Chapter Text
The Doctor turned to Martha as she skidded to a halt beside him, crushing the loose pavement under her feet loud enough for him to hear the rocks pop under the pressure of her weight.
“You want me to do what?” she asked with a voice pitched high enough to make him wince.
He scratched his sideburns, his eyes floating away from Martha. “Sing.”
“You want me to go up to a ten some odd meter high angry slug alien and sing to it?” she said, intoning each syllable deliberately and staring at him as if he were eating his coat.
A loud roar erupted behind her and the Doctor took a peek at the slug slithering between the suburban homes of the area, destroying street lamps, mail boxes, and lawn ornaments. He tried to give Martha a reassuring smile.
“Yup! Usually these slugs are very friendly, peaceful bunch. This one is just a bit upset that we’ve, or I mean me, sort of, not intentionally mind, destroyed its nest, and – allofitslarva.” The Doctor began to rub his neck. A second later he took a deep breath and nodded in the direction of the slug. “Song vibration will calm it down to the point it’ll shrink back to its normal size. If we don’t do something soon, it’ll start destroying the houses and force UNIT to come in and kill it.”
“But I can’t sing! What about you? Why can’t you sing?”
“Me?” He immediately screwed up his face in disgust. “Time Lords aren’t meant to sing, I’d just enrage it even more. I’m sure you have a lovely voice!”
Martha jolted her head back and shook. “This is comple– Alright, I’ll do it.” She sighed and spun around to face the slug. “What song?”
He put his hands in his pockets and kept his eyes forward. “Any will do, so long as you remember the lyrics and tune.”
He squared his shoulders and kept motionless as he watched Martha run up behind the slug and sing a recent pop song with a rocky voice. He recognized the song as something he’d heard once or twice on the speakers of shops they’d recently visited in town. He thought the lyrics were quite daft, something about bleeding love. He stiffened when he heard the third verse as thoughts of Rose emerged and forced his mind to remain blank, not wanting to be distracted.
The slug stopped in its path and twisted its body to look at Martha. The Doctor eased his shoulders and let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, waiting for the slug to shrink. The slug roared again and started crawling its way towards them, remaining large and threatening.
Martha quickly stepped backward before turning to glare at the Doctor. “What do we do now?”
He opened his mouth, his lips floundering like a fish for a moment. “Sing something else! It obviously didn’t like the song!”
She turned to look at the oncoming slug and then back at him. “What do I pick?”
“Just-just…anyone besides that one!”
Closing her eyes, she lifted her chin in the air and faced the slug. She sings a song he had never heard before, but the melody sounded soothing enough that he thought she made the right choice. Her voice was strong and steady and hoping the song would work this time, he turned his attention to the giant slug bearing down upon them.
As the creature drew close the words of Martha’s new song filtered through to him and his blood ran cold. He swallowed the recently formed lump in his throat as he listened intently. The song was about mistakes, reoccurring mistakes, and he lowered his eyes to tune out the painful lyrics.
The slug began to tremble, causing the ground beneath their feet to shake violently. Martha pitched forward, forcing out the words of the song. She caught her balance, and the Doctor took fast large leaps in her direction. A few meters before them the slug stopped. It thrashed about, letting out a pitiful cry, and then slowly shrank.
On the street in front of them, the now-tiny slug wiggled in protest and then relaxed. The Doctor took a step forward and bent down. He picked up the slug using his forefinger and thumb, holding it gently in the palm of his other hand. He gave it a warm smile as the creature moved softly over his skin. “There we go, back to normal!”
He heard Martha approaching, but he kept his eyes on the slug, lightly touching it with his finger.
“Will that enrage it again, you poking at it?” She asked with a taut voice.
“Oh, I doubt it; I told you, normally these little gastropods are very docile.”
“Tell that to the street,” she mumbled. “Are there more of them that we have to worry about?”
Tearing his eyes away from the slug, he scanned the area, noting that none of the houses were actually damaged; mostly the lawns were in disarray and some of the cars needed to be replaced. “You’d be surprised how much actual damage someone as small as this can do when angered. But there shouldn’t be any more of them; these creatures came to Earth about twenty centuries ago on the hairy backs of the Kiwis, extinct now. And these slimy slugs don’t breed much.”
“Kiwis were aliens?”
He looked back at the creature in his palm, lifting his hand to his face and craning his neck to get a closer view. “Ye-up!”
“Shame that one lost his family, probably lonely, he is,” she said.
Looking at the tiny being in his hand, he felt a surge of pity for it. He schooled his features as he recalled, with a heavy stone of guilt weighing him down, that he was the reason for the creature’s newfound loneliness. “I’m sure it’ll reproduce again. This one is still young and uses agamogenesis to spawn its young.” Looking up, the Doctor sniffed nonchalantly, trying to dismiss the unpleasant thoughts. Jogging over to the closest patch of grass, he carefully placed the slug among the leaves. He faced Martha. “Come on then, didn’t you want to see your family?”
“Of course I did, but don’t you think we should stick around–”
“Nah, it’ll be fine. Off we go, got places to see, things to do,” he said as he walked down the street, away from the mess.
Martha caught up with him, sticking close to his side as they walked. In his peripheral vision he saw her pursing her lips while keeping her gaze locked on the street ahead of them. “I can’t wait to see my mum; she must have thought me mad after that phone call.”
“What phone call?”
“I dialed her when I was trapped in the escape pod; I thought I might not make it.”
He tilted his head slightly towards her and grinned, keeping his voice full of good humor for her sake and for his. “But you did! No worries, I’m sure your mother was happy to hear from you.” Glancing around at the houses with knitted brows, he continued, “So which one is your mother’s?”
“None of these are. We’re far off; we should be on the other side of town,” she said matter-of-factly.
They stop walking and turned to each other. “Hmm, that right? I suppose we’ll pop in the TARDIS and –”
“No! Or, really, I’ll just take the tube. Don’t think I can handle another giant slug or a flying alien gorilla to deal with.”
“Flying alien gorilla? I’ve never seen one of those, well, at least on Earth, technically. Where did you come up with that?”
“Seemed just as ridiculous as a giant slug, I suppose.” She faintly lifted her brows, her expression alternating between a smile and a frown. “I’ll just meet you back here? Or you can pop up near the house or…?”
Pouting, the Doctor looked up to the sky, thinking of all the things a human would consider ridiculous or silly. “You haven’t seen anything yet if you think that a metamorphosing slug is the most ridiculous thing to encounter. Wait till I take you to Amgart V, they’ve got these –” His eyes fell back to his companion, whose blatant grimace silenced his tangent. “Oh, alright, your family. I’ll just meet you back here.”
Her face softened at his words. She gave him one firm nod and they began to walk again. “I guess I can’t blame you for not wanting to see my mum, she slapped you the last time.”
He grunted in agreement, recalling the sting of her mother’s hand connecting with his face. Another memory sprang to mind then, of another mother slapping another face. No, there were lots of reasons he didn’t want to see Martha’s family. And most of them he didn’t want to think about.
He walked a few paces before he realized that Martha was no longer next him. He stopped and turned around. She stood a few meters away at a street corner, staring at him expectantly.
“Tube’s that way.” She made a fast gesture with her hand in the direction perpendicular to the street they had been walking. “I’ll see you later Doctor,” she said offhandedly.
She left in a hurry and he gave her a small salute before continuing onward to the TARDIS. The homey suburban street gave way to a busy town square, filled with people that had missed the action only a few blocks away. He wondered how people could dismiss something as obvious as a rampaging giant slug, but knowing humans, they could delude themselves rather well when it came to things they found unpleasant.
He turned a corner near a bakery, enjoying the smell of fresh bread and pastries, when the air around him shifted enough for him to stop. Normally the world around him would bend, making timelines easy to sense and understand. He could count seconds in the back of his immense mind without effort, but for a moment, nothing bent and his time count had paused.
He took in the people surrounding him. A car had skidded to a halt to avoid hitting a man in a brown jacket, probably because the man hadn’t looked both ways before crossing the street. The worker at the bakery had dropped a pan of cupcakes, now the sweets decorated the floor. A young girl had tripped on the sidewalk a few shops away, causing her hair up-do to come undone, leaving her looking morose.
Everything and everyone looked normal, something should have been off. Perhaps something small had changed in the fabric of time, too small for him to notice in the open. If it had been that small it wasn’t worth the worry. He let out an aggravated huff and continued on. When the TARDIS stood three meters in front of him, nestled comfortably in an alley between a car garage and Real Estate agency, the Doctor heard a low buzzing followed by a loud metal click. He stilled and a chill crept over his skin. Looking for the source of the sound, he turned around, careful not to make any rapid movements.
He saw her then and his breath hitched. His jaw slackened as his brows rose at the impossibility of it. She stood on the opposite sidewalk, staring at him, a challenge apparent on her perfect face.
Rose.
He took off in a rush to her, unable to keep a smile off his face. He hopped onto the street, momentarily distracted by a car careening to a stop at his knees and he swung out his hands onto the hood of the car to keep his balance. The car honked and he ignored the driver’s shouts as he searched the street to see if Rose stood where last he saw her. The empty space where she had been made his hearts clench. He pushed off the car and made it to the sidewalk. He looked left then right and caught sight of her back, walking away from him, down the path back to the bakery. He ran, pushing people aside to close the distance between him and his lost companion.
“Rose!” he yelled, hoping she would stop and turn to him.
The searing heat came before the shockwave. A loud boom assaulted his ears as the force of the explosion behind him lifted him off his feet and onto the cemented ground. Dust and glass rained down on his head and body, peppering the area in blackened debris.
The next sounds he heard were the roaring flames and the cries and scuffles of people near him. The Doctor moved his limbs, testing to see if he sustained any injuries before tensing his back and standing up. He promptly looked for Rose, glancing at the mass of people that were recovering from the event.
“Rose!” he yelled, this time full of desperation and worry.
He didn’t see her or anyone that he could mistake for her nearby. Darting through the decimated area, he looked frantically for any signs of Rose. He saw two burning buildings a few blocks away, and closer, bent street signs, ripped awnings, and broken windows. She hadn’t been that far from him when he had been knocked down. Where was she?
In the midst of searching for her, he knelt next to the first person prone to the floor and checked for a heartbeat and injuries, before moving onto the next one. He jerked up in frustration, pacing the streets as he ran his fingers through his hair.
A boiling panic seized his muscles and he froze. Had she gotten trapped or injured someplace he couldn’t see? Where was she?
He thought back to what he saw, noticing for the first time the way Rose acted. She didn’t run to him after he saw her and she hadn’t come to him when he called, not even glancing his way. She kept walking away. It didn’t add up. Pulling at his hair, he clenched his teeth and almost chocked on an irritated growl. Had he hallucinated Rose?
He remembered Martha, and worried that she might not have gotten far enough to escape the explosion, hurried over to the first working payphone that he saw. He grabbed his sonic screwdriver from the pocket of his jacket and pointed the tool at the machine. The vibrating noise of his sonic drowned out the chaos surrounding him for only a few seconds. He picked up the receiver and dialed Martha’s cell with lanky, steady fingers.
He heard the phone connect. “Martha, are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. Hello, by the way. Why are you asking?” She sounded confused. Behind her voice, he could make out the grinding tracks of a moving train.
“There was an explosion near the TARDIS; the street’s covered in rubble.”
“What?” she exclaimed loudly and then paused. “Are you hurt? Should I turn back?”
“I don’t think I’ve been injured, continue on to your mother’s, I’m going to poke about and see if I can find out exactly what happened.” There must have been a reason he saw Rose right before a large explosion destroyed the area. “I’ll contact you again if I need you.”
“Doc –” He dropped the receiver, ending the call.
Instead of staying a safe distance away, he headed to the burning buildings, leaping over burnt bricks and large pieces of wood. The ruined Real Estate sign from the building next to the TARDIS rested on its side in the middle of the roadway and he saw the ground floor of the car garage had collapsed, causing the whole structure to look extremely unstable.
A few police and fire officers had arrived on the scene and he could make out more sirens in the distance. He slowed, trying to remain unseen, weaseling his way through the crowds. Cutting his way through the police lines, he entered the alley where his TARDIS waited.
Her normally bright blue hull now sported black smears of ash and soot. Relief flooded his system as he noticed that other than surface burns, she was fine. A burning piece of wood popped and more cement from the car garage fell off the structure and landed next to him. In long, swift strides he made it to the doors of the TARDIS.
Hesitating before the final turn of his key, he sensed someone watching him. He turned to look behind him and squinted at his surroundings. The throng of people gathered at the mouth of the alley would not be able to see him or the TARDIS and there were no others in viewing distance. Unable to locate the source of his discomfort and knowing he had more important things to worry about, he opened the doors to his ship and went inside.
He took off his coat and threw it over the choral strut to his right, then headed over to the console. He began flipping switches, turning knobs, and fiddling with the controls, scanning the recent timeline for a proper safe zone where he could land the ship inside one of the buildings that been targeted.
The display screen flashed and he made the adjustments to land a few hours ahead, inside the Real Estate building. The damage to the car garage made it impossible to land at the center of the event. Both buildings had been targeted, but he had no idea why. They weren’t important and they certainly didn’t seem connected.
Unless he factored in that his TARDIS had been parked between both. But he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
He held on to the edges of the console as his ship loudly shuddered and a muted thud signaled that they had arrived at their destination. His tongue curled over his top lip as he looked up at the Time Rotor to make sure everything was in order and hurried over to the exit. He grabbed his jacket, shrugged it on, and opened the doors.
He stepped out into the charred building while he fixed his lapels in place. The black walls leaked grey smoke and the ground cracked under his foot. The TARDIS had situated herself in a secure cupboard, near the stairs. He sneaked out, into the unknown, mindful of where he placed his weight.
A group of people, in hazmat suits and holding equipment, passed through a hallway on the far side of the floor and the Doctor followed. The group went down another set of stairs to the basement and spread out. The Doctor took his own course, following all his senses, to the seat of the bomb. The place where he wanted to go was lined off with official tape, guarded by a few police officers. Taking out his psychic paper, he held it up for the officers and they hastily let him through.
The area was streaked with black lines, all leading outward from the center of the room. A huge gaping hole made up most of the ceiling. Fragments of the explosive littered the outer area, huddling together near the black outlines of the impact. He kneeled down near a group of debris and shrapnel, drawing his brows together. He used his sonic to shift through the half-destroyed items, not wanting to turn on his device in case it grabbed the wrong type of attention. He pieced together the items to form a rudimentary idea of what type of bomb did this. As the idea became clearer his brows drew closer and closer together. This wasn’t done by anyone from this time period, maybe not even someone from Earth.
He heard the footsteps of a couple approaching him from behind. Tucking his sonic away, he discreetly nabbed two of the closest bomb fragments near his fingertips.
“Who are you then?” a rough, peevish voice asked.
Standing and turning to the newcomers, the Doctor took a deep breath and opened his mouth to respond, while pocketing the bomb fragments. With his other hand, he pulled out his psychic paper and with large, obvious movements flashed the paper to the two men in very official looking suits questioning him.
“John Smith, bomb inspector, from the thirty second district, just stopping by to take a quick look, see if there is anything different about this case.” Shifting his eyes back and forth between them, he put away his paper and nodded. “Right, well, obviously everything is in order and it’s just the same old, same old, isn’t it. I’ll be out of your way.”
The Doctor squeezed through in-between the two men, heading back to the staircase where he and the group of hazmat workers came from.
Their voices were loud enough to hear even after he passed through the police tape. “Do we even have a thirty second district?” one of them asked.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he couldn’t overhear the rest of their discussion. He made it to the ground floor and the cupboard where the TARDIS waited and didn’t hesitate to enter his ship. He forwent taking off his jacket, too concerned with the ideas and images swirling in his head.
Amidst the storm of his thoughts, a sharp memory from many months ago sprang forth:
Swinging on a netted hammock, Rose’s ringing laughter vibrated through his chest as she pressed a little closer to him. With his arm around her shoulder, he held her as tight as he could.
“I can’t believe you did that!” she uttered joyfully.
“Really, is it that hard to believe?”
“No, suppose not,” she replied with a breathy laugh.
He stared at the spotless green sky, the blue sand of the beach, and the purple waves, as their laughter died off and a heavy silence descended over them.
Playing with his tie, Rose lowered her eyes. “Don’t want this day to end really,” she stammered out.
Tilting his head back to look at her, he studied her slumped shoulders and the way she refused to meet his eyes. “All good things must come to an end,” he said with a sliver of melancholy. He doesn’t know what prompted him to say such a thing.
Rose lifted her head and a corner of her lips tugged upward. “Not us, we’re too good to end.”
He grinned at the lightness of her reply. “Hmm, yeah, we are.”
Looking away, Rose tucked herself closer to him. “I’ll always be with you Doctor, even after…” she whispered, and the Doctor thought perhaps he wasn’t meant to hear it.
Shrugging, he kept his voice playful, “Oh definitely, I won’t ever be rid of you, since you happen to be my third heart. One I can’t live without.”
“Third heart? Isn’t that one too many?” She glanced back at him with one eyebrow raised.
“Nope, just right,” he placed his hand on the center of his chest, “right here.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yes.”
Shaking himself from the memory, the Doctor worked the controls of the TARDIS, more roughly than he normally would. He charted the ship into the Time Vortex; he wanted time to sort out his findings. The bombings, the image of Rose, and the certainty that someone with alien or future technology could be the culprit had to be connected. There had been too much evidence at the seat of the bomb to deny that whoever had planned this was not the typical twenty first century terrorist. The bombs were too precise in their destruction and the debris contained enough time distortion for him to know they were out of place.
But how were they connected? Why would someone do this, for what purpose: to kill or grab attention, to protest against poor real estate’s for car garages? If he had been the target then the plan failed. It failed because Rose had led him away, unless she had been bait.
Closing his eyes, his hands paused over the console. His imagination had caused the images of Rose. His pathetic mind had brought it on because he mourned her loss. Knowing that something had been wrong, his mind created the lure of Rose to yank him away from danger. He would have been killed, with no chance of regeneration, had he been close to the TARDIS when those bombs went off.
Turning to lean back against the console, his hands dove into his pockets to pull out the two pieces of bomb fragments he had taken. Both were long, contorted shards of hardened plastic. Putting one of them on console, he inspected the other, turning it over in his hand. Clinging onto the shrapnel, a half burnt label remained legible. He read the smudged words and recognized the manufacturer. Next to the bakery in the town square a small, raggedy electronics’ shop sold specialty items, custom designed, per the sign in the window. He’d have to give them a visit to check if they were helping construct futuristic bombs.
Letting the piece from the shop rest on the console, the Doctor picked up the other fragment, knowing the item did not come from Earth. “Oh, what have we here?” He pulled out his glasses and put them on.
Lighter and stronger than regular hard plastic, this type of synthetic could only come from the fifty fourth century, in the Noacyl region of space. He juggled it in his hand, bouncing it lightly to test his hypothesis. Twisting it between his fingers, he turned it over, and found a collection of heavy soot pooled inside a crevice. He lifted it to his face and blew the soot from the material, then wiped away the left over ash to see, craved in large bold letters, the words: BAD WOLF.
The shrapnel fell to the grated floor of the TARDIS with a piercing clang.