wandering off to disappear.
Of course, ten years ago the solution would have been simple. Phone-boxes everywhere - real phone-boxes - so he could’ve just phoned her mobile. One where the hell have you wandered off to? later and he’d have her. Now, though, everyone’s got mobiles and there’s no need for those handy little BT boxes any more.
Well, there’s one solution, and that’s to go back to the TARDIS and call her from there. Muttering darkly and glowering - and attracting a few startled glances and disapproving glares as a result - he spins on his heel and starts striding back the way he came.
It takes him close to fifteen minutes to reach the TARDIS, mainly because the streets are getting busier and he’s having to dodge more people. What is it about big cities that makes supposedly sensible people turn into complete zombies?
One thing he does realise after a couple of minutes of walking, though, is that the odd sensation he’s had ever since they stepped out of the TARDIS close to half an hour ago has gone. He’s not sure when it vanished. But what he does know is what it means. The anomaly, whatever it was, has gone. Resolved itself, disappeared, snapped back into place. And without his help, too.
Well, all right, it does happen that way sometimes. Could’ve been something quite simple, a little bubble of misplaced... something... and it’s vanished back to where it came from. Maybe a being, an alien, out of place and out of time, a member of a vaguely telepathic species, so them being here where they shouldn’t be was telegraphing itself to him. No matter. All gone. Now, all he has to do is find Rose.
Finally, he’s back at the TARDIS, and he hurries to the phone and dials Rose’s mobile, all prepared to launch into a completely justified tirade of indignation.
But there’s no answer. The phone rings and rings, but she’s not there.
***
“Who am I? Who are you?”
The stranger raises one eyebrow, and in that moment he looks exactly like a character in one of those period dramas her mum likes, all heaving bodices and tight knee-breeches. Autocratic, that’s the word. Like he’s lord of the manor and she’s a servant who’s dared to use the main staircase instead of the back stairs.
And, actually, it matches perfectly what she can see of the way he’s dressed. A shirt with ruffles - ruffles! And a cravat. And is that jacket velvet?
"I'm the Doctor. Though, considering you do have a key to my TARDIS, you already know that. Or will know that, depending on when you're from. I do love how time travel mixes up the tenses, don't you? So, since we haven't met yet, at least as far as I recall, we should get the introductions out of the way. You already know me. And you are?"
What? What the hell is he talking about?
“You’re not the Doctor. No way.” She advances on him, noting his height relative to hers and deciding that she can take him, if she needs to. “I know the Doctor. He looks nothin’ like you. And this is his TARDIS, an’ he’s going to be furious when he sees what you’ve done to it. So if I were you I’d get out of here while you still can, before he gets back.”
The man stares at her, and he actually seems to be trying not to laugh. Git, whoever he is. "Oh, but I am. I am, absolutely and positively, the Doctor. A Time Lord, from Gallifrey. The question is when are you from? You obviously don't know me, which means you're probably a companion of a future me. Only explanation for the key, after all."
“A later you?” What is he talking about? And Galli-whatever that was? Is that the name of his planet? The Doctor’s never told her what it was called. Never. He won’t even talk about it.
“Tell me.” He steps out from behind the console, and now she can see his complete outfit. She wasn’t so far wrong when she thought he spoke like someone out of Pride and Prejudice, though he’s not wearing those tight knee-length trousers. “The Doctor you know. What does he look like?”
“Nothing like you,” she retorts.
“Well, yes, I believe we’ve already established that. But humour me, please.”
She hesitates. “How do I know you’re not tryin’ to hurt the Doctor?”
Unbelievably, he smiles. “You’re loyal. I like that. Well, of course I do. I imagine it’s one of the reasons I asked you to come with me. Or, rather, will ask you.” He takes a step towards her. “I really am the Doctor - and you are?”
“Rose. Rose Tyler.” There can’t be any harm in telling him that, surely.
He slides a hand into his jacket pocket and removes two objects. A key, and something that looks sort of like the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver, but it’s different. “Familiar, no, Rose Tyler?”
“Yeah. Sort of. But-”
“But I could have stolen them from your Doctor. Yes, I could. But I didn’t.”
Her breath’s caught in her throat. It can’t be - he can’t be. How can he claim to be the Doctor and not look a bit like him?
There’s one way she’ll know. She takes a step forward, then another, until she’s standing in front of him. Ignoring his hand with the key and the screwdriver, she places her hand on his chest, first the left side and then the right.
Heartbeats. On both sides. But this doesn’t make any sense!
“You’ve got two hearts.” A choke in her voice, she stares at him. “I don’t understand, but... you are the Doctor, aren’t you?”
***
No answer from her phone. She’s not in the TARDIS. No sign of her anywhere.
Well, there’s only one thing he can do. And it’s probably about the last thing he wants to do.
Go to Jackie Tyler and tell her he’s lost her daughter and needs her help to find Rose? It’d be as good as putting his head on the block and asking her to swing the axe. After the last time, when he brought Rose back a year late and Jackie thought she was dead, and then he couldn’t give her any guarantees that he could keep Rose safe, turning up like this is only going to reinforce everything she already believes about his attitude to Rose’s safety.
He can’t do it. And yet what if Rose is already there? She did say she wants to see her mum, after all. Even if she’s not, Jackie knows Rose’s friends. Shareen, Keisha, even Mickey, and all those others Rose mentions in conversation occasionally. She could have met up with any of them and gone off for a drink and a natter.
“Tellin’ me would’ve been nice. Could’ve left a message, even,” he mutters as he sets co-ordinates on the console.
Jackie Tyler, here he comes. As the TARDIS starts to materialise in the courtyard outside Bucknall House, he presses a hand gingerly to his cheek, almost in anticipation of what he knows is about to come.
Taking a deep breath, he walks towards the door and, very probably, his next regeneration.
***
"Yes, I'm the Doctor," the stranger agrees. "But I wouldn't base that conclusion solely on my hearts. It's a bit like saying you're Rose Tyler because you've got brown eyes."
“But-” she begins, but cuts herself off instantly. But the Doctor’s the last one, she was about to say, but she can’t. It makes sense now - well, at least part of it does. This Doctor - and she still has no idea how he can be the Doctor - has to be from before the War. Before his planet - Gallifrey? - burned. “Doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “S’pose you’re just too convincing. Had to be him - you.”
The man - the Doctor, she has to remember that - gives her a keen, searching look, but then shakes his head. “Well, the important thing is to work out how you got here. I’m assuming you expected to walk into your own Doctor’s TARDIS?”
“Yeah.” She nods, and then remembers. “But it wasn’t where we left it. It should’ve been up at Charing Cross.”
The Doctor nods in return. “The real question may be when your Doctor’s TARDIS is.”
“When?” She frowns. “We only left it about twenty minutes ago.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Right. Timelines and so on, yes? “2006. July.”
“I see.” The Doctor looks very serious suddenly. “And what were you doing?”
“Just walking. The Doctor said he was looking for an anomaly. Said he - you,” she amends, though it still feels wrong.
“You can say he if it’s easier,” the stranger-Doctor tells her. “What kind of anomaly? Did he say?”
“No, just said he’d know what it was when he saw it.”
“I see.” The Doctor’s expression is suddenly very kind and very professor-like. “Yes, I would. Looks like I missed it, though - both of me. And in the meantime you need to know that this isn’t July 2006 any more.”
“It’s not?” Okay, now what? He’s telling her that she time-travelled on her own or something?
“We’re here because Sam - that’s my current companion, by the way - wanted to visit her parents. She’ll be back in a few hours. The month is September, and the year is 2001.”
Five years? She’s gone back in time almost five years?
Though, as the truth sinks in, she almost laughs.
She’s found the Doctor’s anomaly, hasn’t she?
***
tbc
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
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