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eponymous_roseStory: The Wanderer Fantasy
Chapter: Tempus Fugit (4/?)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eponymous_rose
Word Count: 3819
Beta: The splendiferousimsane_honest!
Genre: Adventure, humour
Characters: Rose, Ten
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Violence
Spoilers: Pre-Doomsday
In which: The TARDIS is revealed to have a prodigal supply of board games; the Historians finally meet someone worth writing about; and the time is, to coin a phrase, rather out of joint.
Previous Chapters
Link:
Rose stared at the three-dimensional holographic grid before her, tapping a finger to her lips. “R-6-zeta,” she said at last.
Matt groaned and pulled off his glasses as a tinny explosion sounded from his monitor. “You’ve sunk my Arlenian Star Destroyer,” he said, rubbing at his eyes.
Rose pumped a fist in celebration as the words Congratulations, Earthling! flickered across her display. “The undefeated champion reigns!” she crowed.
Matt sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I never thought I’d say this – I mean, I really never thought I’d say this – but I’m getting a bit bored of 3-D Holographic Battleship Version 5.9.”
“You’re just a sore loser,” Rose teased, and he offered her a rude hand gesture in return. All in all, though, she was relieved to see Matt coming further out of his shell, though it still concerned her that he seemed so terrified of the Doctor – and that the Doctor was so unsettled by his presence. The TARDIS wasn’t helping, either; when Matt had wandered off in search of the loo, the corridors had kept rearranging themselves so that he wound up in the console room again and again. Rose had given the ship a stern talking-to, much to Matt’s embarrassment, and the TARDIS had finally started behaving, though Rose got the impression that it was more due to distraction than out of any spirit of cooperation.
“All right,” Rose said, shutting down the gaming system and peering over her shoulder at the shelves of games lining the walls. She’d only been in this room once before, when she and the Doctor had been stuck waiting for the TARDIS to recover from an impromptu plunge through an asteroid belt. It seemed to have grown since she last set foot in it – she wondered whether the Doctor occasionally absconded with some poor kid’s collection of board games to pass the time. “Up for… five-dimensional Scrabble?”
Matt winced. “God, no.”
Rose glanced at the clock on the wall; over one and a half hours had passed since the Doctor had wandered off. Matt followed her gaze. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he said, and she couldn’t suppress a grin at the earnest tone of his voice. The kid was still utterly petrified, and he was trying to comfort her.
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s probably just been distracted by a particularly pretty book.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and Rose got up to peruse the piles of games more carefully. Worrying wouldn’t do them any good. “’Polyopoly’?” she read incredulously. “’Astound your friends by achieving the true ideal of cooperation and harmony through the use of inventive business plans and mergers.’”
Matt gaped. “Is the universe completely full of nutters, or do you two just seek them out and steal their board games?”
Rose laughed. “Think of it as payback for all the times they imprisoned us or threatened us or-“ She swallowed. With the Doctor still missing, it didn’t seem that funny, and she glanced at the clock again.
Matt leaned back in his chair so that it balanced on two legs. “So you and the Doctor – how’d you meet?” He reddened slightly when she glanced over at him quizzically. “Don’t mean to be nosy. Just passing the time.”
“No,” she said hastily. “It’s not that. I just don’t quite know how to answer the question.” And she didn’t, because, while part of her had known the Doctor from the instant he’d grabbed her hand and told her to run, a niggling little voice reminded her that she’d only really known him as the man who’d grinned and said “Barcelona”.
She felt like she’d known him forever.
Matt was still waiting for a reply, so she shrugged and sat down across from him again. “Long story. He saved my life, I saved his. We decided it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, so we stuck with it.”
“And you just sort of-“ Matt gestured expansively with the pair of glasses still in his hand. “-travel?”
Rose fiddled with a loose thread on the end of her sleeve. “Mostly, yeah. We save worlds, sometimes. And we see history, and new planets, and aliens Hollywood couldn’t have dreamed up in a billion years.” She laughed. “A billion years. That number actually makes sense to me now; it’s stopped being beyond my imagination because I’ve been there. That’s so weird.”
Matt was frowning. “You don’t miss your family?”
Rose blinked, surprised at his lack of enthusiasm. “Well, yeah. Of course I do. But I still visit my Mum sometimes, and my boyfriend-“ She swallowed hard; it was so easy to forget that other universe, where Mickey was fighting for freedom and probably happy, really happy, for the first time in ages. “My boyfriend’s moved on,” she finished lamely.
Matt rocked forward until the front legs of his chair touched the ground again. “But don’t you miss that stability? Knowing what’s going to happen day after day?”
Rose stared at him. “Of course not! I went with the Doctor to escape that sort of monotony. This is where all the excitement is, the unpredictability of it all!” It took her a moment to notice how much she sounded like the Doctor, and she felt an unexpected swell of happiness at the thought.
Matt was still looking at her like she’d grown another head. “How can anyone live like that?” he said, softly. “You’ve got to have roots. You’ve got to have somewhere you’ve been and somewhere you’re going. Otherwise nothing you ever do matters!”
“Of course it does,” Rose said, with a hint of pity in her voice. “I used to think like that. But these people the Doctor and I’ve saved – we’ve made a difference for them. They’ll remember us. And all these places I’ve seen-“
Matt crossed his arms on the table. “But you can’t just go around living your life for other people! You’ll completely lose who you are, become everything they want you to be.”
Rose was getting fed up with the argumentative tone of his voice. “How exactly is that a bad thing? If they think we’re their saviours, then what’s so bad about our saving them?”
“You’re missing the point,” Matt chided her, shoving the mop of red hair out of his eyes. For the first time, Rose found it easy to believe he was older than he looked. “There’s not gonna be a Rose Tyler anymore. You’ll just be a bunched-up mess of everyone’s hopes and expectations of you. Why d’you think that Doctor of yours doesn’t have a proper name? He’s spent so long saving other people that he’s lost himself!”
“You’re wrong,” Rose said flatly, bristling at his condescending tone of voice.
Matt shrugged, and reached down for his rucksack. “Whatever,” he said, and the reality of his age was gone; he was a petulant kid again. He pulled a book from the bag – Rose recognized it as a literature anthology she’d ignored in school – and started reading.
Rose sniffed and stared up at the clock for a few moments, watching the seconds hand climb slowly around the face. Part of her wished their time was up, so they could get out there and do something, even if it meant that the Doctor was in trouble.
Matt was still staring furiously at his book, but his eyes didn’t seem to be scanning the pages. Avoiding her, then. Wonderful.
“What about you? D’you have family?” He didn’t look up at her voice, trying his best to appear engrossed in the book. Rose fought down the urge to flip it upside-down in his hands to see if he’d notice. “Time flies when you’re having fun,” she said, deadpan.
The corner of his lip twitched and he set down the book, looking almost apologetic. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I do have family. A sister, Trudy.”
“The one who doesn’t want you to become a journalist,” Rose remembered, and he winced.
“My Dad was a journalist,” he said by way of explanation, then winced again. “Is. Is a journalist.”
“You’re not close, then?” Rose felt the pity coming on again, and wondered whether the sight of her Dad dying on that street corner would ever fade.
“Nah,” Matt said glibly. “Him and Mum got a bit sick of us kids. Just me and Trudy now. No hard feelings all around.”
“Hm,” said Rose.
“What?” he retorted, more than a little defensively.
“You’re a really terrible liar,” Rose informed him cheerfully. “Your ears turn red.”
The red deepened. “Shut up,” he muttered peevishly.
Rose stared up at the ceiling, then stood. “C’mon,” she said. “We’re going.”
Matt stood, letting his bag slide to the ground. “What, out there? But there’s still twenty minutes left!”
“Exactly,” she confirmed. “But look at us! We’re still going.”
“Why?”
“We’re just nutters that way,” she said distractedly, and led the way back into the corridor. The first door she turned into led to a garden, but the second proved more useful, revealing a small wardrobe with a wide variety of coats on hangers. “Bundle up,” she advised Matt. “It looks cold out there.”
“But-“ Matt gasped as she tossed a heavy fleece coat at him. “But what if the Cultelli come back and try to kill me?”
Rose donned a coat of her own and grinned back at him. “Then we run. Quickly.” Before he could protest, she hurried out into the console room and to the doors.
They didn’t open immediately, and for a horrible moment she considered the possibility that the Doctor had locked them in to prevent their following him. “You wouldn’t,” she muttered threateningly.
The doors swung open, almost as an afterthought, and she breathed a sigh of relief that fogged in the cool air. Plunging her hands deep into her pockets, she stepped out to the snowy landscape.
And found herself staring at the muzzle of an ornately decorated duelling pistol.
“Oh,” she said.
The person holding the weapon looked human, for all intents and purposes, grey and grizzled and bearded. “Who are you?” he said slowly, as though talking to a child. A few other figures, equally old and equally well-armed, stepped out from behind the trees.
“Um,” said Rose. “We’re-“ she swallowed. “I know this’ll be really hard to believe, but we’re from outer space.”
The man laughed; it was a cruel sound, like paper tearing. “I’m not stupid, girl. That’s fairly obvious. Who are you?”
Not Maldurians, then, Rose reflected. These must be the Historians. Historians with guns. Thank you for mentioning that, Doctor. Thanks ever so much.
So she had to think of a name to drop. Someone famous, someone well-known enough to get the guns pointed elsewhere. “Oh,” she said. “Hello.” Her mind was racing; the Doctor had said they were two hundred years into the future. Who would be considered famous then? Could she get away with pretending to be a long-dead Earth celebrity?
“Tell your friend to come out of the box,” the man snapped, and she heard Matt stumble hastily into the snow and slam the TARDIS door shut behind him. Inspiration seized her.
“Do you have any idea who we are?” she asked haughtily. The lead Historian seemed taken off-guard.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean to say, do you know who you’re pointing those guns at?” Rose sniffed and looked down her nose at him. He blanched instinctively, and she felt the familiar surge of adrenaline. This would be fun.
“Well, no. That’s why I asked,” he pointed out.
“Yes, well, that does make sense,” Rose floundered, then cleared her throat and rallied. “I’m not someone you want to mess with, is who I am! And my friend here even less so!”
“Right!” Matt squeaked. Everyone ignored him.
Rose straightened up, hands on hips, narrowing her eyes in her best impression of her Mum. The Historians shrank back as one. “I am none other than Rose Tyler, intergalactic adventuress!”
Rose held her breath; surely she’d made her way into the history books by now, if these folks were as well-read as the Doctor had implied. There’d been that business with the the Martians, and the Lolliplacians – her name had surely come up once or twice.
And then there was a faint gasp of recognition; grinning, Rose reached behind her and pulled Matt to her side. “And this, ladies and-“ She paused; there were no women in the bunch – all old men sporting various states of grizzled facial hair. Part of her considered the fact that some of them actually were women, and she shut that part of her up before she thought about it too hard. “Gentlemen and gentlemen,” she amended diplomatically, “this is none other than that protector of the universe, that righter of wrongs, that-“ She waved a hand in the air, and Matt winced as she nearly took out his eye with her grand gesticulating. “-maker of fairly good omelettes.
“This, my good sirs-“ She paused for effect, then patted Matt on the shoulder. “-is the Doctor.”
The Historians gaped, and Rose watched with satisfaction as the guns were lowered, though a part of her was terrified at the confirmation that the real Doctor had never made it to the library. The lead Historian smiled, but it made him look more predatory than amicable. “Doctor! My dear fellow, you’ve regenerated again.”
Rose elbowed Matt, who straightened and cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “I have, haven’t I? Awfully clever of me.” He squinted at the Historian, obviously trying to gauge his response. “Or possibly rude.”
“We would have recognized you sooner,” said a skinnier old man, off to the side, “but our sensors were only picking up singular vascular systems in this immediate vicinity.”
“Yes, well,” said Matt, perplexed. Rose coughed, quickly traced a heart in the air, then raised two fingers. His eyes widened. “Had a spot of bother with the other heart,” he said shakily, then seemed to recover. “Nasty business. Better now with just the one, though.”
“Glad to hear it,” the Historian said in what he obviously thought was a jovial tone of voice. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Rose smiled, but part of her was seething at the Doctor for having left her alone in the first place when it was obvious that she was in no danger from these men. They would have words. “We’ve just got to look something up in the records, if that’s okay.”
“And we’ve got a friend wandering around here, too,” Matt added. He’d puffed out his chest and managed to give the impression of height, obviously warming to his role.
“We’ll send some sentries to conduct a discreet search,” the Historian said, and bowed deeply. “Follow me.”
And as they stomped through the snow after the Historians, Rose heard Matt whispering. “’Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly.”
It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought.
*~*~*
The Doctor woke up.
No, scratch that. The Doctor thought briefly about waking up, decided it wasn’t worth the bother, and promptly passed out again. Several times.
It was a dizzying and exhausting business, this waking to pain and light and confusion only to be plunged so rapidly back into oblivion, and the Doctor decided he wasn’t going to stand for it any longer.
“Mrph,” he said, squinting at the purple blur that was the world. Then, warming to his topic, he added: “Nrgh.”
“You’re awake,” said a rough voice that was obviously trying very hard to speak softly. It was like listening to someone tiptoeing through gravel.
The Doctor started to concur with this brilliant piece of deductive reasoning, but was seized by a fit of coughing and tried to double over. A gentle but firm hand held him against the bed until the spasm had passed. “All right?” said the voice. The Doctor took that opportunity to faint again.
He had blurred, confused impressions in the semi-conscious state that followed, dreams blending haphazardly with reality. Rose was there, was gone, was beside him and above him and everywhere and nowhere. Bandages, blood – a gruff, prattling monologue about hunting and grandchildren. Ice and fire touching him, burning him.
A Cultellus, sword raised above his chest, ready to strike.
The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, and the now-familiar purple blur slowly resolved itself into a ceiling. “Purple?” he mumbled, wondering if the TARDIS had pitched a fit at his latest regeneration and redecorated in retaliation. He frowned. His latest-
Suddenly frantic, he lifted his left arm with some effort – noting the fresh blood on the bandage over where the Cultellus had cut him – and felt his face. A bit of… stubble, the old sideburns, the same nose, the hair recognizable if flattened to his head. No regeneration, then, or one that sorely lacked points for creativity. Besides, he was in too much pain to have regenerated-
Not the TARDIS, he remembered suddenly. He wasn’t in the TARDIS. And wood above his head was purple, like the trees… the trees on Kalthan. That made sense. He was lying on a bed in a log cabin on Kalthan. And he’d made that half-serious bargain to let Rose and Matt come to the rescue-
He sat bolt upright.
By the time he’d gasped and cried out and sank back onto the bed with a groan, the door on the other side of the room had opened to reveal a tall, thickset Maldurian with greying hair, narrowed eyes, and a gun of some sort clutched in his prehensile tail. Upon seeing the Doctor, one of the man’s faces grimaced, another glanced furtively to the window, and the third took on a surprisingly childlike grin.
“Oh, for the love of Ma’kthaltan,” he said, tossing the energy weapon cavalierly onto the sofa. “Are you absolutely off your heads?” One of his faces blanched, apparently thrown by the inappropriateness of the idiom.
The Doctor was having trouble with the fine art of breathing, never mind keeping track of the Maldurian’s rapidly shifting facial expressions. He swallowed, fighting down another surge of panic at the roaring in his ears. He’d do Rose no good if he passed out again. Wincing at the searing pain in his side, he bundled the ends of the fur blanket tightly in his fists and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Here now,” the Maldurian said, and his touch on the Doctor’s forehead was surprisingly gentle. “Just lie still, you crazy little-“ He paused, and the Doctor imagined the awkward, nervous expression had returned. “Whatever-you-are. You’ve lost a lot of blood, so stop moving around and let me check your bandages.”
The Doctor swallowed. “Hello,” he said in a strained voice. “I’m the Doctor.”
“Hello,” the Maldurian said, poking and prodding at the bandages around the Doctor’s ribs. “I’m Parsain. Doctor, you’ve managed not to tear any stitches, but not from lack of trying.”
“Oh.” The Doctor opened his eyes finally. “That’s good. I wouldn’t worry too much; I’ve got this habit of healing pretty quickly. Useful thing, that. Are you a doctor, too?”
Parsain grinned, though one face was still eyeing the Doctor’s bandages critically. “Had a bit of experience in the military. And now that the Lansall beasts have become so aggressive, I’ve found it necessary to stay in practice during my hunting expeditions.“
The Doctor suppressed an urge to sit up again, but only with some difficulty. “They’ve become more aggressive? What, just recently?”
Now all three of Parsain’s faces were looking at him strangely, which was an extremely distracting experience. “They’ve never been particularly friendly, but they’ve never gone out of their way to hunt people before the last few months. How can you not know that?”
With a weak grin, the Doctor waved a hand. “Not exactly from around here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
One face raised a wry eyebrow. “You know, I had noticed. And I have a few questions about that-“
The Doctor winced. “Later, please? My friends are wandering around out there somewhere-“
Parsain straightened. “Unarmed?”
“Well, yes, unless they thought to bring their rifles,” the Doctor snapped, but by the time he’d recognised that he was being rude again, Parsain had snatched up his gun and rushed out the door again, slamming it behind him.
The Doctor stared at the door, took a deep breath, and let his head rest back against the pillow. “Oh, well done, Doctor,” he muttered, pulling the fur blanket up to his chin.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep – after all, he needed so little of it as a general rule that he wasn’t used to having to guard against the occurrence – but when he woke to a curious banging sound, the sunlight streaming through the window was dimmer. Twilight, then.
He sat up slowly and groaned; his wounds, he suspected, were already almost healed, but his head was spinning and he couldn’t quite focus on what was-
The banging again, somewhere to his left. He turned his head, wincing as the motion left streaks of darkness across his vision. The door. “Who’s there?” he called, as menacingly as it was possible to do while swaying in bed wearing an alien’s nightthings.
There was a pause, but no reply. The Doctor’s head was beginning to clear; he glanced around, breathed a quick sigh of relief when the dizziness began to fade, and spotted his clothing, neatly folded on a chair at the other side of the room. He stood shakily, but managed to stay on his feet – his breathing was shallow, but more from the expectation of pain than anything else.
He grinned in spite of himself, wiggled his toes on the cold wood floor. The banging on the door started up again. “There’s a doorknob!” he called, making his way slowly over to his clothing – and the sonic screwdriver. “You might try using it!”
The banging redoubled, and a splinter of wood whizzed over his head. “Or not,” he conceded, snatching at his bloodstained jacket and rummaging through his pockets. “Is that you, Parsain?” he shouted, rather optimistically.
At the same moment as he pulled the screwdriver from his pocket, the door smashed back on its hinges, ramming against the wall with enough force to leave some nasty marks. And while he was quite sure that this particular Lansall beast was considerably less than pleased at the prospect of a reunion, it certainly seemed to be smiling as it advanced on him.
Chapter: Tempus Fugit (4/?)
Author:
eponymous_roseWord Count: 3819
Beta: The splendiferous
imsane_honest!Genre: Adventure, humour
Characters: Rose, Ten
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Violence
Spoilers: Pre-Doomsday
In which: The TARDIS is revealed to have a prodigal supply of board games; the Historians finally meet someone worth writing about; and the time is, to coin a phrase, rather out of joint.
Previous Chapters
Link:
Rose stared at the three-dimensional holographic grid before her, tapping a finger to her lips. “R-6-zeta,” she said at last.
Matt groaned and pulled off his glasses as a tinny explosion sounded from his monitor. “You’ve sunk my Arlenian Star Destroyer,” he said, rubbing at his eyes.
Rose pumped a fist in celebration as the words Congratulations, Earthling! flickered across her display. “The undefeated champion reigns!” she crowed.
Matt sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I never thought I’d say this – I mean, I really never thought I’d say this – but I’m getting a bit bored of 3-D Holographic Battleship Version 5.9.”
“You’re just a sore loser,” Rose teased, and he offered her a rude hand gesture in return. All in all, though, she was relieved to see Matt coming further out of his shell, though it still concerned her that he seemed so terrified of the Doctor – and that the Doctor was so unsettled by his presence. The TARDIS wasn’t helping, either; when Matt had wandered off in search of the loo, the corridors had kept rearranging themselves so that he wound up in the console room again and again. Rose had given the ship a stern talking-to, much to Matt’s embarrassment, and the TARDIS had finally started behaving, though Rose got the impression that it was more due to distraction than out of any spirit of cooperation.
“All right,” Rose said, shutting down the gaming system and peering over her shoulder at the shelves of games lining the walls. She’d only been in this room once before, when she and the Doctor had been stuck waiting for the TARDIS to recover from an impromptu plunge through an asteroid belt. It seemed to have grown since she last set foot in it – she wondered whether the Doctor occasionally absconded with some poor kid’s collection of board games to pass the time. “Up for… five-dimensional Scrabble?”
Matt winced. “God, no.”
Rose glanced at the clock on the wall; over one and a half hours had passed since the Doctor had wandered off. Matt followed her gaze. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he said, and she couldn’t suppress a grin at the earnest tone of his voice. The kid was still utterly petrified, and he was trying to comfort her.
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s probably just been distracted by a particularly pretty book.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and Rose got up to peruse the piles of games more carefully. Worrying wouldn’t do them any good. “’Polyopoly’?” she read incredulously. “’Astound your friends by achieving the true ideal of cooperation and harmony through the use of inventive business plans and mergers.’”
Matt gaped. “Is the universe completely full of nutters, or do you two just seek them out and steal their board games?”
Rose laughed. “Think of it as payback for all the times they imprisoned us or threatened us or-“ She swallowed. With the Doctor still missing, it didn’t seem that funny, and she glanced at the clock again.
Matt leaned back in his chair so that it balanced on two legs. “So you and the Doctor – how’d you meet?” He reddened slightly when she glanced over at him quizzically. “Don’t mean to be nosy. Just passing the time.”
“No,” she said hastily. “It’s not that. I just don’t quite know how to answer the question.” And she didn’t, because, while part of her had known the Doctor from the instant he’d grabbed her hand and told her to run, a niggling little voice reminded her that she’d only really known him as the man who’d grinned and said “Barcelona”.
She felt like she’d known him forever.
Matt was still waiting for a reply, so she shrugged and sat down across from him again. “Long story. He saved my life, I saved his. We decided it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, so we stuck with it.”
“And you just sort of-“ Matt gestured expansively with the pair of glasses still in his hand. “-travel?”
Rose fiddled with a loose thread on the end of her sleeve. “Mostly, yeah. We save worlds, sometimes. And we see history, and new planets, and aliens Hollywood couldn’t have dreamed up in a billion years.” She laughed. “A billion years. That number actually makes sense to me now; it’s stopped being beyond my imagination because I’ve been there. That’s so weird.”
Matt was frowning. “You don’t miss your family?”
Rose blinked, surprised at his lack of enthusiasm. “Well, yeah. Of course I do. But I still visit my Mum sometimes, and my boyfriend-“ She swallowed hard; it was so easy to forget that other universe, where Mickey was fighting for freedom and probably happy, really happy, for the first time in ages. “My boyfriend’s moved on,” she finished lamely.
Matt rocked forward until the front legs of his chair touched the ground again. “But don’t you miss that stability? Knowing what’s going to happen day after day?”
Rose stared at him. “Of course not! I went with the Doctor to escape that sort of monotony. This is where all the excitement is, the unpredictability of it all!” It took her a moment to notice how much she sounded like the Doctor, and she felt an unexpected swell of happiness at the thought.
Matt was still looking at her like she’d grown another head. “How can anyone live like that?” he said, softly. “You’ve got to have roots. You’ve got to have somewhere you’ve been and somewhere you’re going. Otherwise nothing you ever do matters!”
“Of course it does,” Rose said, with a hint of pity in her voice. “I used to think like that. But these people the Doctor and I’ve saved – we’ve made a difference for them. They’ll remember us. And all these places I’ve seen-“
Matt crossed his arms on the table. “But you can’t just go around living your life for other people! You’ll completely lose who you are, become everything they want you to be.”
Rose was getting fed up with the argumentative tone of his voice. “How exactly is that a bad thing? If they think we’re their saviours, then what’s so bad about our saving them?”
“You’re missing the point,” Matt chided her, shoving the mop of red hair out of his eyes. For the first time, Rose found it easy to believe he was older than he looked. “There’s not gonna be a Rose Tyler anymore. You’ll just be a bunched-up mess of everyone’s hopes and expectations of you. Why d’you think that Doctor of yours doesn’t have a proper name? He’s spent so long saving other people that he’s lost himself!”
“You’re wrong,” Rose said flatly, bristling at his condescending tone of voice.
Matt shrugged, and reached down for his rucksack. “Whatever,” he said, and the reality of his age was gone; he was a petulant kid again. He pulled a book from the bag – Rose recognized it as a literature anthology she’d ignored in school – and started reading.
Rose sniffed and stared up at the clock for a few moments, watching the seconds hand climb slowly around the face. Part of her wished their time was up, so they could get out there and do something, even if it meant that the Doctor was in trouble.
Matt was still staring furiously at his book, but his eyes didn’t seem to be scanning the pages. Avoiding her, then. Wonderful.
“What about you? D’you have family?” He didn’t look up at her voice, trying his best to appear engrossed in the book. Rose fought down the urge to flip it upside-down in his hands to see if he’d notice. “Time flies when you’re having fun,” she said, deadpan.
The corner of his lip twitched and he set down the book, looking almost apologetic. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I do have family. A sister, Trudy.”
“The one who doesn’t want you to become a journalist,” Rose remembered, and he winced.
“My Dad was a journalist,” he said by way of explanation, then winced again. “Is. Is a journalist.”
“You’re not close, then?” Rose felt the pity coming on again, and wondered whether the sight of her Dad dying on that street corner would ever fade.
“Nah,” Matt said glibly. “Him and Mum got a bit sick of us kids. Just me and Trudy now. No hard feelings all around.”
“Hm,” said Rose.
“What?” he retorted, more than a little defensively.
“You’re a really terrible liar,” Rose informed him cheerfully. “Your ears turn red.”
The red deepened. “Shut up,” he muttered peevishly.
Rose stared up at the ceiling, then stood. “C’mon,” she said. “We’re going.”
Matt stood, letting his bag slide to the ground. “What, out there? But there’s still twenty minutes left!”
“Exactly,” she confirmed. “But look at us! We’re still going.”
“Why?”
“We’re just nutters that way,” she said distractedly, and led the way back into the corridor. The first door she turned into led to a garden, but the second proved more useful, revealing a small wardrobe with a wide variety of coats on hangers. “Bundle up,” she advised Matt. “It looks cold out there.”
“But-“ Matt gasped as she tossed a heavy fleece coat at him. “But what if the Cultelli come back and try to kill me?”
Rose donned a coat of her own and grinned back at him. “Then we run. Quickly.” Before he could protest, she hurried out into the console room and to the doors.
They didn’t open immediately, and for a horrible moment she considered the possibility that the Doctor had locked them in to prevent their following him. “You wouldn’t,” she muttered threateningly.
The doors swung open, almost as an afterthought, and she breathed a sigh of relief that fogged in the cool air. Plunging her hands deep into her pockets, she stepped out to the snowy landscape.
And found herself staring at the muzzle of an ornately decorated duelling pistol.
“Oh,” she said.
The person holding the weapon looked human, for all intents and purposes, grey and grizzled and bearded. “Who are you?” he said slowly, as though talking to a child. A few other figures, equally old and equally well-armed, stepped out from behind the trees.
“Um,” said Rose. “We’re-“ she swallowed. “I know this’ll be really hard to believe, but we’re from outer space.”
The man laughed; it was a cruel sound, like paper tearing. “I’m not stupid, girl. That’s fairly obvious. Who are you?”
Not Maldurians, then, Rose reflected. These must be the Historians. Historians with guns. Thank you for mentioning that, Doctor. Thanks ever so much.
So she had to think of a name to drop. Someone famous, someone well-known enough to get the guns pointed elsewhere. “Oh,” she said. “Hello.” Her mind was racing; the Doctor had said they were two hundred years into the future. Who would be considered famous then? Could she get away with pretending to be a long-dead Earth celebrity?
“Tell your friend to come out of the box,” the man snapped, and she heard Matt stumble hastily into the snow and slam the TARDIS door shut behind him. Inspiration seized her.
“Do you have any idea who we are?” she asked haughtily. The lead Historian seemed taken off-guard.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean to say, do you know who you’re pointing those guns at?” Rose sniffed and looked down her nose at him. He blanched instinctively, and she felt the familiar surge of adrenaline. This would be fun.
“Well, no. That’s why I asked,” he pointed out.
“Yes, well, that does make sense,” Rose floundered, then cleared her throat and rallied. “I’m not someone you want to mess with, is who I am! And my friend here even less so!”
“Right!” Matt squeaked. Everyone ignored him.
Rose straightened up, hands on hips, narrowing her eyes in her best impression of her Mum. The Historians shrank back as one. “I am none other than Rose Tyler, intergalactic adventuress!”
Rose held her breath; surely she’d made her way into the history books by now, if these folks were as well-read as the Doctor had implied. There’d been that business with the the Martians, and the Lolliplacians – her name had surely come up once or twice.
And then there was a faint gasp of recognition; grinning, Rose reached behind her and pulled Matt to her side. “And this, ladies and-“ She paused; there were no women in the bunch – all old men sporting various states of grizzled facial hair. Part of her considered the fact that some of them actually were women, and she shut that part of her up before she thought about it too hard. “Gentlemen and gentlemen,” she amended diplomatically, “this is none other than that protector of the universe, that righter of wrongs, that-“ She waved a hand in the air, and Matt winced as she nearly took out his eye with her grand gesticulating. “-maker of fairly good omelettes.
“This, my good sirs-“ She paused for effect, then patted Matt on the shoulder. “-is the Doctor.”
The Historians gaped, and Rose watched with satisfaction as the guns were lowered, though a part of her was terrified at the confirmation that the real Doctor had never made it to the library. The lead Historian smiled, but it made him look more predatory than amicable. “Doctor! My dear fellow, you’ve regenerated again.”
Rose elbowed Matt, who straightened and cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “I have, haven’t I? Awfully clever of me.” He squinted at the Historian, obviously trying to gauge his response. “Or possibly rude.”
“We would have recognized you sooner,” said a skinnier old man, off to the side, “but our sensors were only picking up singular vascular systems in this immediate vicinity.”
“Yes, well,” said Matt, perplexed. Rose coughed, quickly traced a heart in the air, then raised two fingers. His eyes widened. “Had a spot of bother with the other heart,” he said shakily, then seemed to recover. “Nasty business. Better now with just the one, though.”
“Glad to hear it,” the Historian said in what he obviously thought was a jovial tone of voice. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Rose smiled, but part of her was seething at the Doctor for having left her alone in the first place when it was obvious that she was in no danger from these men. They would have words. “We’ve just got to look something up in the records, if that’s okay.”
“And we’ve got a friend wandering around here, too,” Matt added. He’d puffed out his chest and managed to give the impression of height, obviously warming to his role.
“We’ll send some sentries to conduct a discreet search,” the Historian said, and bowed deeply. “Follow me.”
And as they stomped through the snow after the Historians, Rose heard Matt whispering. “’Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly.”
It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought.
*~*~*
The Doctor woke up.
No, scratch that. The Doctor thought briefly about waking up, decided it wasn’t worth the bother, and promptly passed out again. Several times.
It was a dizzying and exhausting business, this waking to pain and light and confusion only to be plunged so rapidly back into oblivion, and the Doctor decided he wasn’t going to stand for it any longer.
“Mrph,” he said, squinting at the purple blur that was the world. Then, warming to his topic, he added: “Nrgh.”
“You’re awake,” said a rough voice that was obviously trying very hard to speak softly. It was like listening to someone tiptoeing through gravel.
The Doctor started to concur with this brilliant piece of deductive reasoning, but was seized by a fit of coughing and tried to double over. A gentle but firm hand held him against the bed until the spasm had passed. “All right?” said the voice. The Doctor took that opportunity to faint again.
He had blurred, confused impressions in the semi-conscious state that followed, dreams blending haphazardly with reality. Rose was there, was gone, was beside him and above him and everywhere and nowhere. Bandages, blood – a gruff, prattling monologue about hunting and grandchildren. Ice and fire touching him, burning him.
A Cultellus, sword raised above his chest, ready to strike.
The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, and the now-familiar purple blur slowly resolved itself into a ceiling. “Purple?” he mumbled, wondering if the TARDIS had pitched a fit at his latest regeneration and redecorated in retaliation. He frowned. His latest-
Suddenly frantic, he lifted his left arm with some effort – noting the fresh blood on the bandage over where the Cultellus had cut him – and felt his face. A bit of… stubble, the old sideburns, the same nose, the hair recognizable if flattened to his head. No regeneration, then, or one that sorely lacked points for creativity. Besides, he was in too much pain to have regenerated-
Not the TARDIS, he remembered suddenly. He wasn’t in the TARDIS. And wood above his head was purple, like the trees… the trees on Kalthan. That made sense. He was lying on a bed in a log cabin on Kalthan. And he’d made that half-serious bargain to let Rose and Matt come to the rescue-
He sat bolt upright.
By the time he’d gasped and cried out and sank back onto the bed with a groan, the door on the other side of the room had opened to reveal a tall, thickset Maldurian with greying hair, narrowed eyes, and a gun of some sort clutched in his prehensile tail. Upon seeing the Doctor, one of the man’s faces grimaced, another glanced furtively to the window, and the third took on a surprisingly childlike grin.
“Oh, for the love of Ma’kthaltan,” he said, tossing the energy weapon cavalierly onto the sofa. “Are you absolutely off your heads?” One of his faces blanched, apparently thrown by the inappropriateness of the idiom.
The Doctor was having trouble with the fine art of breathing, never mind keeping track of the Maldurian’s rapidly shifting facial expressions. He swallowed, fighting down another surge of panic at the roaring in his ears. He’d do Rose no good if he passed out again. Wincing at the searing pain in his side, he bundled the ends of the fur blanket tightly in his fists and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Here now,” the Maldurian said, and his touch on the Doctor’s forehead was surprisingly gentle. “Just lie still, you crazy little-“ He paused, and the Doctor imagined the awkward, nervous expression had returned. “Whatever-you-are. You’ve lost a lot of blood, so stop moving around and let me check your bandages.”
The Doctor swallowed. “Hello,” he said in a strained voice. “I’m the Doctor.”
“Hello,” the Maldurian said, poking and prodding at the bandages around the Doctor’s ribs. “I’m Parsain. Doctor, you’ve managed not to tear any stitches, but not from lack of trying.”
“Oh.” The Doctor opened his eyes finally. “That’s good. I wouldn’t worry too much; I’ve got this habit of healing pretty quickly. Useful thing, that. Are you a doctor, too?”
Parsain grinned, though one face was still eyeing the Doctor’s bandages critically. “Had a bit of experience in the military. And now that the Lansall beasts have become so aggressive, I’ve found it necessary to stay in practice during my hunting expeditions.“
The Doctor suppressed an urge to sit up again, but only with some difficulty. “They’ve become more aggressive? What, just recently?”
Now all three of Parsain’s faces were looking at him strangely, which was an extremely distracting experience. “They’ve never been particularly friendly, but they’ve never gone out of their way to hunt people before the last few months. How can you not know that?”
With a weak grin, the Doctor waved a hand. “Not exactly from around here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
One face raised a wry eyebrow. “You know, I had noticed. And I have a few questions about that-“
The Doctor winced. “Later, please? My friends are wandering around out there somewhere-“
Parsain straightened. “Unarmed?”
“Well, yes, unless they thought to bring their rifles,” the Doctor snapped, but by the time he’d recognised that he was being rude again, Parsain had snatched up his gun and rushed out the door again, slamming it behind him.
The Doctor stared at the door, took a deep breath, and let his head rest back against the pillow. “Oh, well done, Doctor,” he muttered, pulling the fur blanket up to his chin.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep – after all, he needed so little of it as a general rule that he wasn’t used to having to guard against the occurrence – but when he woke to a curious banging sound, the sunlight streaming through the window was dimmer. Twilight, then.
He sat up slowly and groaned; his wounds, he suspected, were already almost healed, but his head was spinning and he couldn’t quite focus on what was-
The banging again, somewhere to his left. He turned his head, wincing as the motion left streaks of darkness across his vision. The door. “Who’s there?” he called, as menacingly as it was possible to do while swaying in bed wearing an alien’s nightthings.
There was a pause, but no reply. The Doctor’s head was beginning to clear; he glanced around, breathed a quick sigh of relief when the dizziness began to fade, and spotted his clothing, neatly folded on a chair at the other side of the room. He stood shakily, but managed to stay on his feet – his breathing was shallow, but more from the expectation of pain than anything else.
He grinned in spite of himself, wiggled his toes on the cold wood floor. The banging on the door started up again. “There’s a doorknob!” he called, making his way slowly over to his clothing – and the sonic screwdriver. “You might try using it!”
The banging redoubled, and a splinter of wood whizzed over his head. “Or not,” he conceded, snatching at his bloodstained jacket and rummaging through his pockets. “Is that you, Parsain?” he shouted, rather optimistically.
At the same moment as he pulled the screwdriver from his pocket, the door smashed back on its hinges, ramming against the wall with enough force to leave some nasty marks. And while he was quite sure that this particular Lansall beast was considerably less than pleased at the prospect of a reunion, it certainly seemed to be smiling as it advanced on him.
