tardis_stowaway (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tardis_stowaway) wrote2008-08-04 11:54 pm
tardis_stowaway) wrote2008-08-04 11:54 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Path of Needles (2/7)
Title: Path of Needles
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tardis_stowaway
Characters/Pairings: Chiefly Ten/Rose, but there's also a bit of Nine/Rose (I couldn't resist), and some Ten/Rose/Jack (Jack couldn't resist).
Rating: mild PG-13 for a bit of discussion about sex and one or two instances of salty language.
Spoilers: through season 3, spoiler-free AU after that!
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine. I just take it out for play dates with my strange imagination.
Summary: Once upon a time, she had abided in the world where lives did not begin with ‘once upon a time.’ No more. Rose walks through the woods. Meanwhile, the Doctor deals with an abundance of Bad Wolf references.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2: Wolves and Travelers
Rose discovers that she is not alone in the woods. The Doctor saves a civilization and plays Scrabble.
Author's Note: I geek out over fairy tales. You can tell. Thanks again to the lovelydark_aegis and wendymr for beta awesomeness.
* * *
“One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.”
—Alice Carter, “The Company of Wolves”
“Only heroes and girl detectives go to the underworld on purpose.”
—Kelly Link, “The Girl Detective”
* * *
The Doctor brushed the dust from his hands and surveyed the damage. The temple still stood, and with it the Hoyromese civilization. The temple would need extensive repairs, but the builder’s guild had already begun to talk excitedly of plans to make it even more splendid than before. Teams of villagers were spreading flower seeds over the ground where the corpse vines had grown until a few hours before, checking carefully for any trace of the slick black roots. Life would return to the countryside, if not to the dozen people who lay in the temple vault while the priestesses stacked wood for the pyres.
Just another day’s work for Time’s Champion. (Since when had visiting a budding civilization and saving lives become work? ) It was time for him to go.
“Doctor.” Despite the golden veil of a priestess, the Doctor recognized the speaker. It was Roa, Priestess of the Infinite Quest and second in command only to the High Priestess of the Shining Spiral.
“Divine Seeker.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting in his eagerness to get a move on.
“I have a message for you.”
“You’ve got everything you need to rebuild here. The world is your oyster. Better than that, because you’re ready for so much more than mollusks. I’d only get in the way.”
“I was not asking you to stay,” the priestess said sharply. “Only hear the message.”
“Go ahead,” the Doctor said, not particularly interested. It was almost certainly yet another formal declaration of thanks.
The priestess threw back her veil, and to the Doctor’s surprise her eyes were black with small specks like stars in them, revealing her to be in a prophetic trance.
“All who journey into the woods will encounter the Bad Wolf,” she announced, her voice oddly layered.
The Doctor stood very still, his face dangerously neutral. “Your message is late. The Bad Wolf has come and gone.”
“Illusion. As long as you walk among the trees, the wolf waits for you.” The glowing specks in her eyes spun like galaxies.
The Doctor chose to answer overly literally. “Actually, I was planning to travel to a grassland next.”
“The woods stretch to the farthest reaches of time and space. Every day of living is a journey through the wolf’s domain.”
“I’ve seen the farthest reaches of time and space. No wolf, not any more. I’m going now,” he announced, spinning around fast enough to swirl his coat out dramatically. He strode towards the TARDIS.
“Can’t you hear the howling?” the priestess cried after him.
The Doctor paused but did not turn around. “That’s the wind. Storm winds shaking the trees, nothing more. The forest is empty.” He started walking again, shoulders hunched like an old man.
“You might not see the wolf, but the wolf sees you,” murmured the priestess. The Doctor did not look back at her as he went to the TARDIS and shut the door.
* * *
She walked. The path sometimes wound, sometimes climbed hills or threaded through ravines, but the fundamental view did not change. Squat black trees with naked branches, black pebbles on the path, white snow, white mist, white sky. No birds sang. No squirrels leapt through the branches.
So this was hell. Rose chewed her lip thoughtfully. Didn’t seem much like hell to her. It was creepy, she gave it that, but she’d seen worse. Krop Tor was the most obvious example with its monstrous black hole and plotting Beast underground. However, her personal version of hell looked like two places.
First was the church in 1987 where she waited for the Reapers to end the world and watched the Doctor die because of her foolish, loving mistake. (The old saying about good intentions and what road they paved was terribly true). Her other hell was Norway. Beautiful country, Norway, full of kindhearted people, but she had utterly forsaken hope there. Eventually, back in England, her family had led her back from the abyss. She learned how to live earthbound as if she were learning a foreign language. Eventually, her heart began to scab over. With her family’s love, she had begun to hope. With hope, a way had opened, or so it had seemed at the time.
This place was not hell, she decided. She was on a path, and paths went somewhere. Perhaps her goal. To journey was to hope. She walked.
* * *
Her shoes’ crunching against the gravel was the loudest sound by far. The next loudest was her breathing. It was possible those were the only real sounds. It was possible she only imagined the whispering from the trees. After all, she could see no living creature to make the whispers. They were so soft they might have been wind in the branches (but no breeze stirred her hair) or maybe nothing at all.
Possible, but she didn’t think so. Something whispered in the woods. No matter how she strained, even pausing to listen without the distraction of her footfalls, she couldn’t make out the words. Nevertheless, she knew with a certainty that crept up her spine like spiders that the whispers were hostile.
The whispers chilled her far more than the mist. She could not stand the almost-silence.
“The woods are just trees, and trees are just wood,” she sang a half-remembered song, but the sound of her own voice seemed flat and weak. Worse, the whispers seemed to grow louder underneath her song, always just at the edge of her hearing.
She walked faster, deliberately crunching the gravel under her feet as loudly as she could.
* * *
She came to a crossroads.
She had been walking for a long time. (How long? Hours? Days? She had a feeling the lack of change in the light didn’t mean much here.) Just as she was beginning to reconsider her opinion that paths had to go somewhere, the view ahead revealed an unprecedented sight. The path split in two. She hurried towards the split, thrilled at the prospect of any difference.
Of course there were no signs telling where the paths at the y-shaped intersection went. The choices were equally wide and shared the same black pebbles underfoot. Both ran levelly as far as she could see through the same black and white forest, and neither showed any indication of heading anywhere interesting. In another place, she would have comforted herself with the notion that if she went a little ways on one and didn’t like it she could always return to the crossroads and take the other path, but she knew with the illogical, unshakable certainty of dreams that a choice made here was binding. When she picked a path, she would walk it to its end.
Lacking adequate information from her other senses, she decided to try her nose. At the base of one path, she sniffed. Soil, snow…not much to smell. Making sure she didn’t miss a thing, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Will you take the path of needles or the path of pins?” asked a voice. She jumped like a startled rabbit.
A hooded figure stepped out from amidst the trees. It walked barefoot on the cold ground, its graceful tread making not the slightest sound. When it stood a few paces in front of her, it drew back the hood of its cloak.
Rose drew in a sharp breath. She knew that pale face, those wild eyes, that calm, predatory smile. It was the werewolf that had attacked Queen Victoria.
“What are you doing here?” she asked it, practiced force of will keeping her voice and gaze level.
“I am asking you a question,” it drawled. “Will you take the path of needles or the path of pins?”
“What does that mean?”
“It is a choice you must make. Two roads, but you can only walk one. Which?” Aside from its lips and the slight movements of its breath, the werewolf stood utterly still. Somehow that stillness spoke more of danger than any circling or stalking.
“Which one takes me to the Doctor?” Rose countered.
“Both travel through the woods. Consider: the path of needles, the path of pins,” as it spoke it gestured, indicating Rose’s left as the path of needles and her right as the path of pins. “Or you could always go off the path.” The werewolf chuckled softly at this last idea.
Rose dared a glance at the trees, where the whispering seemed to grow slightly louder. She shook her head, not liking that choice in the slightest.
“What are you doing here, anyway? You died, no Void involved,” she said.
“I am the Bad Wolf,” it said, as if that explained everything.
“No you’re not! The Doctor told me how when I opened the TARDIS I sort of merged with the Time Vortex and called myself the Bad Wolf. Don’t remember much of it myself, but I know the Bad Wolf’s me.”
“Yes,” said the werewolf. “That is true.”
“So what are you, then?”
“The moon seems to shine, but its shine, its beautiful shine, is just a reflection of the sun,” the werewolf proclaimed enigmatically.
“I don’t understand,” said Rose, although somewhere in her deepest heart she thought she might feel the answer burning.
The werewolf chuckled again. Rose decided that chuckle was much worse than the howling she’d heard from it in Scotland. It made the hair on her body stand on end. “We have strayed. You must still choose a path.”
“Path of needles or path of pins, I know. Those both sound so, so…pointy. Isn’t there a path of sofas or a path of pillows or something? How about the road less traveled by? Or the path of least resistance?”
“You choose your path, but the paths also choose you. Now, make your choice. There’s more in these woods than just wolves. Perhaps.”
Rose considered. What did those names mean? Both were sewing tools. Both hurt if you pricked yourself with them. Both were small and metal. What was the difference? Pins were temporary. They held fabric together for a little while until a more permanent binding could be added. Needles could pull thread to bind things together permanently. She wanted to get back to the Doctor forever, not just a two-minute visit like in Norway. There. That reasoning made about as much sense as anything here.
“I’m taking the path of needles,” she announced.
“Interesting,” said the wolf ambiguously. “Walk boldly, then.” It inclined its head politely and turned its back on her.
“Thanks,” said Rose. Some deep-seated instinct for hospitality prompted her to blurt out, “Would you like a biscuit?”
The werewolf turned back towards her. Its eyes were very large, very dark, and very, very inhuman. Rose shivered.
“Yes,” the werewolf said, stepping closer and extending its hand. “Please.”
Rose reached into her basket and fought the impulse to back away. She placed the biscuit into the werewolf’s long-nailed hand (and just what was that under its nails? Pray that it’s only dirt. ) The werewolf bit the biscuit and chewed thoughtfully.
“Very tasty. For your kindness, a word of advice: beware the woodcutters,” it said with a toothy smile that turned blood to ice water. Its tongue flicked out to lick a crumb from its lips. Then it slipped off the path, through the trees, and was gone.
Rose drew her crimson hoodie close around herself and started down the path of needles.
* * *
The Doctor heard Martha’s footsteps coming into the control room, but he didn’t slide out from the guts of the console until she called to him.
“Doctor? You got a moment?”
“Oh, a moment, is it? I have all the moments you could ever need. Perk of being a Time Lord, you know. Important moments, inconsequential moments, all on sale two for the price of one as soon as the TARDIS is fixed,” he babbled, extracting himself from the TARDIS. He attempted to wipe grease from his chin but only ended up smearing it.
“I’m bored,” Martha complained.
The Doctor’s nose wrinkled in disbelief. “Bored? In the TARDIS?”
“Yeah. We’ve been parked here for a two days and we’ve still got another two before you say we can go.”
“Actually, there’s only 46.5 hours left on the repair cycle,” he informed her.
“That’s still quite a lot of time sitting around the vortex doing nothing.”
“Weren’t you worried the other day that you were falling behind in your studies? You can use this time to study your medical textbooks!” he suggested, pleased with his problem-solving ability.
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two days with you burrowed in that engine?” Martha looked exasperated. “Study time is great, but I just need a little break. You want to play a board game or something?”
The Doctor thought longingly of his maintenance project and the solitude it offered, but Martha was making big pleading eyes at him. Big pleading eyes, he decided, were his kryptonite. Martha’s weren’t quite as potent as some he had known (don’t think about Norway), but they were more than strong enough.
“Thinking of something in particular, or shall I choose?” he said, locating a rag to wipe off his hands.
“Oh, no you don’t. You’ll pick some obscenely complicated alien game and then forget to explain half the rules until the game is well underway and I have no chance of catching up. We’re playing my favorite game from Earth. Scrabble.”
The Doctor dropped his annoyance at Martha’s belief that he’d pick an unfair game and lit up like a killer Christmas tree.
“Scrabble? Doctor Jones, you’re on. Race you to the game room!” He shoved off from the console and sprinted away. Martha laughed and took off after him, jostling in the narrow space of the corridors.
When the game was set up and Martha had firmly reminded the Doctor that they were playing with twenty-first century rules and dictionaries, they drew letters. The Doctor shook the bag as enthusiastically as a child and laid the tiles out on the rack. As soon as he saw the tiles, all the bubbly enthusiasm drained from his eyes like somebody had pulled a plug. The tiles read:
D L O W B F A
Being a genius, he didn’t have to think to know how they rearranged.
“Doctor? Is something wrong?” asked Martha, catching the sudden temperature drop.
“Hmm? What could be wrong? Unless you count the fact that you are about to receive the beating of your life.” He pasted a smile on his face.
“You just looked, I don’t know, almost like you’d seen a ghost.” Martha tilted her head and looked at him with concern.
“What? No ghost. Just a coincidence in my letters.” Before Martha could ask anything else, he lay down the word BLOW. He could have scored better for “flow,” but that was “wolf” rearranged. Besides, it would be polite to go easy on Martha, who was, after all, only human. “Your turn, Martha.”
Martha frowned at her tiles. She rearranged them on her rack a few times. Eventually she picked up three of her tiles. Building down from the Doctor’s W, she added her own OLF.
“We’ve got a theme going! It’s like the big bad wolf come to blow the house down on the three little pigs,” Martha announced, pleased. “The L’s on a triple-letter score, so twelve points for me.”
The Doctor opened his mouth and began to speak. He spent the rest of the game babbling while wearing his thin-lipped smile that tended to slip when he thought Martha wasn’t looking. He thought about chance and its tendency to seemingly create patterns that always failed in the end.
* * *
Rose didn’t know how long it had been since she met the werewolf. A long time. The light grew neither brighter nor dimmer. No other landmarks appeared. The only detectable change in anything was the increased pain in her feet. She ignored it.
She came to a place where the path bent particularly sharply. She could see the other side of the bend across a thin band of wood, maybe twenty yards across, while the path traveled at least three times that distance to reach the same point. What harm could it do to go cross-country?
She stepped to the edge of the path and stopped. She couldn’t do it. The whispers from the trees grew louder and more hostile when she seemed about to step off the edge of the path.
She might have left the path in spite of the whispers, but there was something wrong with the trees themselves. They were far too uniform. They seemed to come in two basic types: the first taller, slenderer, smoother; the second squatter, more rotund, lumpy-barked. However, not a single tree had the quirks of crooked branches, leaning trunk, old storm damage, or any other individualized identity. Furthermore, the small twigs at the ends of branches were not as tangled and intricate as she remembered from trees on Earth.
They were not so much trees as the idea of trees. A child’s drawing of trees. A very disturbed child’s drawing of trees. Their branches reached out like grasping arms frozen in mid-grab.
Rose did not dare put herself underneath those trees. She took the long way around.
* * *
She heard hoofbeats.
They approached her from behind, moving very quickly for a horse. She stepped over to the edge of the path and waited, wishing she dared leave the path to find a more secure spot to observe what approached.
A horse so pale it could have been sculpted from the fog hurtled towards her with a menacing dark figure astride. A hood kept Rose from seeing the figure’s face. When the horse drew level with her, it startled her by rearing. She screamed as its hooves churned the air terrifyingly close to her head.
Trying to scoot away from the hooves while staying on the path, she heard a scraping as the towering rider unsheathed a sword. She dodged and wove as the figure swung the sword at her. She couldn’t get around the horse to escape. Then she put her foot down wrong and stumbled hard.
She cried out in terror, knowing that the stumble could mean death. She fell forward, catching herself against the horse’s flank. One wrist brushed the leg of the rider.
“Rose?” said a familiar voice badly out of context.
She looked up and for the first time was able to discern the face of the horseman.
“Jack? What the hell do you think you’re doing with that sword?” she asked, sidling away from him, not yet trusting the change in her vision. Jack hurried to sheath the sword and throw back his hood.
“I thought…I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“Oh, so you just try to kill random strangers,” Rose bit back, still shaken. Yet she hadn’t recognized him either. He’d seemed too large, strange and threatening, wrapped in shadow like a Nazgul. What was going on here?
“My eyes were playing tricks on me. When I first saw you, you didn’t even look human. I looked at you and saw a wolf. You even howled. God, Rose, I’m sorry.” Jack was pale. He looked as shaken as Rose felt. She took a few deep breaths and felt her racing pulse slow. Somehow, this was really Jack.
“’S okay. I didn’t recognize you either. What’s going on?” she asked, wide brown eyes no longer accusing.
“This place operates under different rules. You can’t trust your eyes.” Jack swung a leg over the horse and dropped gracefully to the ground. “The heart is more trustworthy, even if I can hardly believe it when it tells me I’ve finally found you, here of all the damned places.”
Then they were in each other’s arms, holding tight like shipwrecked sailors to a floating beam. Rose leaned against him, feeling safe for the first time since she stepped into the Void, maybe even since the walls closed between her and the Doctor.
She had been so sure Jack was dead. Why else would the Doctor have left him on the Game Station and never even visited? Yet here he was, warm and solid if oddly dressed. He wore a blue padded doublet over a puffy white shirt, dark blue breeches, tall black boots, and a midnight blue hooded cloak that swung down to his knees. Strange, but it matched the horse. Rose wasn’t complaining.
It was Jack who broke apart first, gently pushing Rose away to arms’ length but keeping his hands on her shoulders as if afraid she would vanish if he broke contact entirely.
“I don’t have much time. What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m trying to get back to the Doctor,” she said, telling him briefly about the Battle of Canary Wharf, working in Torchwood in the other universe, and the doorway that was supposed to take her across the Void but only dropped her within it.
“I’ve been walking through this forest ever since. I don’t know if this path will take me back to the Doctor, but when I think about going cross-country…”
“Don’t leave the path,” Jack interrupted, looking horrified.
“Yeah, I sort of figured that. It’s dangerous on the path too, though. I met a werewolf.”
“And what did it say to you, Little Red?” he asked, fondly fingering the scarlet fabric of her hoodie.
“It asked me if I was taking the path of needles or the path of pins,” Rose said. At Jack’s inquiring eyebrow raise, she added, “I chose the path of needles, whatever that means.”
“Needles, eh? Luckily for you, I’ve done some study of folklore. You’d be surprised how many legendary dangers have a basis in real nasties, and sooner or later they turn up in Cardiff. In some of the older versions of Little Red Riding Hood, a werewolf at the crossroads asks her that same question. The path of pins symbolized maidenhood. A girl might help pin a garment that her mother would sew. Needles, in contrast, represent womanhood and sexual maturity. Think about the thread entering the eye of the needle,” he explained, leering at her good-naturedly. Rose’s eyes widened as she recognized the old-fashioned innuendo.
“So I’m stuck in some reenactment of Little Red Riding Hood. I’ve even got the basket of food. Great. You want to follow along and be the handsome huntsman to save me?” she asked, covering her unease with a cheeky smile.
“In the old versions, the ones with the paths of needles and pins, there’s no huntsman. He was added later by male writers who couldn’t believe a woman could take care of herself. In some of the old versions Little Red escapes by herself. Of course, frequently she has to strip first when the wolf asks her to throw her clothes into the fire…”
“Some of the versions? What about the others?” Rose asked sharply.
“Sometimes the wolf eats her and she dies.”
“Oh.”
“Believe me, Rose, I’d help you if I could, but I’ll have to leave soon,” Jack said.
“Why? And how did you get here in the first place?”
“I’m here because I’m dead,” he told her evenly. Rose’s eyes widened in shock. Dead? He was standing right there, warm and breathing…but this was not the real world. Maybe it was some sort of afterlife. She lunged forward, wrapping Jack in her embrace again.
“Oh, Jack. I always worried that was why the Doctor left the Game Station without you, but I’d hoped… I’m so sorry. At least I got those bastards. I killed the Dalek Emperor, Jack. Just a little too late.” Her tears soaked into the wool of Jack’s cloak.
“Whoa there. Calm down. You’re talking about the Game Station? I haven’t been dead from that for a long time,” Jack said, stroking her hair.
“What?” Rose asked, peering up at him through moist lashes, completely puzzled.
“I can’t die, Rose. Well, I die, but I don’t stay dead. Ever since the Game Station. When I wake up I only remember blackness, but every time I die I end up in these woods while I’m dead there. I’m always riding down this path, always searching.” Jack’s eyes took on a distant look.
Jack hadn’t been able to die since the Game Station. Had the Doctor done something to him and left? Why would he do that? What had happened to Jack? A suspicion both wondrous and terrible whined and panted at the door to her mind, but she didn’t let it in just yet.
Rose wiped her face with the back of her hand and even smiled a little. “Searching for why you’re dressed for a trip to the Renaissance?”
“Hey! I like the cloak,” Jack said, disengaging himself from Rose’s arms and giving his cloak a good swish. “Makes me look rather dashing, don’t you think?” He flashed a gleaming Hollywood smile.
“Very Prince Charming. You’ve got the white horse and everything,” Rose assured him.
“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed. “As it turns out, I’m looking for the owner of the other one of these.” Jack reached into his horse’s saddlebags and pulled out a shoe.
It was a gorgeous formal shoe with a low heel, made entirely out of shimmering gold fabric. It was also so tiny it looked like a child’s shoe. Rose burst into laughter.
“You’re looking for Cinderella?” she gasped.
Jack looked at the shoe in dismay. “Whoops. That wasn’t what I meant to grab.”
He rummaged around in the saddlebag for while. Finally he produced his goal with a flourish. It was a severed hand.
Rose stared. Why was Jack carrying around a severed hand? How did Jack get a severed hand in the first place? Then she realized that something about it looked familiar. Moving quickly before her squeamishness could stop her, she reached out and held the hand.
It was deathly still and even colder than usual, but she’d know the feel of that hand anywhere. She let go.
“That’s the Doctor’s,” she said.
Jack nodded. “I don’t know why, but it’s one of the few objects I have in the real world that manifests here. Here it seems to do just fine on its own, but over there I have a fancy case to keep it healthy. I keep it on my desk as a paperweight.”
“I traveled with the Doctor and I work for Torchwood, so I’ve seen plenty of strange stuff, but that’s off the scale for weird and creepy.”
“I strive to always exceed expectations,” Jack quipped. When Rose continued to scowl at him, he put the hand back in the saddlebag.
“Back in the office, it’s wired to help me track the Doctor. I have questions for him. You two left me there, like a prince on the steps of the palace at midnight, except all the other guests at the ball were dead, and I never even got to dance before you ran away. Was the TARDIS going to change into a pumpkin if you waited five more minutes?” There was desolation in Jack’s expression and a coldness that made Rose shiver.
“I’m so sorry. I was unconscious when we took off, but I should have made him give me more information. He was about to regenerate from absorbing the time vortex. I don’t think he was thinking quite straight. Probably he just assumed you were dead.”
“And he didn’t even have enough respect for me to take care of my body?” Jack lashed out bitterly.
“Oh, Jack. I wish…” She trailed off, knowing no amount of wishing or apologizing could undo the wrong done to him. His expression softened.
“I know. It’s done now.”
“Take me with you on your horse! If you always make it back to our universe, then I can come too. I’ve got my supercharged mobile to call him with. He’ll come for me, and we’ll make him answer you,” Rose proposed.
“I wish it were that easy. From your story, I’m guessing that you’re here in your real physical body. My body stayed in Cardiff–no, I don’t know why I can still touch you. I don’t think you could come through my way. At best, you’d be left in the woods. At worst, it could kill you or leave you stuck in my body with me, and not in a good way.”
“When I get through, I’ll make him come to you,” she promised. (Say when, not if, and pray that speaking makes it true. )
“I’ll be waiting for you,” Jack said, and Rose’s heart ached with the trust he was giving her, so undeserved.
“Hey. You were complaining you never got to dance at the ball. I think being dead is messing with your memories, because I’m positive that you and I danced.”
“We did indeed, but not with the moves I wanted,” he said, gathering her in a dance hold.
“I take it you would have preferred the horizontal tango?” Rose smiled slyly as they began to sway, finding a rhythm without music.
“Up against a wall would be all right too.”
“In your dreams. You’re incorrigible! What was that Mickey called you? Captain of the Innuendo Squad, that’s it.” She teased him, but allowed him to pull her even closer.
“And proud of it! Come to think of it, with all of the sexual tension at my version of Torchwood, I really am Captain of the Innuendo Squad.”
“Have I told you yet that I missed you?”
“Not enough,” replied Jack, and dipped her. Rose squealed in glee.
When they pulled out of the dip, Jack’s horse was facing them. It grabbed Jack’s collar in its teeth and tugged gently. Jack stopped dancing.
“I’ve got to go,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t want this ride to leave without me.”
“I’ll see you on the other side,” Rose vowed.
“Maybe we can take the path of needles together there, if you know what I mean.” Jack winked.
Rose raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, the last thing you said to me on the Game Station was ‘see you in hell.’ I never guessed you meant it literally.”
“This isn’t hell,” Jack said, all seriousness. “It’s much better than that, and much more terrifying.”
“You won’t remember this, will you?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It gives me an excuse to do this,” Rose said, and kissed him. It was swift, barely longer than their kiss on the Game Station, but intense. It sent warmth spreading throughout Rose’s body, and when they split apart she was hardly surprised at all to find Jack literally glowing. Then she noticed that the horse was glowing too, suggesting that more than the kiss was at work.
“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” she murmured. Jack climbed smoothly onto the white horse, cloak swirling behind him.
“Stay on the path. Beware the trees. Don’t eat anything you’re offered here, especially if it’s offered by a sharp-toothed granny. Listen to your heart. Most of all, don’t forget to remind me of what just happened when we meet again out of the woods.” Jack spoke swiftly, trying to rein in his horse as it pawed restlessly at the ground. The glow around them increased by the moment.
“Aye aye, Captain.” Rose saluted.
“My lady.” Jack returned the salute. They held eye contact for a moment longer, and then Jack nudged his heels against the horse.
The horse sprang into motion. It galloped swiftly down the path, growing brighter step by step. Near the edge of Rose’s vision, the horse jumped. It didn’t come down, galloping several strides into the sky before vanishing in a flash of light.
Rose wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, trying to lock in the sensation of human warmth for the chilly journey ahead. Then she picked up her basket and walked on.
* * *
Onwards to Chapter 3
Author:
tardis_stowaway Characters/Pairings: Chiefly Ten/Rose, but there's also a bit of Nine/Rose (I couldn't resist), and some Ten/Rose/Jack (Jack couldn't resist).
Rating: mild PG-13 for a bit of discussion about sex and one or two instances of salty language.
Spoilers: through season 3, spoiler-free AU after that!
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine. I just take it out for play dates with my strange imagination.
Summary: Once upon a time, she had abided in the world where lives did not begin with ‘once upon a time.’ No more. Rose walks through the woods. Meanwhile, the Doctor deals with an abundance of Bad Wolf references.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2: Wolves and Travelers
Rose discovers that she is not alone in the woods. The Doctor saves a civilization and plays Scrabble.
Author's Note: I geek out over fairy tales. You can tell. Thanks again to the lovely
dark_aegis and wendymr for beta awesomeness.* * *
“One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.”
—Alice Carter, “The Company of Wolves”
“Only heroes and girl detectives go to the underworld on purpose.”
—Kelly Link, “The Girl Detective”
* * *
The Doctor brushed the dust from his hands and surveyed the damage. The temple still stood, and with it the Hoyromese civilization. The temple would need extensive repairs, but the builder’s guild had already begun to talk excitedly of plans to make it even more splendid than before. Teams of villagers were spreading flower seeds over the ground where the corpse vines had grown until a few hours before, checking carefully for any trace of the slick black roots. Life would return to the countryside, if not to the dozen people who lay in the temple vault while the priestesses stacked wood for the pyres.
Just another day’s work for Time’s Champion. (Since when had visiting a budding civilization and saving lives become work? ) It was time for him to go.
“Doctor.” Despite the golden veil of a priestess, the Doctor recognized the speaker. It was Roa, Priestess of the Infinite Quest and second in command only to the High Priestess of the Shining Spiral.
“Divine Seeker.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting in his eagerness to get a move on.
“I have a message for you.”
“You’ve got everything you need to rebuild here. The world is your oyster. Better than that, because you’re ready for so much more than mollusks. I’d only get in the way.”
“I was not asking you to stay,” the priestess said sharply. “Only hear the message.”
“Go ahead,” the Doctor said, not particularly interested. It was almost certainly yet another formal declaration of thanks.
The priestess threw back her veil, and to the Doctor’s surprise her eyes were black with small specks like stars in them, revealing her to be in a prophetic trance.
“All who journey into the woods will encounter the Bad Wolf,” she announced, her voice oddly layered.
The Doctor stood very still, his face dangerously neutral. “Your message is late. The Bad Wolf has come and gone.”
“Illusion. As long as you walk among the trees, the wolf waits for you.” The glowing specks in her eyes spun like galaxies.
The Doctor chose to answer overly literally. “Actually, I was planning to travel to a grassland next.”
“The woods stretch to the farthest reaches of time and space. Every day of living is a journey through the wolf’s domain.”
“I’ve seen the farthest reaches of time and space. No wolf, not any more. I’m going now,” he announced, spinning around fast enough to swirl his coat out dramatically. He strode towards the TARDIS.
“Can’t you hear the howling?” the priestess cried after him.
The Doctor paused but did not turn around. “That’s the wind. Storm winds shaking the trees, nothing more. The forest is empty.” He started walking again, shoulders hunched like an old man.
“You might not see the wolf, but the wolf sees you,” murmured the priestess. The Doctor did not look back at her as he went to the TARDIS and shut the door.
* * *
She walked. The path sometimes wound, sometimes climbed hills or threaded through ravines, but the fundamental view did not change. Squat black trees with naked branches, black pebbles on the path, white snow, white mist, white sky. No birds sang. No squirrels leapt through the branches.
So this was hell. Rose chewed her lip thoughtfully. Didn’t seem much like hell to her. It was creepy, she gave it that, but she’d seen worse. Krop Tor was the most obvious example with its monstrous black hole and plotting Beast underground. However, her personal version of hell looked like two places.
First was the church in 1987 where she waited for the Reapers to end the world and watched the Doctor die because of her foolish, loving mistake. (The old saying about good intentions and what road they paved was terribly true). Her other hell was Norway. Beautiful country, Norway, full of kindhearted people, but she had utterly forsaken hope there. Eventually, back in England, her family had led her back from the abyss. She learned how to live earthbound as if she were learning a foreign language. Eventually, her heart began to scab over. With her family’s love, she had begun to hope. With hope, a way had opened, or so it had seemed at the time.
This place was not hell, she decided. She was on a path, and paths went somewhere. Perhaps her goal. To journey was to hope. She walked.
* * *
Her shoes’ crunching against the gravel was the loudest sound by far. The next loudest was her breathing. It was possible those were the only real sounds. It was possible she only imagined the whispering from the trees. After all, she could see no living creature to make the whispers. They were so soft they might have been wind in the branches (but no breeze stirred her hair) or maybe nothing at all.
Possible, but she didn’t think so. Something whispered in the woods. No matter how she strained, even pausing to listen without the distraction of her footfalls, she couldn’t make out the words. Nevertheless, she knew with a certainty that crept up her spine like spiders that the whispers were hostile.
The whispers chilled her far more than the mist. She could not stand the almost-silence.
“The woods are just trees, and trees are just wood,” she sang a half-remembered song, but the sound of her own voice seemed flat and weak. Worse, the whispers seemed to grow louder underneath her song, always just at the edge of her hearing.
She walked faster, deliberately crunching the gravel under her feet as loudly as she could.
* * *
She came to a crossroads.
She had been walking for a long time. (How long? Hours? Days? She had a feeling the lack of change in the light didn’t mean much here.) Just as she was beginning to reconsider her opinion that paths had to go somewhere, the view ahead revealed an unprecedented sight. The path split in two. She hurried towards the split, thrilled at the prospect of any difference.
Of course there were no signs telling where the paths at the y-shaped intersection went. The choices were equally wide and shared the same black pebbles underfoot. Both ran levelly as far as she could see through the same black and white forest, and neither showed any indication of heading anywhere interesting. In another place, she would have comforted herself with the notion that if she went a little ways on one and didn’t like it she could always return to the crossroads and take the other path, but she knew with the illogical, unshakable certainty of dreams that a choice made here was binding. When she picked a path, she would walk it to its end.
Lacking adequate information from her other senses, she decided to try her nose. At the base of one path, she sniffed. Soil, snow…not much to smell. Making sure she didn’t miss a thing, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Will you take the path of needles or the path of pins?” asked a voice. She jumped like a startled rabbit.
A hooded figure stepped out from amidst the trees. It walked barefoot on the cold ground, its graceful tread making not the slightest sound. When it stood a few paces in front of her, it drew back the hood of its cloak.
Rose drew in a sharp breath. She knew that pale face, those wild eyes, that calm, predatory smile. It was the werewolf that had attacked Queen Victoria.
“What are you doing here?” she asked it, practiced force of will keeping her voice and gaze level.
“I am asking you a question,” it drawled. “Will you take the path of needles or the path of pins?”
“What does that mean?”
“It is a choice you must make. Two roads, but you can only walk one. Which?” Aside from its lips and the slight movements of its breath, the werewolf stood utterly still. Somehow that stillness spoke more of danger than any circling or stalking.
“Which one takes me to the Doctor?” Rose countered.
“Both travel through the woods. Consider: the path of needles, the path of pins,” as it spoke it gestured, indicating Rose’s left as the path of needles and her right as the path of pins. “Or you could always go off the path.” The werewolf chuckled softly at this last idea.
Rose dared a glance at the trees, where the whispering seemed to grow slightly louder. She shook her head, not liking that choice in the slightest.
“What are you doing here, anyway? You died, no Void involved,” she said.
“I am the Bad Wolf,” it said, as if that explained everything.
“No you’re not! The Doctor told me how when I opened the TARDIS I sort of merged with the Time Vortex and called myself the Bad Wolf. Don’t remember much of it myself, but I know the Bad Wolf’s me.”
“Yes,” said the werewolf. “That is true.”
“So what are you, then?”
“The moon seems to shine, but its shine, its beautiful shine, is just a reflection of the sun,” the werewolf proclaimed enigmatically.
“I don’t understand,” said Rose, although somewhere in her deepest heart she thought she might feel the answer burning.
The werewolf chuckled again. Rose decided that chuckle was much worse than the howling she’d heard from it in Scotland. It made the hair on her body stand on end. “We have strayed. You must still choose a path.”
“Path of needles or path of pins, I know. Those both sound so, so…pointy. Isn’t there a path of sofas or a path of pillows or something? How about the road less traveled by? Or the path of least resistance?”
“You choose your path, but the paths also choose you. Now, make your choice. There’s more in these woods than just wolves. Perhaps.”
Rose considered. What did those names mean? Both were sewing tools. Both hurt if you pricked yourself with them. Both were small and metal. What was the difference? Pins were temporary. They held fabric together for a little while until a more permanent binding could be added. Needles could pull thread to bind things together permanently. She wanted to get back to the Doctor forever, not just a two-minute visit like in Norway. There. That reasoning made about as much sense as anything here.
“I’m taking the path of needles,” she announced.
“Interesting,” said the wolf ambiguously. “Walk boldly, then.” It inclined its head politely and turned its back on her.
“Thanks,” said Rose. Some deep-seated instinct for hospitality prompted her to blurt out, “Would you like a biscuit?”
The werewolf turned back towards her. Its eyes were very large, very dark, and very, very inhuman. Rose shivered.
“Yes,” the werewolf said, stepping closer and extending its hand. “Please.”
Rose reached into her basket and fought the impulse to back away. She placed the biscuit into the werewolf’s long-nailed hand (and just what was that under its nails? Pray that it’s only dirt. ) The werewolf bit the biscuit and chewed thoughtfully.
“Very tasty. For your kindness, a word of advice: beware the woodcutters,” it said with a toothy smile that turned blood to ice water. Its tongue flicked out to lick a crumb from its lips. Then it slipped off the path, through the trees, and was gone.
Rose drew her crimson hoodie close around herself and started down the path of needles.
* * *
The Doctor heard Martha’s footsteps coming into the control room, but he didn’t slide out from the guts of the console until she called to him.
“Doctor? You got a moment?”
“Oh, a moment, is it? I have all the moments you could ever need. Perk of being a Time Lord, you know. Important moments, inconsequential moments, all on sale two for the price of one as soon as the TARDIS is fixed,” he babbled, extracting himself from the TARDIS. He attempted to wipe grease from his chin but only ended up smearing it.
“I’m bored,” Martha complained.
The Doctor’s nose wrinkled in disbelief. “Bored? In the TARDIS?”
“Yeah. We’ve been parked here for a two days and we’ve still got another two before you say we can go.”
“Actually, there’s only 46.5 hours left on the repair cycle,” he informed her.
“That’s still quite a lot of time sitting around the vortex doing nothing.”
“Weren’t you worried the other day that you were falling behind in your studies? You can use this time to study your medical textbooks!” he suggested, pleased with his problem-solving ability.
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two days with you burrowed in that engine?” Martha looked exasperated. “Study time is great, but I just need a little break. You want to play a board game or something?”
The Doctor thought longingly of his maintenance project and the solitude it offered, but Martha was making big pleading eyes at him. Big pleading eyes, he decided, were his kryptonite. Martha’s weren’t quite as potent as some he had known (don’t think about Norway), but they were more than strong enough.
“Thinking of something in particular, or shall I choose?” he said, locating a rag to wipe off his hands.
“Oh, no you don’t. You’ll pick some obscenely complicated alien game and then forget to explain half the rules until the game is well underway and I have no chance of catching up. We’re playing my favorite game from Earth. Scrabble.”
The Doctor dropped his annoyance at Martha’s belief that he’d pick an unfair game and lit up like a killer Christmas tree.
“Scrabble? Doctor Jones, you’re on. Race you to the game room!” He shoved off from the console and sprinted away. Martha laughed and took off after him, jostling in the narrow space of the corridors.
When the game was set up and Martha had firmly reminded the Doctor that they were playing with twenty-first century rules and dictionaries, they drew letters. The Doctor shook the bag as enthusiastically as a child and laid the tiles out on the rack. As soon as he saw the tiles, all the bubbly enthusiasm drained from his eyes like somebody had pulled a plug. The tiles read:
D L O W B F A
Being a genius, he didn’t have to think to know how they rearranged.
“Doctor? Is something wrong?” asked Martha, catching the sudden temperature drop.
“Hmm? What could be wrong? Unless you count the fact that you are about to receive the beating of your life.” He pasted a smile on his face.
“You just looked, I don’t know, almost like you’d seen a ghost.” Martha tilted her head and looked at him with concern.
“What? No ghost. Just a coincidence in my letters.” Before Martha could ask anything else, he lay down the word BLOW. He could have scored better for “flow,” but that was “wolf” rearranged. Besides, it would be polite to go easy on Martha, who was, after all, only human. “Your turn, Martha.”
Martha frowned at her tiles. She rearranged them on her rack a few times. Eventually she picked up three of her tiles. Building down from the Doctor’s W, she added her own OLF.
“We’ve got a theme going! It’s like the big bad wolf come to blow the house down on the three little pigs,” Martha announced, pleased. “The L’s on a triple-letter score, so twelve points for me.”
The Doctor opened his mouth and began to speak. He spent the rest of the game babbling while wearing his thin-lipped smile that tended to slip when he thought Martha wasn’t looking. He thought about chance and its tendency to seemingly create patterns that always failed in the end.
* * *
Rose didn’t know how long it had been since she met the werewolf. A long time. The light grew neither brighter nor dimmer. No other landmarks appeared. The only detectable change in anything was the increased pain in her feet. She ignored it.
She came to a place where the path bent particularly sharply. She could see the other side of the bend across a thin band of wood, maybe twenty yards across, while the path traveled at least three times that distance to reach the same point. What harm could it do to go cross-country?
She stepped to the edge of the path and stopped. She couldn’t do it. The whispers from the trees grew louder and more hostile when she seemed about to step off the edge of the path.
She might have left the path in spite of the whispers, but there was something wrong with the trees themselves. They were far too uniform. They seemed to come in two basic types: the first taller, slenderer, smoother; the second squatter, more rotund, lumpy-barked. However, not a single tree had the quirks of crooked branches, leaning trunk, old storm damage, or any other individualized identity. Furthermore, the small twigs at the ends of branches were not as tangled and intricate as she remembered from trees on Earth.
They were not so much trees as the idea of trees. A child’s drawing of trees. A very disturbed child’s drawing of trees. Their branches reached out like grasping arms frozen in mid-grab.
Rose did not dare put herself underneath those trees. She took the long way around.
* * *
She heard hoofbeats.
They approached her from behind, moving very quickly for a horse. She stepped over to the edge of the path and waited, wishing she dared leave the path to find a more secure spot to observe what approached.
A horse so pale it could have been sculpted from the fog hurtled towards her with a menacing dark figure astride. A hood kept Rose from seeing the figure’s face. When the horse drew level with her, it startled her by rearing. She screamed as its hooves churned the air terrifyingly close to her head.
Trying to scoot away from the hooves while staying on the path, she heard a scraping as the towering rider unsheathed a sword. She dodged and wove as the figure swung the sword at her. She couldn’t get around the horse to escape. Then she put her foot down wrong and stumbled hard.
She cried out in terror, knowing that the stumble could mean death. She fell forward, catching herself against the horse’s flank. One wrist brushed the leg of the rider.
“Rose?” said a familiar voice badly out of context.
She looked up and for the first time was able to discern the face of the horseman.
“Jack? What the hell do you think you’re doing with that sword?” she asked, sidling away from him, not yet trusting the change in her vision. Jack hurried to sheath the sword and throw back his hood.
“I thought…I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“Oh, so you just try to kill random strangers,” Rose bit back, still shaken. Yet she hadn’t recognized him either. He’d seemed too large, strange and threatening, wrapped in shadow like a Nazgul. What was going on here?
“My eyes were playing tricks on me. When I first saw you, you didn’t even look human. I looked at you and saw a wolf. You even howled. God, Rose, I’m sorry.” Jack was pale. He looked as shaken as Rose felt. She took a few deep breaths and felt her racing pulse slow. Somehow, this was really Jack.
“’S okay. I didn’t recognize you either. What’s going on?” she asked, wide brown eyes no longer accusing.
“This place operates under different rules. You can’t trust your eyes.” Jack swung a leg over the horse and dropped gracefully to the ground. “The heart is more trustworthy, even if I can hardly believe it when it tells me I’ve finally found you, here of all the damned places.”
Then they were in each other’s arms, holding tight like shipwrecked sailors to a floating beam. Rose leaned against him, feeling safe for the first time since she stepped into the Void, maybe even since the walls closed between her and the Doctor.
She had been so sure Jack was dead. Why else would the Doctor have left him on the Game Station and never even visited? Yet here he was, warm and solid if oddly dressed. He wore a blue padded doublet over a puffy white shirt, dark blue breeches, tall black boots, and a midnight blue hooded cloak that swung down to his knees. Strange, but it matched the horse. Rose wasn’t complaining.
It was Jack who broke apart first, gently pushing Rose away to arms’ length but keeping his hands on her shoulders as if afraid she would vanish if he broke contact entirely.
“I don’t have much time. What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m trying to get back to the Doctor,” she said, telling him briefly about the Battle of Canary Wharf, working in Torchwood in the other universe, and the doorway that was supposed to take her across the Void but only dropped her within it.
“I’ve been walking through this forest ever since. I don’t know if this path will take me back to the Doctor, but when I think about going cross-country…”
“Don’t leave the path,” Jack interrupted, looking horrified.
“Yeah, I sort of figured that. It’s dangerous on the path too, though. I met a werewolf.”
“And what did it say to you, Little Red?” he asked, fondly fingering the scarlet fabric of her hoodie.
“It asked me if I was taking the path of needles or the path of pins,” Rose said. At Jack’s inquiring eyebrow raise, she added, “I chose the path of needles, whatever that means.”
“Needles, eh? Luckily for you, I’ve done some study of folklore. You’d be surprised how many legendary dangers have a basis in real nasties, and sooner or later they turn up in Cardiff. In some of the older versions of Little Red Riding Hood, a werewolf at the crossroads asks her that same question. The path of pins symbolized maidenhood. A girl might help pin a garment that her mother would sew. Needles, in contrast, represent womanhood and sexual maturity. Think about the thread entering the eye of the needle,” he explained, leering at her good-naturedly. Rose’s eyes widened as she recognized the old-fashioned innuendo.
“So I’m stuck in some reenactment of Little Red Riding Hood. I’ve even got the basket of food. Great. You want to follow along and be the handsome huntsman to save me?” she asked, covering her unease with a cheeky smile.
“In the old versions, the ones with the paths of needles and pins, there’s no huntsman. He was added later by male writers who couldn’t believe a woman could take care of herself. In some of the old versions Little Red escapes by herself. Of course, frequently she has to strip first when the wolf asks her to throw her clothes into the fire…”
“Some of the versions? What about the others?” Rose asked sharply.
“Sometimes the wolf eats her and she dies.”
“Oh.”
“Believe me, Rose, I’d help you if I could, but I’ll have to leave soon,” Jack said.
“Why? And how did you get here in the first place?”
“I’m here because I’m dead,” he told her evenly. Rose’s eyes widened in shock. Dead? He was standing right there, warm and breathing…but this was not the real world. Maybe it was some sort of afterlife. She lunged forward, wrapping Jack in her embrace again.
“Oh, Jack. I always worried that was why the Doctor left the Game Station without you, but I’d hoped… I’m so sorry. At least I got those bastards. I killed the Dalek Emperor, Jack. Just a little too late.” Her tears soaked into the wool of Jack’s cloak.
“Whoa there. Calm down. You’re talking about the Game Station? I haven’t been dead from that for a long time,” Jack said, stroking her hair.
“What?” Rose asked, peering up at him through moist lashes, completely puzzled.
“I can’t die, Rose. Well, I die, but I don’t stay dead. Ever since the Game Station. When I wake up I only remember blackness, but every time I die I end up in these woods while I’m dead there. I’m always riding down this path, always searching.” Jack’s eyes took on a distant look.
Jack hadn’t been able to die since the Game Station. Had the Doctor done something to him and left? Why would he do that? What had happened to Jack? A suspicion both wondrous and terrible whined and panted at the door to her mind, but she didn’t let it in just yet.
Rose wiped her face with the back of her hand and even smiled a little. “Searching for why you’re dressed for a trip to the Renaissance?”
“Hey! I like the cloak,” Jack said, disengaging himself from Rose’s arms and giving his cloak a good swish. “Makes me look rather dashing, don’t you think?” He flashed a gleaming Hollywood smile.
“Very Prince Charming. You’ve got the white horse and everything,” Rose assured him.
“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed. “As it turns out, I’m looking for the owner of the other one of these.” Jack reached into his horse’s saddlebags and pulled out a shoe.
It was a gorgeous formal shoe with a low heel, made entirely out of shimmering gold fabric. It was also so tiny it looked like a child’s shoe. Rose burst into laughter.
“You’re looking for Cinderella?” she gasped.
Jack looked at the shoe in dismay. “Whoops. That wasn’t what I meant to grab.”
He rummaged around in the saddlebag for while. Finally he produced his goal with a flourish. It was a severed hand.
Rose stared. Why was Jack carrying around a severed hand? How did Jack get a severed hand in the first place? Then she realized that something about it looked familiar. Moving quickly before her squeamishness could stop her, she reached out and held the hand.
It was deathly still and even colder than usual, but she’d know the feel of that hand anywhere. She let go.
“That’s the Doctor’s,” she said.
Jack nodded. “I don’t know why, but it’s one of the few objects I have in the real world that manifests here. Here it seems to do just fine on its own, but over there I have a fancy case to keep it healthy. I keep it on my desk as a paperweight.”
“I traveled with the Doctor and I work for Torchwood, so I’ve seen plenty of strange stuff, but that’s off the scale for weird and creepy.”
“I strive to always exceed expectations,” Jack quipped. When Rose continued to scowl at him, he put the hand back in the saddlebag.
“Back in the office, it’s wired to help me track the Doctor. I have questions for him. You two left me there, like a prince on the steps of the palace at midnight, except all the other guests at the ball were dead, and I never even got to dance before you ran away. Was the TARDIS going to change into a pumpkin if you waited five more minutes?” There was desolation in Jack’s expression and a coldness that made Rose shiver.
“I’m so sorry. I was unconscious when we took off, but I should have made him give me more information. He was about to regenerate from absorbing the time vortex. I don’t think he was thinking quite straight. Probably he just assumed you were dead.”
“And he didn’t even have enough respect for me to take care of my body?” Jack lashed out bitterly.
“Oh, Jack. I wish…” She trailed off, knowing no amount of wishing or apologizing could undo the wrong done to him. His expression softened.
“I know. It’s done now.”
“Take me with you on your horse! If you always make it back to our universe, then I can come too. I’ve got my supercharged mobile to call him with. He’ll come for me, and we’ll make him answer you,” Rose proposed.
“I wish it were that easy. From your story, I’m guessing that you’re here in your real physical body. My body stayed in Cardiff–no, I don’t know why I can still touch you. I don’t think you could come through my way. At best, you’d be left in the woods. At worst, it could kill you or leave you stuck in my body with me, and not in a good way.”
“When I get through, I’ll make him come to you,” she promised. (Say when, not if, and pray that speaking makes it true. )
“I’ll be waiting for you,” Jack said, and Rose’s heart ached with the trust he was giving her, so undeserved.
“Hey. You were complaining you never got to dance at the ball. I think being dead is messing with your memories, because I’m positive that you and I danced.”
“We did indeed, but not with the moves I wanted,” he said, gathering her in a dance hold.
“I take it you would have preferred the horizontal tango?” Rose smiled slyly as they began to sway, finding a rhythm without music.
“Up against a wall would be all right too.”
“In your dreams. You’re incorrigible! What was that Mickey called you? Captain of the Innuendo Squad, that’s it.” She teased him, but allowed him to pull her even closer.
“And proud of it! Come to think of it, with all of the sexual tension at my version of Torchwood, I really am Captain of the Innuendo Squad.”
“Have I told you yet that I missed you?”
“Not enough,” replied Jack, and dipped her. Rose squealed in glee.
When they pulled out of the dip, Jack’s horse was facing them. It grabbed Jack’s collar in its teeth and tugged gently. Jack stopped dancing.
“I’ve got to go,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t want this ride to leave without me.”
“I’ll see you on the other side,” Rose vowed.
“Maybe we can take the path of needles together there, if you know what I mean.” Jack winked.
Rose raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, the last thing you said to me on the Game Station was ‘see you in hell.’ I never guessed you meant it literally.”
“This isn’t hell,” Jack said, all seriousness. “It’s much better than that, and much more terrifying.”
“You won’t remember this, will you?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It gives me an excuse to do this,” Rose said, and kissed him. It was swift, barely longer than their kiss on the Game Station, but intense. It sent warmth spreading throughout Rose’s body, and when they split apart she was hardly surprised at all to find Jack literally glowing. Then she noticed that the horse was glowing too, suggesting that more than the kiss was at work.
“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” she murmured. Jack climbed smoothly onto the white horse, cloak swirling behind him.
“Stay on the path. Beware the trees. Don’t eat anything you’re offered here, especially if it’s offered by a sharp-toothed granny. Listen to your heart. Most of all, don’t forget to remind me of what just happened when we meet again out of the woods.” Jack spoke swiftly, trying to rein in his horse as it pawed restlessly at the ground. The glow around them increased by the moment.
“Aye aye, Captain.” Rose saluted.
“My lady.” Jack returned the salute. They held eye contact for a moment longer, and then Jack nudged his heels against the horse.
The horse sprang into motion. It galloped swiftly down the path, growing brighter step by step. Near the edge of Rose’s vision, the horse jumped. It didn’t come down, galloping several strides into the sky before vanishing in a flash of light.
Rose wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, trying to lock in the sensation of human warmth for the chilly journey ahead. Then she picked up her basket and walked on.
* * *
Onwards to Chapter 3
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I really can't wait for the next part!
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I love the Doctor's reaction to Bad Wolf. And how Rose's versions of hell were 1987 and Norway. *sniff*
Amazing chapter.
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Yeah, the timeline from the Doctor's perspective starts just before S3 and continues through that season, and Jack here is from S1 of Torchwood.
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I do occasionally lose track of time, especially since I'm just now entering the MASSIVE stacks of post-JE fic. However, the LJ time stamp from just two days ago on this entry has doomed your cunning plan of confusion and misdirection. ;)
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Looking forward to more ....
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