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tardis_stowawayAnother newly crossposted chapter of old fic.
Title: What country, friends, is this?
Author: tardis_stowaway
Rating: PG for a bit of language
Spoilers: Through Doomsday
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all its characters belong to the BBC, not me. Alas!
Story Summary: Post-Doomsday, Rose still runs for her life. One night she runs into someone she never expected to see again. Problem #1: It's hard to have a blissful reunion with someone who has never met you. Problem #2: A Nine from the universe where Rose Tyler was never born is bound to have some unresolved issues.
Chapter Notes: In which Rose runs a lot, eventually arriving where she wants to be.
Chapter 1
What country, friends, is this?
by TARDIS_stowaway
Chapter 2: O Mistress Mine, Where Are You Roaming?
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know. -Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, II.iii
I ran. Past closed fast food stands and darkened souvenir shops, I ran for my life. It had started out as a simple mission for Torchwood. Fly to New Jersey (first class! Not as spacious as TARDIS travel, but still quite luxurious), meet a dealer of rare and unusual objects who had contacted Torchwood. Examine a particular one of those objects and determine as best I could if it was, as he claimed, alien. If so, hand over a large amount of cash and transport the object back to HQ in London for further study. Not my specialty, but it was July and most everybody else was trying to take a vacation. It was supposed to be a simple and low-risk assignment.
The meeting took place in a nightclub, so I got to dress up like a real femme fatale spy in a little black dress with daring neckline. No heels, though; I wore flat sandals with sturdy straps. Fleeing for your life in stilettos, or even moderate-sized pumps, is a recipe for death and/or blisters. The alien artifact was olive green and bumpy with the general shape of a gun, complete with trigger. However, the barrel was wide and flat like it shot out something flat, perhaps those ninja star things. Or possibly pancakes. My instruments said it was alien, but couldn’t figure out what the hell it was for. I passed over the cash and was about to stick the gun/pancake maker/thingy in my handbag when the club erupted in screaming. I saw the torso of a bulky man wearing a dark suit and bowler hat entering the room. Instead of legs, his torso emerged from the back end of what appeared to be a giant green slug. Leaving a trail of mucus as he entered the club, the slug-man roared:
“Give me my property!” He pointed straight at me, completely dooming my attempts to edge out the back door quietly. He picked a martini glass off a table and threw it against a wall to emphasize his point.
“Calm down and tell me why you want it,” I said. Creepy as he looked, he could be a decent guy who’d had his…whatever it was stolen and quite rightly wanted it back.
“I want you to hand it over NOW because I might get my shirt dirty if I have to kill everyone in this room and feast upon their eyeballs before I pry it from your dead hands!” He made this new point by picking up a woman and throwing her against the wall as easily as he’d thrown the glass. I still had no idea what the thingy was or whether it really belonged to him, but it seemed like a poor idea to give an alien with that sort of temperament so much as a spoon. With that eyeball comment, especially not a spoon. I turned and sprinted out the back door. The slug-man shoved people violently aside and followed.
Across the street, three blocks, turn right, two blocks, turn left, next right, four more blocks and into an alley I ran. I was gradually outdistancing the slug man, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen me turn down the alleyway. Just to be sure, I climbed over the chain link fence at the end of the alley and hid behind a dumpster on the other side to catch my breath. No way he could climb with that body. Just as I started to relax, I heard a soft squelching sound growing louder, than his voice, soft now but just as menacing.
“Run all you like, little girl. I can follow your scent trail across the ocean if need be. Or you could give up now, and I’ll make your death quick.” A moment of silence followed, then a tremendous metallic screech. I looked around the dumpster to see the slug man ripping the chain link fence apart. Right. Time to run again.
Soon I was in the touristy district near the beach where I began this story. Nothing was open this time of night, and the streets were empty except for a few teenagers smoking and doing skateboard tricks. I had no idea where to find a safe spot. The slug man was still well behind me, but I was developing a stitch in my side, and he seemed to be gaining slightly. I needed an idea. Slug-man…salt kills slugs…should I find a grocery store, break in, and use their salt to make an uncrossable line across the road behind me? Bad plan. He’d almost certainly find some way to sweep it away. The ocean! That was full of salt. I’d lure him down to the beach. I turned in the direction of the sound of waves.
Under my feet, the ground changed from pavement to wooden boards. I scarcely noticed. I wished the Doctor was there to take my hand and pull my leaden legs along, but I also wished I had a motorcycle. Well, I’d come out of more dangerous chases alive before now. I passed a carousel, a kid-sized roller coaster, a tilt-a-whirl, and other rides. Great. Amusement parks always kind of gave me the creeps. I ran, until suddenly there was nowhere left to run.
Right in front of me was a railing, and far below that the ocean. I had run onto a pier, and there was no way off but the way I came. Large signs warned against diving, and a quick glance over the edge showed plenty of big rocks to support that sign. Down near the tip of the pier, there was nothing except the rides and a worn ticket booth, nothing substantial enough to offer me any protection from that sort of strength. If he spoke truly about his sense of smell, hiding would be useless. My only option was to run back down the pier straight past him. It was wide enough that I should be able to stay out of his arm reach. Hopefully. I decided that it would be just as easy to pass him at this end as nearer the opening, so I ducked behind the ticket booth to catch my breath.
The booth was of the stand-alone variety, large enough for two attendants inside if they were on really good terms with each other. It was faded white with yellow trim and a sign near the top saying “TICKETS” in red letters, surrounded by unlit bulbs. The window on the front was blocked with a metal grate over the glass and curtains inside. I tried the door on the back, just in case there was something useful inside, but it was locked. Leaning against the door and panting, I pulled out my cell phone and tried to guess whether any of the Torchwood agents in America were likely to be able to help me and whether I’d be able to complete the call before my pursuer got close enough that I had to run again. I wasn’t in a state to talk and run at the same time.
As I started to dial, I heard a terrible crash. Peeking around, I saw that the Ferris wheel was toppling, coming down right across the pier. The slug-man stood (if you can call it standing without legs) brushing his hands off on my side of the wheel; the way off the pier was on the other side. No way I’d be able to run past him and climb over that mess of metal quick enough. I put the phone back in my bag.
“Nowhere to run, little girl. No one to hear you scream. Also, if you’re thinking of throwing my toy into the sea, rest assured that it will still work when I fish it out, but I will guarantee you a particularly unpleasant death if you make me go to that trouble.” His speech was slightly indistinct, almost gurgly, but the danger was quite clear. Time to get desperate. I darted around the ticket booth, pointing the mysterious object at him, and pulled the trigger. I winced as I fired, half expecting the object to explode or something similarly dangerous. Aside from a faint clicking sound from the thingy, absolutely nothing happened to either of us. The slug-man laughed.
“Little children shouldn’t play with toys they can’t work,” he said, slithering towards me at a leisurely pace. I went back around the ticket booth and slumped. I didn’t know how to get away, and I had no weapons with me aside from maybe the mystery thingy. I supposed I could beat it off with my handbag (contents: one PDA modified by Torchwood to scan alien technology, lipstick, mascara, blush, wallet, cell phone, passport, tissues, two pens, hair brush, tampons, napkin with scribbled directions to the night club, three napkins with phone numbers of nice young men I never intended to call back, lots of crumpled receipts, breath mints, banana. Hey, they had extras at the hotel breakfast, and I get hungry at odd times.) No good. I bit my lip and wished for the Doctor. He could improvise his way out of anything. Even those times we thought we were going to die were better than this because we were together. I felt sick to my stomach, and my chest hurt.
That chest pain was strange, concentrated at a single point rather than the broad ache of tired lungs. I touched my hand to my chest as my heart beat a wild samba. The pain was coming from where the TARDIS key touched my flesh. I pulled on the necklace that I wore every day to draw it out of my dress. The TARDIS key–the only tangible souvenir of the Doctor that came with me to this parallel world–was hot as a parking lot in July and glowing with a faint golden light. I stared; I forgot to breathe. The squelching sound of the slug-man’s approach was very close now, but I could feel warmth emanating from the wooden door of the ticket booth against my back. I spun, and with shaking fingers I fit the key into the lock. The key turned. Am I saved at last?, I thought, not really thinking of escape from the slug-man at all. I opened the door and stepped through.
Continued in Chapter 3
Title: What country, friends, is this?
Author: tardis_stowaway
Rating: PG for a bit of language
Spoilers: Through Doomsday
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all its characters belong to the BBC, not me. Alas!
Story Summary: Post-Doomsday, Rose still runs for her life. One night she runs into someone she never expected to see again. Problem #1: It's hard to have a blissful reunion with someone who has never met you. Problem #2: A Nine from the universe where Rose Tyler was never born is bound to have some unresolved issues.
Chapter Notes: In which Rose runs a lot, eventually arriving where she wants to be.
Chapter 1
What country, friends, is this?
by TARDIS_stowaway
Chapter 2: O Mistress Mine, Where Are You Roaming?
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know. -Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, II.iii
I ran. Past closed fast food stands and darkened souvenir shops, I ran for my life. It had started out as a simple mission for Torchwood. Fly to New Jersey (first class! Not as spacious as TARDIS travel, but still quite luxurious), meet a dealer of rare and unusual objects who had contacted Torchwood. Examine a particular one of those objects and determine as best I could if it was, as he claimed, alien. If so, hand over a large amount of cash and transport the object back to HQ in London for further study. Not my specialty, but it was July and most everybody else was trying to take a vacation. It was supposed to be a simple and low-risk assignment.
The meeting took place in a nightclub, so I got to dress up like a real femme fatale spy in a little black dress with daring neckline. No heels, though; I wore flat sandals with sturdy straps. Fleeing for your life in stilettos, or even moderate-sized pumps, is a recipe for death and/or blisters. The alien artifact was olive green and bumpy with the general shape of a gun, complete with trigger. However, the barrel was wide and flat like it shot out something flat, perhaps those ninja star things. Or possibly pancakes. My instruments said it was alien, but couldn’t figure out what the hell it was for. I passed over the cash and was about to stick the gun/pancake maker/thingy in my handbag when the club erupted in screaming. I saw the torso of a bulky man wearing a dark suit and bowler hat entering the room. Instead of legs, his torso emerged from the back end of what appeared to be a giant green slug. Leaving a trail of mucus as he entered the club, the slug-man roared:
“Give me my property!” He pointed straight at me, completely dooming my attempts to edge out the back door quietly. He picked a martini glass off a table and threw it against a wall to emphasize his point.
“Calm down and tell me why you want it,” I said. Creepy as he looked, he could be a decent guy who’d had his…whatever it was stolen and quite rightly wanted it back.
“I want you to hand it over NOW because I might get my shirt dirty if I have to kill everyone in this room and feast upon their eyeballs before I pry it from your dead hands!” He made this new point by picking up a woman and throwing her against the wall as easily as he’d thrown the glass. I still had no idea what the thingy was or whether it really belonged to him, but it seemed like a poor idea to give an alien with that sort of temperament so much as a spoon. With that eyeball comment, especially not a spoon. I turned and sprinted out the back door. The slug-man shoved people violently aside and followed.
Across the street, three blocks, turn right, two blocks, turn left, next right, four more blocks and into an alley I ran. I was gradually outdistancing the slug man, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen me turn down the alleyway. Just to be sure, I climbed over the chain link fence at the end of the alley and hid behind a dumpster on the other side to catch my breath. No way he could climb with that body. Just as I started to relax, I heard a soft squelching sound growing louder, than his voice, soft now but just as menacing.
“Run all you like, little girl. I can follow your scent trail across the ocean if need be. Or you could give up now, and I’ll make your death quick.” A moment of silence followed, then a tremendous metallic screech. I looked around the dumpster to see the slug man ripping the chain link fence apart. Right. Time to run again.
Soon I was in the touristy district near the beach where I began this story. Nothing was open this time of night, and the streets were empty except for a few teenagers smoking and doing skateboard tricks. I had no idea where to find a safe spot. The slug man was still well behind me, but I was developing a stitch in my side, and he seemed to be gaining slightly. I needed an idea. Slug-man…salt kills slugs…should I find a grocery store, break in, and use their salt to make an uncrossable line across the road behind me? Bad plan. He’d almost certainly find some way to sweep it away. The ocean! That was full of salt. I’d lure him down to the beach. I turned in the direction of the sound of waves.
Under my feet, the ground changed from pavement to wooden boards. I scarcely noticed. I wished the Doctor was there to take my hand and pull my leaden legs along, but I also wished I had a motorcycle. Well, I’d come out of more dangerous chases alive before now. I passed a carousel, a kid-sized roller coaster, a tilt-a-whirl, and other rides. Great. Amusement parks always kind of gave me the creeps. I ran, until suddenly there was nowhere left to run.
Right in front of me was a railing, and far below that the ocean. I had run onto a pier, and there was no way off but the way I came. Large signs warned against diving, and a quick glance over the edge showed plenty of big rocks to support that sign. Down near the tip of the pier, there was nothing except the rides and a worn ticket booth, nothing substantial enough to offer me any protection from that sort of strength. If he spoke truly about his sense of smell, hiding would be useless. My only option was to run back down the pier straight past him. It was wide enough that I should be able to stay out of his arm reach. Hopefully. I decided that it would be just as easy to pass him at this end as nearer the opening, so I ducked behind the ticket booth to catch my breath.
The booth was of the stand-alone variety, large enough for two attendants inside if they were on really good terms with each other. It was faded white with yellow trim and a sign near the top saying “TICKETS” in red letters, surrounded by unlit bulbs. The window on the front was blocked with a metal grate over the glass and curtains inside. I tried the door on the back, just in case there was something useful inside, but it was locked. Leaning against the door and panting, I pulled out my cell phone and tried to guess whether any of the Torchwood agents in America were likely to be able to help me and whether I’d be able to complete the call before my pursuer got close enough that I had to run again. I wasn’t in a state to talk and run at the same time.
As I started to dial, I heard a terrible crash. Peeking around, I saw that the Ferris wheel was toppling, coming down right across the pier. The slug-man stood (if you can call it standing without legs) brushing his hands off on my side of the wheel; the way off the pier was on the other side. No way I’d be able to run past him and climb over that mess of metal quick enough. I put the phone back in my bag.
“Nowhere to run, little girl. No one to hear you scream. Also, if you’re thinking of throwing my toy into the sea, rest assured that it will still work when I fish it out, but I will guarantee you a particularly unpleasant death if you make me go to that trouble.” His speech was slightly indistinct, almost gurgly, but the danger was quite clear. Time to get desperate. I darted around the ticket booth, pointing the mysterious object at him, and pulled the trigger. I winced as I fired, half expecting the object to explode or something similarly dangerous. Aside from a faint clicking sound from the thingy, absolutely nothing happened to either of us. The slug-man laughed.
“Little children shouldn’t play with toys they can’t work,” he said, slithering towards me at a leisurely pace. I went back around the ticket booth and slumped. I didn’t know how to get away, and I had no weapons with me aside from maybe the mystery thingy. I supposed I could beat it off with my handbag (contents: one PDA modified by Torchwood to scan alien technology, lipstick, mascara, blush, wallet, cell phone, passport, tissues, two pens, hair brush, tampons, napkin with scribbled directions to the night club, three napkins with phone numbers of nice young men I never intended to call back, lots of crumpled receipts, breath mints, banana. Hey, they had extras at the hotel breakfast, and I get hungry at odd times.) No good. I bit my lip and wished for the Doctor. He could improvise his way out of anything. Even those times we thought we were going to die were better than this because we were together. I felt sick to my stomach, and my chest hurt.
That chest pain was strange, concentrated at a single point rather than the broad ache of tired lungs. I touched my hand to my chest as my heart beat a wild samba. The pain was coming from where the TARDIS key touched my flesh. I pulled on the necklace that I wore every day to draw it out of my dress. The TARDIS key–the only tangible souvenir of the Doctor that came with me to this parallel world–was hot as a parking lot in July and glowing with a faint golden light. I stared; I forgot to breathe. The squelching sound of the slug-man’s approach was very close now, but I could feel warmth emanating from the wooden door of the ticket booth against my back. I spun, and with shaking fingers I fit the key into the lock. The key turned. Am I saved at last?, I thought, not really thinking of escape from the slug-man at all. I opened the door and stepped through.
Continued in Chapter 3
