(Aka the obligatory post-GitF fic, for anyone else who ever wondered what might have taken place between a trip to France and an adventure in a parallel universe.)
This time, Rose smiled as she stepped outside into the city. The planet Hohm looked much the same as it had a few days prior—clear blue skies, three moons shining overhead, colorful pennants waving lazily in the breeze, white buildings practically glowing in the sun—but there seemed to be a little extra pep in everyone’s step, as the people and horse-people bustled about their business. Maybe Rose was just imagining it, but she didn’t think so.
“So,” she said, a grin spreading across her face as she turned to Dyana and Vareem. The two of them grinned at her in return, standing tall and proud in their elegant ceremonial Council robes; it was a look they were both well-suited-for, Rose thought. “Ready for your next adventure?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Dyana firmly, as Vareem said, “Not even a little bit,” and they both burst out laughing.
“At least we look the part,” Vareem chuckled, plucking at her robes. “That counts for something, right?”
Rose laughed. “Absolutely. That, and confidence, and cleverness, and a good heart. Luckily, you two have got all four in spades.”
“Oh, stop,” said Vareem. “You’re making me blush!”
“And if all else fails, you can always take the Doctor’s advice and just walk about like you own the place,” Rose told them. “Cos, I guess you sort of do, now?”
“And it’s about time we left you to it,” piped up the Doctor’s voice; Rose turned to see him waltzing lazily in her direction, Mickey following close after. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Dyana frowned. “You’re not leaving already?”
“Of course we are,” the Doctor said pleasantly. “We’ve done about all the damage we can do round here, best leave it in the hands of the experts now. Besides, you’ll be far too busy to notice us being gone, what with your planet to rule and your people to help and your rotten system of oppression to dismantle.”
“And don’t forget about the Championship, while you’re at it,” added Mickey. “Might want to consider taking a sledgehammer to that thing.”
“Actually,” Vareem replied hesitantly, “we’re thinking we might keep it.”
Mickey’s eyes widened in alarm and Rose and the Doctor both stared at her, nonplussed. “Come again?” asked the Doctor, eyebrow arching sharply.
“Look, much as I hate to admit it, the Council was right about one thing,” said Dyana. “There’s a lot of money in the Championship. The Council was a bunch of greedy prigs about it all, but that money could really help our people—boost our economy, lift the town out of poverty, get everyone back on their feet.”
“And make technology available to everyone who wants it,” Vareem interjected.
“Besides, the idea of the Championship isn’t bad—it’s just the way the Council ran it,” Dyana continued.
Mickey and the Doctor didn’t look convinced, but Rose was patient. She nodded at Dyana and Vareem, urging them to continue.
“See, this time around, no one’s gonna be forced into anything. It’s all voluntary. You pay to get in, or you sponsor someone else getting in, or you pay to watch it all live,” Dyana explained. “And there’s no deadly weapons, no bride-prizes, no killing. Just people competing against other people. Just regular sports, really.”
Vareem nodded. “The groundwork’s already all laid out. A couple of easy adjustments and you’ve got something that’s, y’know, actually fun for everyone involved. We’ll just recenter the event on showcasing everyone’s athletic skills, just for the prestige of it.”
Mickey’s face lit up at that. “So it really is your planet’s version of the Olympics!” he laughed. “That’s pretty awesome!”
“It is indeed,” added the Doctor, beaming. “Well done, you two! Really well done.”
Dyana and Vareem both laughed, Vareem shaking her head, smiling shyly. But Dyana quieted down before too long, her expression growing thoughtful. “Seriously, though,” she said, her voice deep with sincerity. “Thank you all, for everything you did for us.”
“Absolutely,” Vareem chimed in. “Thank you so much!”
“Rose, you especially,” Dyana added, taking Rose’s hands in hers. “Just—thank you.”
“What are you thanking me for?” Rose laughed. “I hardly did anything!”
“Not true,” Dyana told her firmly. “See, my sister and I had been planning things for ages, yeah, but when she—after—”
She swallowed, eyes clenching shut, and Vareem grasped her shoulder, humming in sympathy.
“After my sister was killed,” Dyana started again, and her voice only shook a little, “I was just...lost. I didn’t know what to do, except go on with the plans we’d made. I felt like I owed it to her, to try. I mean, she died trying to make things better for the two of us. For everyone in the city, really. So if I couldn’t carry on for me, I could at least do it for her, you know? But I was just going through the motions. It didn’t feel like anything was possible, without her. I’d lost hope. Truly.”
She squeezed Rose’s hands, tears welling up in her eyes. “Then I met you, and I saw how hard you fought for everything, no matter how bad things seemed to be, no matter how helpless or hopeless. You kept pushing on. You never gave up. Not ever.”
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “You helped me have hope again, Rose.”
Feebly, Rose started to protest—she didn’t deserve such praise, really she didn’t—but her gaze flickered to the Doctor to the Doctor’s just briefly, and she was surprised to see him softer than usual, somehow, a warm grin playing across his face. Like he knew something, maybe, that Rose didn’t.
Like maybe Dyana was right.
Rose’s smile deepened, and she felt a prickle of moisture behind her own eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly, squeezing Dyana’s hands in return.
“I just thought you were sort of neat,” Vareem interjected and the three of them laughed again.
Brushing away her unshed tears, Rose lunged for Dyana and Vareem, looping her arms about both of them in a snug embrace. “You’re both brilliant, you know that, right?” she asked, hugging them both fiercely. “You’re gonna do great things here. You’re gonna make your sister proud.”
Both women hugged her back, just as tightly. “I really hope so,” said Dyana.
“Well, I just so happen to know so,” piped up the Doctor, “because I’m fairly certain we’re about to enter Hohm’s New Enlightenment, more or less.”
“Hey, now!” protested Mickey. “Are we allowed to say things like that?”
“Oh no, not at all,” the Doctor replied. “Anyhoo! Time to hit the open road, put the pedal to the metal, we’re burnin’ daylight here. Time’s a-wastin’.” The Doctor clapped his hands in illustration. “Let’s get this show on the road. Chop chop!”
Mickey and the Doctor both turned toward the TARDIS, but before she had a chance to move away, Dyana reached out to Rose for another hug. Rose happily accepted, squeezing tightly.
“That Doctor bloke’s hopelessly in love with you,” Dyana whispered in her ear. “You know that, right?”
Rose’s mouth fell open in response. Dyana pulled back with a saucy little wink. Rose’s cheeks flushed hotly in a way that had nothing to do with the sun beaming overhead.
“Stay out of trouble, yeah?” Dyana added, grinning cheekily.
Stepping back, Rose laughed. “No promises,” she said, hands spread wide as she stepped closer to the TARDIS.
“That’s my girl!” Dyana called out, and Vareem blew her a kiss as the TARDIS doors closed.
**
“That’s it, then?” Mickey asked once they’d entered the Vortex, after the central column stopped grinding and the TARDIS calmed to its usual soothing hum. “We just pop in, have a bit of an adventure, then boom, we’re done, off to the next thing?”
“That’s it,” said the Doctor happily. He bounded round the console as he pressed a button here, threw a lever there. “All round the universe, anywhere and everywhere and everywhen and everything in-between.”
“Never a dull moment, huh?”
“Not with Rose and the Doctor!” the Doctor replied.
“And Mickey,” added Rose, laughing as she climbed up the stairs to the console.
“If you insist,” said the Doctor, and Mickey rolled his eyes. “Now the only question is: what next?”
Rose made a show of pretending to consider as she rounded the console, slowly approaching Mickey. “What, or where, or when?” she asked the Doctor, her tongue peeking out between her teeth.
“Any and all of the above,” said the Doctor, grinning. “Astrion’s still on the table, you know. Or Kabos Prime. Or ancient Egypt! Ooh, ancient Egypt. Who doesn’t love a good sarcophagus every now and then?”
Laughing, Rose nudged Mickey’s shoulder with hers. “Remember your Egypt phase, when you first saw Indiana Jones? This’d be right up your alley, I reckon!”
“Well, yeah,” said Mickey thoughtfully. “But what about you, babe?”
“What about me?”
Mickey shrugged. “You said one day, remember? One day, and then you were going home. Back to the Estate.” He crossed his arms, leaning back on the railing. “You still wanna go home?”
It took a second for the words to sink in, for Rose to remember. Her grin faltering just a little bit, Rose glanced over at the Doctor, before she had a chance to think better of it. Normally he might be fussing about the console right now, making a show of being busy while he pretended not to overhear such a conversation. But now, his hands were still, his attention focused solely on her, his face carefully impassive. Neutral. Watching. Waiting.
(Some things, Sarah Jane had told her, are worth getting your heart broken for.
Rose wondered if those words had been meant for the Doctor, as well.)
She smiled.
“Nah, we can always squeeze in another trip or two, or three,” Rose told Mickey, after a moment. “I’m not in any rush,” she said casually, looking at the Doctor.
The Doctor grinned at her, that soft, quiet grin, again, same as the one she saw before. She thought she might see something loosen in him, just a little bit.
“Quite right, too,” he replied softly.
“All right, cool,” said Mickey, blissfully oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place. “So, ancient Egypt, then? I’d love to see the pyramids. Or a real-live pharaoh, even!”
“Excellent!” the Doctor laughed. He flipped a few switches and the central column lit up, starting its telltale grind and groan. “Ancient Egypt it is, then! You lot ready?”
“Ready!” called Mickey.
“Ready?” the Doctor asked Rose.
She beamed at him. “Ready.”
“Fantastic,” said the Doctor. He pulled a lever on the console and the central column glowed golden, churning; the TARDIS shook and groaned all around them, sailing on the waves of the Vortex, on and out to the next adventure.
(Aka the obligatory post-GitF fic, for anyone else who ever wondered what might have taken place between a trip to France and an adventure in a parallel universe. Ten/Rose, all ages, full of angst, fluff, a pinch of romantic bickering, a dash of mutual pining, and a dollop of swashbuckling adventure!)
Alarms screeched and blared overhead, lights flashing and popping off the console like a police car as the TARDIS violently quaked all around them.
“Are you usually so bad at this?” Mickey yelled over the din, clinging to the railing for dear life.
“The TARDIS doesn’t like these landings,” the Doctor explained. “We’re getting ready to materialize in a highly public space, full to brimming with spectators. No chance we’ll go overlooked—we’re establishing ourselves as part of the timeline, permanently. Creating a fixed event!”
“And that’s bad?” asked Mickey, struggling to remain upright as the ship jostled and shook around him.
“It’s a tricky business. Anytime we land, it’s really best to disturb things as little as possible—little tweak here, little tweak there, try to blend in then disappear. You know, help where we can without making too much of a splash!”
“Yeah, right!” Mickey snorted in disbelief.
The Doctor scoffed amidst a new set of sirens wailing around them. “Excuse me, I happen to be very good at what I do! So unless you want to fight your way through the pre-games and gallivant about the tournament with loincloths and spears, we’re going to have to bend the rules a bit!”
“Why?” asked Mickey. “Not that I want to wear a loincloth,” he added hurriedly.
The TARDIS gave one last great shudder as it began to materialize. After the Doctor input a series of commands, anchoring the TARDIS to this time, this place, the chaos around them slowly began to calm, lights fading and noise ebbing.
The Doctor grabbed his coat. “Because,” he said, averting his gaze from Mickey’s as he pulled his coat on. “It’s Rose.”
He looked up to see Mickey watching him with a shrewd expression. He didn’t like it. Something about Mickey the Idiot being shrewd—or even worse, astute—just made him grumpy.
“Well?” he snapped. “Are you going to be useless in here or are you going to be useless out there?”
Mickey scoffed. “Like I’d let you take all the credit for the rescue!”
“That’s the spirit!”
Trainers squeaking against the ramp, the Doctor sprinted toward the TARDIS doors. “Well, this is it, Mr. Smith,” he said, placing his hands on the door handles. “Out into the unknown!”
He drank in a deep breath and flung the doors open.
The Doctor and Mickey stepped out into the stadium, Mickey throwing up an arm to shield his eyes from the bright lights shining overhead. In-person, the Doctor could indeed confirm that the arena had been terraformed into a mountainous landscape, but it was more than that—aside from the sloping hills and jutting rocks, it had an almost theme-park feel to it, complete with tinny music, plaster trees, cheesy fake castle-ruins, and at the far end, a giant, towering mountain crowned with a white citadel that could have been airlifted right off the top of Cinderella’s castle in Disneyworld. The arena looked, for all the world, like a glorified sword-and-sorcery film set. To top it all off, the entire stadium was surrounded by five-meter-high slick white walls, upon which were mounted giant speakers, huge floodlights, and dozens of cameras. And just back from those walls, a massive audience—thousands of people, maybe tens of thousands, if the Doctor were to venture a guess—sat protected behind black one-way screens.
The Doctor wondered at that. The population of Hohm was quite small by most planets’ standards—it would be a stretch to say that it had five thousand people between all its habitable continents. So who were all of these audience members? And what was the story behind this entertainment technology? He hadn’t seen so much as a simple electric light back in town—where did all of this technology come from, and why didn’t more Hohmish people have it?
“Well, at least no one’s seen us yet, right?” Mickey piped up behind him.
As if on cue, a horn boomed out through the speakers and Mickey and the Doctor found themselves smack in the center of a pair of spotlights. The audience surrounding them began to boo and hiss, their shouts filling the stadium and bouncing off the walls.
“Just had to say it, didn’t you?” the Doctor muttered before grabbing Mickey by the wrist. “Come on!”
“It looks like we’ve got us some stowaways, ladies and gentlefolk and sundry!” an announcer boomed overhead as the Doctor and Mickey darted over the uneven earth. “Security experts are telling me we have no idea how they smuggled their aircraft inside—stay tuned for updates on whether they keep their jobs after this! In the meantime, we’re waiting on the final word from City Council on whether or not their entries will be disqualified…”
“What happens if we’re disqualified?” Mickey asked.
“Wellll, they’ll probably kill us on the spot.”
“What?”
“Oh, come on, Mickey!” the Doctor shouted back gleefully. “This is the stuff adventures are made of!”
Leaping over a grassy knoll, the Doctor was pleasantly surprised at how well Mickey was keeping up with him as they both ran nearly side-by-side, legs and arms pumping in mad unison. Had Mr. Smith been practicing?
The two of them scrambled up a set of steps carved into a hill, at the summit of which stood a flag flapping lazily in the breeze. It looked like a marker of some sort—the Doctor was willing to bet they would find the captives waiting for them on the other side.
“All right,” the Doctor yelled, “We should find Rose at the bottom of the hill. All we have to do is nab her, then we can split back to the TARDIS and soar on out of here. Easy-peasy!”
But when they reached the hill’s crest, and gazed down at the stone plinth and pillars below, the Doctor just stopped. And stared.
It was empty.
The captives’ area—which it most definitely was, there was nothing else it could be, not unless the city council had set up a stone platform and two dozen chain-covered stone pillars for kicks—was completely deserted, its former inhabitants gone without a trace. The pillars’ chains dangled limply where people should be.
“What?” Mickey gasped out, eyes wide in disbelief. “Where the hell’s Rose?”
The Doctor scoured the surrounding area for any clue, any hint, even a shred of a splinter of a shadow of an idea, but he came up empty.
“I don’t know,” he murmured, panic thudding dully in his throat.
***
A few moments earlier…
“—a return to tradition!”
The crowd erupted in a frenzy of noise once again, stomping and cheering and clapping and shouting, and if nothing else, Rose wished her hands were free so that she could cover her ears. The din was so loud, it reverberated in her chest, pressing against her eardrums and ringing in her teeth. It even rattled the chains holding her captive.
She screwed her eyes shut against the overwhelming sound. It will be all right, she reminded herself, straining to hear her own thoughts over the relentless screaming. This was an adventure just like any other. The Doctor had saved her from much worse scrapes than this—hell, she’d managed to save herself a time or two. She was going to be fine.
Rose chanced a look over at Dyana, chained to the pillar next to her. Dyana flashed her an encouraging smile. “It’ll be all right!” she shouted, or possibly mouthed—it was impossible to tell with all the noise, but Rose appreciated the sentiment all the same. Dyana was right, more right than she knew. If her plan didn’t work, then the Doctor would save them; it was only a question of whether he would save them now, in the stadium, or later after everything had settled down. It would hardly be the first forced marriage he’d saved Rose from, after all. Rose just needed to be patient.
She believed that wholeheartedly until the dragon soared overhead.
Mouth falling open, Rose shook her head, growing dizzy with disbelief. But surely it couldn’t be real…?
A hush fell over the crowd, blanketing the stadium with terrified silence. Rose could only think everyone else was just as shocked as she was—everything she’d seen and she still couldn’t trust her eyes. Huge and scaled and powerfully muscled, with great bat’s-wings casting massive tremors through the air after every stroke, the dragon bore a massive pair of horns atop its head, setting off lines of dinosaur-ridges down its back. Its great scaly flanks glistened scarlet, its eyes flashed golden, and its wicked claws glittered black. The creature looked like something straight out of a movie or a storybook, except none of those beasts ever looked so huge or so capable of tearing a human apart as if they were made of tissue paper.
The dragon passed overhead and out of sight, toward the far end of the stadium, where Rose knew the Champions awaited the start of the pre-games. Seconds later, the arena shook with the force of an earth-shattering roar.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” said Rose, her voice trembling only a little bit. “Maybe its bark is worse than its—”
Dozens of screams drifted their way, ear-splitting shrieks cut-off mid-sound.
Then, silence again.
“—bite,” Rose finished in a whisper, feeling the blood drain from her face.
“Well, would you look at that,” the announcer’s voice boomed overhead, and even he sounded shaken. “The pre-games have barely begun, and we’re already down four Champions. Nothing but ashes, ladies and gentlefolk and others. Now that’s what I call efficient!”
“But it won’t hurt us, right?” Vareem shouted over the swelling sound of the audience around them. “Not like the city would let anything happen to the prizes—right?”
Dyana did not answer, her eyes fixed toward the far end of the stadium. She was waiting, Rose knew, and probably had little attention to spare for anything or anyone else.
“They did say this year was a return to tradition,” Rose realized aloud. “What were these things like in the past?”
Now it was Vareem’s turn to go pale.
Amidst more screams from the Champions and more cheers from the audience, Rose frantically scanned the stadium for any sign of the Doctor, but there was no flash of blue, no hint of engines vworp-vworping into existence. But surely he was looking for her. He had to be. He wouldn’t have just stranded her on a strange planet after their fight, right? Certainly he wouldn’t have abandoned her?
(Right, and he wouldn’t abandon her on a spaceship in the 51st-century, either.)
“Forget this,” Rose muttered as the voice overhead announced two more deaths-by-dragon. Wrists struggling against her chains, pulling so hard that she was sure to find bruises there later, she reached into her hair and pulled out two hairpins. Twisting her arms, she just managed to insert a hairpin into one of her manacles.
“What are you doing?” Dyana hissed. “That’s not part of the plan!”
“Yeah, well, last I checked, dragons weren’t a part of the plan either,” Rose shot back. She jiggled the hairpins about, straining to hear the tumblers inside while remembering Keisha’s instructions on one of several youthful-indiscretion-filled evenings back at the Estate.
Rose grinned like a madwoman when she felt one of the tumblers click into place. “Besides,” she said, panting with exertion, “what good is a plan if you can’t improvise a little?”
The dragon screeched out another deafening roar, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
“Sod the plan,” said Vareem. “Do me next!”
***
A few moments later…
“Did someone already take her?” Mickey asked.
Scrutinizing the land around them, the Doctor shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “None of the so-called Champions have made it this far yet.”
“How do you know?”
The Doctor pointed to the mountain towering at the end of stadium. “That’s where everyone is headed—the citadel up top is where competitors have to take their prize and claim it. So it’s a fair bet the pre-games took place at the opposite end—” the Doctor pointed back the way they came, “—that way.”
“And ours are the only footprints coming from that direction,” Mickey realized aloud, glancing at the ground beneath their feet.
“Exactly. Good eye.”
“So what happened to all the captives?”
“I’m guessing that one way or the other, the captives are all headed straight for the citadel right now,” the Doctor said, speaking to himself just as much as Mickey as he retraced their steps back up the hill. “Our best bet would be to get back to the TARDIS and try to pick them up before—”
He froze. Several dozen hooded Champions dotted the landscape between them and the TARDIS. Several dozen hooded Champions with bows and arrows, boomerangs and spears and swords. Several dozen hooded Champions with an assortment of deadly weapons and a bone to pick with the two sneak-in contestants.
One of them let out a shout, brandishing his weapon high in the air, and charged for Mickey and the Doctor. The rest followed.
“Right, new plan,” said the Doctor. “Run!”
***
The freed captives sprinted toward the mountain, dozens of pairs of slippered feet slapping frantically against the rocky earth.
“So your people won’t panic if they don’t find us back there, right?” Rose asked.
“They’ll figure it out,” Dyana gasped as she ran, her skirts hiked up and flapping about her knees. “We just need to make it as close to the top of the mountain as we can. My people will find us and claim everyone who doesn’t want to be a bride-prize!”
“And if the Doctor gets there first, he can just claim all of us.”
“Right. But he’ll set us free afterward, won’t he?”
“Absolutely,” Rose shot back. She thought of the look on the Doctor’s face when he found out he’d just been saddled with twenty-something wives, and she laughed. “You’ve got nothing to worry about!”
“Except for the other Champions,” Vareem pointed out, casting a worried look over her shoulder.
Just at that moment, almost as if they’d only been waiting for someone to say it, several hooded Champions came hurtling out from behind the trees. One of them pounced on Vareem, slapping a golden chain on her wrist before she had a chance to react.
A horn sounded overhead. “Our first prize has been claimed, honored guests!” the announcer’s voice boomed over the arena. “Let’s see if he can keep her!”
Another Champion seized a captive and the horn sounded once again.
“Shona!” Dyana called out in dismay, only to see Shona squeal with delight when her captor tore off her hood. The horse-woman pulled Shona in for a quick kiss and she happily responded in kind.
“True love, gentle viewers!” the announcer shouted. “Always warms the soul to see two sweethearts reunited in the arena!”
“It’s all right!” Shona told Dyana and Rose as she ran past them, hand-in-hand with her captor—or her girlfriend, rather, Rose told herself. “Keep going!”
“Well, that’s actually sort of sweet, isn’t it?” Rose laughed, and Dyana nodded in agreement.
They reached the base of the mountain, and both of them darted up after Vareem and her would-be Champion. Vareem struggled against the chain that bound her to him, kicking and pulling back with all her strength. The Champion struggled to hold onto her, but his feet were steady and his grip true.
“Hang on, Vareem!” Dyana called out. “We’re coming for—”
Her shout was sliced in half by something hurtling straight into her, knocking her into the ground. Rose whipped round just in time to see a giant boomerang bouncing off Dyana and zipping back to its Champion, who ran forward and slapped a chain on Dyana’s wrist.
“Dyana!” Rose cried, halting in her tracks.
“Behind you!” Dyana shouted, and Rose turned just in time to see a Champion sneak up behind her, his face hidden by one of the Champions’ hoods. He twirled a golden chain in one hand and cast it at Rose—it clamped onto her wrist and tightened, winding around her wrist like a snake. With a shout, Rose pushed and pulled, fingernails scrabbling uselessly against the links, but the chain remained stubbornly tight. The Champion yanked on it, pulling Rose toward him.
Rose swore under her breath. It was that traitorous cad Geoffrynn under the hood. It had to be.
Pitching forward, Rose balled her hands into fists. “Oh, I am so gonna murder you!” she yelled, and instead of waiting for him to reel her in, she ran full-pelt at him. Surprised, he stumbled back, fumbling for a weapon at his side, but Rose was too fast—she’d closed the gap between them within seconds.
With all the force of her momentum behind her, Rose punched him in the face.
“That’s for drugging me!” Rose shouted as he stumbled back again, reeling in surprise. Before he had a chance to recover, Rose sprang forward.
Drawing her hand back, she slapped him in the jaw with a satisfying thwack. “And that’s for being a lying, two-faced git!” she shouted as he tripped over his own two feet, falling to the—
Wait. His own two feet?
Standing over the fellow, Rose bent down and ripped the hood off his face only to find it wasn’t Geoffrynn at all—it was his smarmy human friend.
“The hell?” Rose demanded.
But she didn’t have time to mull things over in her head any further than that—all around her, she could see other Champions tackling and capturing prisoners, binding their wrists with prehensile golden chains before they dragged them away, hauling them up the mountain like so much pirate’s treasure. The announcer’s voice boomed all round the stadium with each capture and the audience shrieked and cheered in reply.
Well. That just made Rose even more bloody stubborn.
Upon feeling another strong yank on the chain, Rose slipped out of her delicate golden slippers and planted her feet firmly in the dirt, using her toes as ten little anchors. Geoffrynn’s friend (who didn’t deserve the dignity of a real name, Rose thought angrily) tugged until Rose’s feet skidded through the grass and tripped over the hem of her dress, tearing a hole in the flimsy fabric.
“Stop!” Rose shouted, pulling back on the chain in a tenacious tug-of-war. But her arms shook with the strain—that blasted idiot was stronger than he looked—and soon she found herself dragged toward him. “Stop it!” she shouted again. “I don’t want this! I don’t want to be your bride-prize!”
Her captor stopped pulling for a second as he pushed up from the ground, a smirk flitting across his face. “Really?” he asked, his grip tightening as Rose tugged on the chain again. “Why not?”
Rose struggled to find the words—surely he wasn’t that thick, surely it was so obvious she didn’t actually need to tell him…?
“I don’t know you?” she said, mouth gaping in disbelief. “And I don’t want to be your property? It’s pretty basic stuff!”
The Champion threw his head back and laughed. “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “A girl in town during festival-time, who flirts with you, accepts your tokens, and then says she doesn’t want you? Sure thing, sweetheart. That’s hilarious. You’re funny.”
Laughter subsiding, his smile grew wicked and predatory, as if he suddenly had more teeth than he did before, and sharper ones, too.
“I like funny in a girl,” he said, his voice darkening.
The words summoned up nausea in Rose’s gut but she tamped it down, pushed it away. As the Champion gave her chain one last mighty pull, Rose threw herself to the ground. If he wanted to take her up the mountain, he would have to drag her dead weight there.
“Oh, come on,” the captor sighed in frustration, pulling at the chain and swearing under his breath when Rose’s body budged only an inch. “You’re gonna have it so easy! I’ve got money—you’ll never have to lift a finger again in your life. I’m not gonna shout at you like those other jerks, I’d never smack you around or anything. Hell, I’ll even let you out of the house sometimes, if you ask nice!”
“Well now, if that isn’t an enticing offer,” a familiar voice chimed up behind Rose, “then I don’t know what is.”
Rose sat up and whirled around to see the Doctor standing just a few meters off, a cheeky grin slapped on his face. Relief and happiness surged through her, inflating her chest til it felt like her ribs might burst.
“Did you hear that, Rose?” the Doctor continued. “He’s promised not to hit you and everything! What a shining example of humanoid decency!”
The captor leapt to Rose’s side and yanked her up from the ground by the wrist, whipping a knife from his hip faster than Rose could blink. One arm pinning her to his side, his other hand held the knife up against Rose’s throat, pressing just hard enough that Rose could feel the bite of the blade.
“Rose!” shouted Mickey, springing from behind the Doctor, but the Doctor grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back, his eyes trained on Rose. All signs of mirth had completely evaporated from his face; his mouth had gone thin and his eyes blown wide.
“Let her go,” he said calmly.
“Back off!” the Champion demanded, tightening his grip on Rose. “By all rights, she’s mine!”
“She isn’t anyone’s!” Mickey shot back, struggling against the Doctor’s grip.
Lurching away from Mickey, the Champion dragged Rose with him, his knife slipping with the movement. Rose gasped at the razor-sharpness of its sting, watched the Doctor’s gaze grow sharp and deadly.
She shuddered despite the evening heat. She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of—the Champion’s knife at her throat, or that look on the Doctor’s face.
“If you don’t let her go, someone’s going to get hurt,” the Doctor said, his voice deceptively even, “and that someone’s going to be you.”
“No! I claimed her!” the Champion shouted, his grasp clenching around Rose until she grit her teeth in discomfort. “By the rites of tradition, I—”
His words were cut off by a boomerang to the back of the skull.
He twisted round to see what the hell had just happened, but no sooner had he turned than the boomerang came sailing right back, smacking him square in the face and throwing his head back with the force of the blow. Stumbling, he swayed on his feet for a moment, as if his brain couldn’t decide whether to lose consciousness or not.
Then he fell like a sack of bricks.
Two pairs of hands hauled Rose away, and she glanced up to see Dyana and Vareem. “How—?” Rose asked, astonished.
“Had some help,” Dyana grunted, pulling Rose to her feet. She held up the boomerang, a huge grin lighting up her face. “And this didn’t hurt, either.”
Rose found herself wrapped up a great bear hug before she had a chance to reply, Mickey slamming into her with a joyous shout. Grinning, she returned the embrace—how had she ever been irritated with him for coming onboard the TARDIS?—and stood back, his hands clasped in hers. “So you got to see the Tournament after all, huh?” she said, laughing. “Is it everything you dreamed?”
“More like a nightmare,” replied Mickey with a grimace.
“Yeah, and you haven’t even seen the dragon yet, have you?”
Mickey’s eyes widened. “So there really is a dragon? A real-life, full-size, honest-to-goodness—”
“Monster,” Dyana finished for him. Spotting a group of hooded Champions, she visibly tensed (Ready for battle, thought Rose), but relaxed when the leader of the group saluted her. She repeated the gesture and pointed toward the Citadel, and the group took off; Rose could only guess they weren’t Champions after all, but some of her people in disguise. “And it’s only a matter of time before it comes round this way again, so we’d better hurry,” Dyana added, warily scanning the space above the arena.
“Real quick, though—don’t suppose your hairpins will work on the chains, do you?” asked Vareem. She gestured at the chain coiled round her arm; its tail trailed out for quite a distance behind her, shining bright in the dirt. “Only they’re a bit inconvenient.”
“Not so great for running away,” Dyana agreed, still watching the skies.
Mickey pulled Rose’s hand closer for inspection, flinching at the bruises already forming beneath the chain on her wrist. “Yikes,” he said, fingering the chain, giving it a tug. “Think the sonic would do the trick?”
Rose shrugged. “Only one way to find out, I guess. Doctor—?”
But when she turned to address him, the Doctor wasn’t there.
Frowning, Rose glanced over the surrounding area, silently reminding herself to chide him later (Looks like I’m not the only one with a bad habit of wandering off, hm?). She found him quickly enough, just a ways off from where she saw him last, crouching down next to something low on the ground as his lips moved in a murmur. He was talking to her captor, Rose realized. His hand landed on the man’s bare shoulder, ostensibly so he could push himself up, except that the man convulsed afterward, his body jerking in a single great tremor Rose could see even from this distance.
She wondered what just happened, what the Doctor just did.
“Gonna tell me what was that all about?” she asked as the Doctor approached.
He didn’t meet her eyes. “Do you really want to know?”
(Upon seeing the sheer terror flashing in her captor’s face, the way he couldn’t tear his fear-stricken eyes away from the Doctor’s retreating form, Rose wondered if this was a stone best left unturned. Still, discomfort churned in her gut, an uneasy feeling that whatever just transpired was worse even than the threat of the dragon hanging overhead.)
“Right, I heard Mr. Mickety-Mick here say something about the sonic,” said the Doctor, snapping instantly back into a cheerful mood as he whipped the screwdriver out of a coat-pocket. “Let’s see what we can do about those cumbersome chains, shall we?”
He offered a hand to Vareem, who took it without question (but with a healthy looking-up-and-down, Rose couldn’t help but notice with a little jealous twinge). Scanning the chain clamped onto Vareem’s wrist, the Doctor’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. “Triple-deadlocked,” he announced. “And with a magnetic crypto-seal, to boot.”
“Blimey, that’s a bit over-the-top, isn’t it?” asked Mickey.
“It doesn’t quite make sense,” the Doctor agreed, thoughtful as he gestured for Dyana to show him her hand so he could study her chain as well. “This is just another example of technology that far outstrips anything we saw in the city. Think about it—it’s all the Dark Ages out there. Why keep with the sticks and stones if you’ve got stuff like this available to you?”
“Maybe it’s a cultural choice?” Rose suggested, looking to Dyana and Vareem for insight as the Doctor grabbed her hand, as if her chain would tell him something different than the other two had. “Or religious?”
“Definitely not,” replied Dyana. “We don’t have that stuff cos we’re not allowed to.”
Mickey scoffed. “What d’you mean, not allowed to? Why not?”
“It’s all about control,” the Doctor muttered under his breath, but he hardly seemed to be paying attention to the conversation. His gaze wandered from the chain sealed round Rose’s wrist to the bruises forming a pink-blue halo behind them, further up to Rose’s bicep, where a darker, bigger bruise blossomed barely hidden beneath a golden armlet. The Doctor unhinged the armlet and cast it to the ground, grasping Rose’s bicep gently, his thumb brushing the edge of the bruise. Rose could tell he was mentally tracing the wound’s outline—cuts and scrapes were fairly typical in their lifestyle, just another danger of the job, and therefore generally went unacknowledged except for having some plasters and antiseptic tossed her way, but this bruise had a definite palm-and-fingers shape to it. There was no mistaking, or downplaying, how someone had hurt Rose.
“Did your Champion do this?” the Doctor asked, and although his voice sounded casual enough, Rose knew better.
“No,” she said, slowly extracting her arm from his grasp. She tried not to wince; she didn’t want him to know that actually, the bruise was quite tender, and throbbed where he’d touched it. Gathering her skirts, she set off toward the Citadel, throwing over her shoulder as casually as she could, “Just your average line-of-duty stuff.”
“If he hurt you—”
“It wasn’t him,” Rose interrupted, jaw jutting out in defiance, “and you don’t get to do that.”
“Do what? Be concerned?”
“You don’t get to make this about you.”
Catching up to her, the Doctor spluttered indignantly. “What? I never—!”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Rose, rolling her eyes. “I know the Oncoming Storm look when I see it, right? Cos no one’s allowed to hurt your friends except you.”
He stopped in his tracks, oblivious to Mickey and Dyana and Vareem as they passed him by, and Rose grudgingly hesitated too. The Doctor just stared at her, mouth open, one eyebrow piqued in confusion.
“I hurt you?” he asked.
The question seemed so genuine, so sincere, that Rose actually took a step back. Flabbergasted, she searched his face to see if she could detect any hint of him being an arse, but his expression betrayed no clues beyond surprise, nothing that would let her know whether she should be furious or take pity on him.
But how could he not know?
Unless…
Rose swallowed and tried to ignore the feeling of something sinking, deep and heavy and solid and immoveable, into the pit of her stomach, just like it did when he jumped through that mirror.
“Doctor,” she asked, willing her voice not to shake, and failing miserably. “How do you define ‘betrayal’?”
His eyebrow arched even higher. “We’re on the run from a traditionalist maniac mob bearing literal torches and pitchforks, and you want to stop for an etymology lesson?”
“Just answer the question, please?”
Glancing all around them, at the rocks and the grass and the plaster trees and the other three people stopped up ahead who were pretending, very badly, not to listen to this conversation, the Doctor grew visibly uncomfortable, shifting weight from one foot to the other. “I would say…it’s sort of a violation of a contract,” he said, slowly. “A mutually-agreed-upon contract, whether spoken or unspoken, professional or patriotic or personal, but always with an element of trust involved. A knowing violation of that mutual trust.”
“Right,” Rose replied softly, nodding. “But it’s all got to be mutual.”
“Well, yes, otherwise any grievance isn’t a betrayal per se, it just falls somewhere on the spectrum of asshattery. There’s generally got to be some degree of closeness on both sides, some level of personal attachment for all parties involved.”
“And you don’t think--you can’t think of anything--that doesn’t sound familiar to you at all, right now? Nothing recent comes to mind?”
The Doctor shrugged. “Nothing in recent memory, no.” His eyes narrowed, suddenly shrewd, suspicious. “Why are you asking me this?”
Biting back something between a hysterical laugh and a throat-clenching sob, Rose tried to think of a suitable response—Because I just needed you to say what we are, Because I’d hoped I was wrong, Because I’m an unforgivably naïve idiot—but all that came out was, “Do you really want to know?”
“Okay, sorry to interrupt whatever undoubtedly fascinating thing you’ve got going on here,” said Vareem, pushing between Rose and the Doctor before he had a chance to do anything more than blink in confusion, “but d’you think we could get on with escaping, maybe? I really don’t fancy waiting around for another round of Champions to have a go at me.”
“Wait—where are the other Champions?” called Mickey from his spot up ahead, scouring the landscape around them. “There were still a whole bunch of them right behind us. Seems like they should’ve caught up by now.”
“Any chance your people got to them?” Rose asked Dyana, ignoring the Doctor and the strange expression on his face.
“I really doubt it.”
“‘Your people’?” asked Mickey.
Nodding, Dyana looked about warily as she hoisted her boomerang into a defensive position. “Mercs, mostly. My sister and I paid them to infiltrate the Tournament disguised as Champions, smuggle in arms for those willing to defend themselves, and claim as many bride-prizes as they could to set them free. But we didn’t pay them to fight. They’d be far more likely to save their own skins and run.”
“Oh, who cares what happened to the bloody Champions?” Vareem said, exasperated. She grabbed Mickey by the hand and pulled. “We’ve probably just outrun them—we should go before they catch up!”
“No,” said the Doctor, his brow furrowed. Stepping back, he turned to examine the landscape behind them, where he and Mickey had entered the scene. He held up a hand to shield his eyes from the bright floodlights. “No, they were right on our heels, and then we never saw them again after we crossed that ridge.” He pointed to the ridge in question, frowning. “Something’s happened, and we just didn’t notice.”
The Doctor took off toward the ridge, and Rose and Mickey—after exchanging equally bewildered glances—followed after, Rose’s wrist-chain clinking all the while. It trailed behind her like a tail as she climbed up the embankment after Mickey and the Doctor. When they crested the hill, Rose let out a gasp.
A sea of burnt-black earth met her eyes.
Gone were the trees, the grass, the rocks and fake castle-ruins. Instead, scorch marks marred the face of the entire land before them, thick black smoke rising and curling from the trenches like blood seeping from a wound. Scattered throughout were several piles of ash, stark and white against the darkened ground. Rose had a horrible, sickening feeling that some of those ashes used to be people.
“Oh my god. The dragon,” said Mickey breathlessly, holding his hand over his nose and mouth to block out the stench of smoke and burning things, things Rose didn’t want to think about. “It had to be the dragon, right? But how come we didn’t hear it?”
“They didn’t want us to,” the Doctor replied, glaring at the black screens surrounding the stadium.
“Why not?” asked Rose.
“Entertainment.” The Doctor spared her a single sharp glance before turning back the way they came, back toward the impatiently-waiting Dyana and Vareem. “It’s all about control!” he shouted back at them.
“So where’s the dragon now?” Mickey asked Rose.
As if it had only been waiting for someone to ask, at that exact second the entire stadium began to quake with the sound of a huge-throated roar.
Without even thinking, Rose clasped Mickey’s hand in fear, watched the Doctor freeze in place. Vareem drew close to Dyana, both of them scanning the skies, Dyana holding her boomerang at the ready. The roar tore through the stadium like a tidal wave, shaking the ground beneath their feet before it diminished into echoes, leaving the arena chillingly quiet and still.
Silence, then, except for how Rose could hear everyone holding their breath.
“Okay,” she said, pulling Mickey by the hand. “Now we’ve really got to—”
Another earsplitting howl sliced through the stadium, this time equaled in volume and ferociousness by the thousands of surrounding spectators shouting and stomping their feet. Rose still couldn’t see them, hidden behind their black screens as they were, but she could hear their voices chanting in excitement, almost as if they were one giant feral creature themselves; she could feel the tremors from their pounding feet sure as sure as she could feel great wings casting ripples through the air. The creature, however, remained invisible, its presence detectable only by the sounds of giant leathery bat’s-wings and the pungent smells of sulphur and smoke.
Suddenly the arena bucked as if shaken by an earthquake, throwing Rose and Mickey to their knees. Even the Doctor seemed to have trouble standing upright, stance wide and hands held out defensively as the earth rattled around him.
“Rose!” he shouted. “Grab Mickey and back away from the ridge--get out of there, now!”
But something had landed in the ash-field, and Rose and Mickey were both frozen, anchored in place as the invisible something crept toward them. Mickey might have sworn under his breath, or he may simply have said something along the lines of How? or What? or Oh god oh god, but Rose couldn’t be sure; she couldn’t hear much over the sounds of her heart pounding relentlessly in her ears, or the heavy whisper of something huge and monstrous slithering through the dirt.
Slowly, the air began to shimmer, a veil torn asunder to reveal something hideous beneath. The cloak melted away to reveal a dragon standing before them, easily twenty meters long and with a wingspan twice that wide, its rows and rows of massive spearpoint-teeth glittering in the floodlights and close enough to touch.
The dragon opened its mouth, and Rose wondered how long it would take to burn her to cinders, if she would feel her brain boiling in her skull.
A violent jerk on her wrist-chain and she was slipping backward and grabbing Mickey without a thought, pulling him with her over the ridge. The two of them tumbled down the embankment just in time to avoid a barrage of fire bursting from the dragon’s maw. Rose smelled the scorched-air above and bit back a cry at the thought that that was almost her and Mickey, that the dragon had nearly--that they’d almost--but her chain--the Doctor must have--
The Doctor pulled Mickey up roughly out of the dirt, helping Rose up after. He shoved her chain into her hand with a curt nod.
“Erm, thanks for yanking my chain?” Rose said weakly.
“Any time,” replied the Doctor. “Now, come on--time to run!”
He took off and Rose followed, running as fast as her legs could carry her, with a shout for Mickey to move. The three of them charged after Dyana and Vareem away from the dragon, toward the mountain and the Citadel. As they ran, Rose felt the ground quake beneath her feet once more, watched as a great inky-black shadow sailed over the rocks in front of them, a harbinger of the dragon soaring overhead.
“Doctor, wait,” panted Rose, the air burning in her lungs; “How are we supposed to get past a dragon?”
“No idea. We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it!”
“But this is absolutely mad!” shouted Mickey. “What’s the point of this whole stupid thing if a great big dragon is just gonna--”
The dragon landed in front of them once more with an eardrum-shattering whump, shockwaves ricocheting outward in a violent ripple that knocked over plaster trees and threw everyone bodily to the ground. The second they could move again, Dyana and Vareem scrambled back toward the others, Rose grabbing Dyana and pulling her in close. Snarling at each of the runners in turn, the dragon coiled itself against the base of the mountain, eyes flashing, smoke-plumes rising in tendrils from its nostrils.
“Ladies and gentlefolk and miscellaneous,” the announcer declared, voice booming overhead, “I’ve just heard from our fair city councilors. I’m pleased to announce that they have reached a verdict concerning our little stowaways. Would anyone like to know what it is?”
The crowd screamed in reply, a ritualistic chant of Yes-yes-yes-yes surging through the stadium.
“Disqualified!” the announcer shouted, and the crowd went absolutely mad with sound. “That makes this an instant death round, honored guests!”
Amidst the wall of noise surrounding them, Rose and the Doctor and the others slowly stood, each of them assuming a ready stance. Rose grasped Dyana’s hand and squeezed it tightly, hoping to convey as much reassurance as she could; she reached back for the Doctor’s hand on instinct, only to find that he was already reaching for her. Their fingers intertwined, curling around each other with the chain cool and smooth between them, and even despite the danger, even in the face of almost certain death, strangely, something settled deep in Rose’s chest--she briefly thought, if she did have to die today, this would be a good way to do it, holding hands with one old friend and one new.
“Well, Doctor?” said Rose, not even bothering to mask the fear in her voice as the dragon opened its mouth, its throat glowing a bright flame-yellow hue. “Don’t suppose you’ve come up with some kind of brilliant plan in the last few minutes?”
The Doctor pursed his lips, fingers tapping nervously against the chain pressed between their palms. Then, his eyes widened, as if in realization.
“No,” he said, and a shot her a manic grin. “But I do have a spectacularly bad one.”
***
Previous | Next
note: as much as i wish i had come up with it all on my own, the conversation about semantics re: betrayal is heavily (heavily!) inspired by some writings from my good friend, the talented @ksgsworld , who is super amazeballs <3
“This is bollocks,” Rose announced to the room, staring at each and every one of the captives in turn. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Isn’t anyone going to stand up to them? Won't any of you fight back?”
***
(Aka the obligatory post-GitF fic, for anyone else who ever wondered what might have taken place between a trip to France and an adventure in a parallel universe. Ten/Rose, all ages, full of angst, fluff, a pinch of romantic bickering, a dash of mutual pining, and a dollop of swashbuckling adventure!)
Note: This chapter contains a brief allusion to a past experience with a spiked drink; see notes at the end for more information.
“Some of us get to go offworld, at least,” was the first thing Rose heard as consciousness slowly flooded back in.
Her eyelids fluttered, but did not open; they kept her eyeballs trapped beneath, moving without seeing. Rose was not certain exactly what had happened to her, or where she was, but she was certain that she didn’t want her captors to know she was awake yet—maybe they would talk more if they thought she was still asleep.
“Anyone can go offplanet,” another voice responded; it sounded like two young women talking, Rose thought. “It’s all about whether or not you’ve got the money,” the second voice added.
“D’you happen to know the state of his finances?” a third voice asked—male, this time.
The first woman sighed. “Well, it’s not like I could ask, is it? Didn’t exactly have the time!”
Her companions hummed morosely.
“What about her, though?” the second woman asked, her voice so hushed and low that Rose almost couldn’t hear it—but if the burning in her ears was anything to go by, it felt an awful lot like the woman was talking about her. “An offworlder, by the looks of her.”
“That’s what I thought,” the man agreed. “Wonder who’s her Champion?”
“Saw her flirting with that Geoffrynn bloke from the third quarter,” was the reply, and a sudden flash of memory lanced through Rose’s vision, filling her mind’s eye with Geoffrynn’s handsome face, his charming smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he handed over her last drink—
Her drugged drink, Rose realized. That poncy horse-git had bloody drugged her!
Fists clenching by her side, Rose swore that when she got out of this mess, she was going to hunt that pretty bastard down and throttle the living daylights out of him.
“It’s all right,” a new voice spoke up, low and velvety-sweet and only for Rose to hear. The surface beneath Rose rippled—a cushion? That’s what it felt like—and Rose could only guess the newcomer was sitting next to her, the better to whisper in her ear. “You don’t have to pretend to be asleep,” the new voice said.
Rose bit her lip. “How could you tell?”
She imagined she could hear the other young woman smile. “You stopped snoring.”
Rose’s eyes snapped open, her mouth fully poised and ready to let this person know that oi, she most certainly does not snore, thanks, but upon seeing the speaker, her words escaped her.
She was one of the loveliest women Rose had ever laid eyes on.
Of course, Rose had noticed quite a few pretty faces on the planet—it was hard not to, what with the bodies attached to them launching themselves at Mickey at every available opportunity—but this young woman was simply breathtaking. Delicate smatterings of ivory-white freckles shone out against her brown skin, dotting the landscape of her nose and shoulders. The freckles were even further drawn out by the brightness of her short, densely-curled platinum hair. Many a woman from Earth would have envied her arched brow and high cheekbones, and her eyes were so green, Rose couldn’t help but recall the polished jade treasures she’d seen in fourteenth-century Kyoto.
“Oh my god,” Rose blurted out. “You’re gorgeous!”
The young woman laughed, ducking her head. “Well, at least you’re honest,” she chuckled. “You’re not so bad yourself, but I guess that doesn’t make us any different from anyone else here.”
“Really?” Rose asked, pushing herself up on her elbows to see what she could discern about the mysterious here.
The first thing she took note of was, strangely, the floor. While the Temple of Dance (that she’d been so rudely abducted from, she remembered with a grimace) had an earthen floor, much like every other establishment she, Mickey, and the Doctor had visited, the floor beneath her cushion was smooth and white, almost like marble. It met four stark-white walls, which trapped perhaps two dozen other people inside, most of them women, all of them lounging about or awakening on cushions like Rose had, or isolated into groups chattering nervously, or eating from a long table absolutely covered in fruits and breads and sweets. Rose had clearly been brought to some kind of upscale place, she thought, because while everything else she had seen on Hohm was all wood and straw and white stone and hand-woven cloth, here she saw silken tapestries on the walls, fine rich rugs on the floor, golden goblets and glass sculptures adorning the table between tureensful of food. Even the heavy wooden doors were gilded with gold.
Everything in the room was quite lovely—and that went for the people, too, Rose noticed. Tall, short, middling; slender, curvaceous, athletic; fair, dark, freckled, tattooed; short hair, long hair, curly hair, no hair; horse-person, humanoid; each person in the chamber was quite different, and quite visually striking, for that matter, showcasing an impressively large spectrum of beauty.
It sort of made Rose wonder where she fit in.
Silently, she chided herself. That line of thought was unhelpful, not to mention ridiculous. Her looks had given her a decided advantage many times in the past, she knew, and besides—she had bigger things to worry about than insecurities involving certain flighty Time Lords.
“Right,” Rose said, scanning the room for any additional clues about where she might be, and why. “So…where exactly are we?”
The woman frowned. “You don’t know?”
“Nope,” Rose replied with a grin. “Sort of why I asked.”
The young woman rolled her eyes, and Rose realized that she was probably going to like her.
“Guess I shouldn’t be so surprised, in a way,” the woman said. “You’ve practically got offworlder written all over you. Still, sort of shocking you’d come here right now, if you didn’t come for this—seems like someone should have warned you.”
Sitting up straight, the woman held out her hand for Rose to shake, and she gratefully accepted. At least this was something she recognized. “I’m Dyana, by the way,” the woman—Dyana—said, with a strong and firm handshake in accompaniment.
“Nice to meet you, Dyana,” replied Rose. “I’m Rose. Now, can you tell me where I am? Not to be rude or anything, only I haven’t got the faintest clue what’s going on.”
“You know about the Championship Tour, don’t you?”
Rose thought back and recalled the posters strung up about town, the pictures of dragon and sportspeople and spears. She remembered Mickey’s eagerness to watch the event, and the Doctor’s dismissal. “Yeah?” she said uneasily.
“Well,” Dyana said, unable to quite meet Rose’s eyes as she scratched the back of her neck, “…we’re sort of the prizes.”
Rose blinked a few times. Her mouth fell open.
“We’re what?” she demanded.
***
“So what, the blokes on this planet just find girls they like, drug ‘em, and then compete for ‘em in some bizarro alien Olympics?” Mickey asked in bewilderment, struggling to keep up with the Doctor as he darted about the console, flipping switches and pulling levers and jamming his fingers into various buttons as if they had offended him personally. Ever since the Doctor had returned from his search—and by returned, what Mickey really meant was tossed into the TARDIS on his arse—his mood had taken a sharp turn for the manic.
“I don’t get it,” Mickey continued, speaking mostly to himself. “This planet can’t possibly be that backward!”
“Not just the blokes, and not the whole planet,” the Doctor shot back as he surveyed the figures zipping by on a viewscreen. “It’s a local custom, albeit an archaic one. Why would you have arranged marriages, uncertain alliances, or shaky betrothals when you can compete for your mate in the ultimate gladiatorial-style spectacle? It’s fun for the whole family!
“Only,” the Doctor went on, slapping the side of the viewscreen when its readout displeased him, “A lot of people didn’t like it. Turns out many would-be spouses or breeders didn’t enjoy being fought-over like so much farmland—go figure. Citizens would try to conscript unknowing or unwilling targets into the competition only to be met with some rather violent resistance—plenty of Hohmish are well-known for their fighting skills, did I mention that?—ergo, the city council eventually introduced the allowance of…”
The Doctor paused for a moment, thinking, one hand pinwheeling as he searched for the right words. When he found them, he spoke them with great distaste. “…pharmaceutical persuasion,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “The whole rotten business died out a few centuries ago for obvious reasons, but it looks like someone must’ve decided to revive the tradition.”
“So they drugged her,” Mickey said, his blood starting to boil. “They were gonna drug me—and they just got to Rose first.”
“Well, that’s what you get when you accept a drink from a stranger, isn’t it?” the Doctor replied. “Rose should have known better, shouldn’t she?”
After a few moments of silence, the Doctor glanced Mickey’s way, and Mickey realized that the Doctor expected him to agree. But Mickey was too preoccupied with the searing-hot anger seeping into his face, his hands clenching so tightly they shook with the force of it. He was sure to find little half-moon marks dug in his palms later.
“No,” he said, his voice quiet.
The Doctor arched an eyebrow at him. “Come on now, Mickey. You’ve got to admit—”
“No,” said Mickey again, louder this time.
“—sort of seems like she’s traveled enough by now, got to be smarter about that sort of thing—”
“How’s she supposed to be smart about something she had no way of knowing?” Mickey half-snapped, half-shouted. “You’re the one who knows everything, and you’re the one who brought us here—why the hell didn’t you tell us anything about this place, why the hell didn’t you warn us?”
“Honestly, have I got to do all of your thinking for you?” the Doctor asked, unimpressed. “It’s basic common sense: don’t accept drinks from a stranger.”
Mickey’s cheeks burned hotter and hotter. “And you’ve never done that, have you? Never accepted a gift from someone you didn’t know?”
The Doctor hesitated, rolling his eyes. “Of course I’ve—”
“It’s not something you’d ever have to worry about, is it? Someone doing something like that to you, trying to take advantage of you.”
“That’s not—”
“I mean, are you genuinely this thick, or is it just because you’re being jealous and petty? It had better be the second one, cos I don’t think Rose would want to stay with you if you’re the kind of person who really thinks like that,” Mickey spat.
The Doctor fell quiet, then, dangerously silent, his jaw tense and rigid, his eyes boring into Mickey. But Mickey gathered up his courage and continued.
“Was it her fault the first time it happened, too?” Mickey asked. “When she was sixteen, and some bloke down the pub slipped something into her drink? Someone she thought she could trust?”
Something in the Doctor’s face shifted, then, his anger growing darker—deadlier. “Who?” he asked, in a voice that made Mickey shudder.
Mickey crossed his arms stubbornly. “Does it really matter, if it was all Rose’s fault?”
The Doctor’s eyes flashed, and for a brief moment, the air between them was charged, thick and heavy like the atmosphere before a storm; the hair on the back of Mickey’s neck stood up on end, the way it does before lightning strikes.
He wondered if he should start running while he had the chance.
Swallowing, the Doctor looked away, letting his gaze drill into something else for a little while. The tension dissipated, and Mickey could breathe again.
“What happened?” the Doctor asked quietly.
“Rose should really be the one telling you all this,” Mickey said, to himself just as much as the Doctor. “If she wants you to know at all.”
He drew in a deep breath. “All I really know for sure is that her drink got spiked, and I only even know that cos Shireen told me. She’s the one who called me from the pub. Asked me to pick her and Rose up. Gave me the details of the story later, all the bits she knew. But Rose has never mentioned it since, and I’ve never asked.”
The Doctor’s gaze hardened, and unbelievably, Mickey almost felt sorry for the bloke, for whatever the Doctor might do to him, if he found him. (And Mickey was absolutely certain the Doctor could find him, if he wanted.) But then the Doctor just scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping it like he was wiping the anger away.
“You’re right,” the Doctor said, and at least he had the decency to look suitably ashamed. “My anger was…misplaced. Rose had no control over whether or not someone else tried to hurt her. It wasn’t her fault at all.” Then, quieter, “Of course it wasn’t.”
Slapping on a cheerful smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, the Doctor began his journey around the console again, entering coordinates onto a number pad on the far side. “You’re a decent human being, Mickey Smith,” he said, flashing his grin Mickey’s way.
Surprised at the words even more than the emotional whiplash carrying them, Mickey laughed uncertainly. “Er…thanks, I guess?”
“And you’re a good friend.”
Mickey relaxed a little. “Thank you,” he said, in earnest.
After a few moments of awkward quiet, punctuated only by the clackity-clack of keyboard keys and the TARDIS’ ever-present hum, Mickey decided it was safe to speak again.
“So what’s the plan?” he ventured.
“Wellllll,” said the Doctor, and he was doing quite a bang-up job of acting almost completely like his normal self, “The competitors fight against a number of different elements on their quest to claim a partner. They make this whole great quest out of it. Champions will fight off anything and everything from wild animals, physical obstacles, harsh terrain, even other competitors, in the effort to win someone. You make it to the end of the course with a person in hand, they’re legally yours.”
The Doctor pulled one last lever on the console and the TARDIS whirred into gear, its lights flashing and central column grinding as it prepared for takeoff. “So the plan, Mickey-my-lad,” the Doctor said with a grin, “is to go win Rose.”
He pushed the lever back down and the TARDIS shot into the Vortex.
***
This Rose girl was…interesting.
Dyana wondered how often she’d been trapped in situations like this—surely there was no other explanation for her calm but constant alertness, the very specific questions she asked (What are these walls made of? Are we above-ground, or below?), or how she charted every detail in the room, lips moving almost imperceptibly as she cataloged what Dyana could only assume were points of interest.
Interesting, indeed…she wondered if Rose had picked up on any of the same things she had.
When one of the heavy gilded doors groaned open, the Golden Guard marching inside, Dyana noticed that Rose’s muscles tensed and her focus narrowed. Several of the captives blocked her view as they crowded about, hesitantly inspecting the Guards’ offerings; each wheeled in a cartload of silks and jewels and baubles, all of them glittering in the candlelight. But Rose didn’t move any closer. Instead she hung back on her cushion, glancing at the door, watching the Guards in front of it. Dyana, in turn, watched her.
“What’s all that, then?” Rose asked, nodding toward the carts and their treasure.
“Adult dress-up,” replied Dyana. When Rose shot her a questioning look, Dyana sighed. “Well, you want to look your best, don’t you? Make sure you look good so you get a good Champion.”
She barely resisted wrinkling her nose in disgust. “You want to look like you’re worth fighting for.”
“Gross,” said Rose, pulling a face. “No, ta.”
Standing, Rose marched right up to one of the Guards and planted herself firmly in front of him. “Right,” she said, drawing up to her full (if unimpressive) height. “I don’t want to be in your Championship-thing. I’m not from Hohm, I didn’t know about any of this, and I certainly didn’t agree to it. This has all been a big misunderstanding. So let me go.”
She paused for a moment, considering. “Please,” she added.
When the Guards did not respond, Rose frowned. “Did you hear me?” she asked. “This is all a big mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. Let me go.”
The Guards did not reply, but continued their stony-faced silence, staring at the wall opposite them as if their eyes were fixed and immobile. Dyana looked on as Rose waved a hand in front of their faces. When neither of the Guards reacted, Rose stepped back, determination wrinkling her brow. Her eyes flickered from the Guards to the open door behind them, and Dyana could practically see the plan formulating in her mind.
Unable to suppress a smirk, Dyana propped her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hand, ready to enjoy the show.
Rose tried to slip by the Guards first, starting out with a slow and unassuming pace, then sprinting for the door. The toe of one shoe had just crossed the threshold when one of the Guards whirled around and seized her by the arm. With a shout, Rose dug her heels in and tried to break away, but the Guard simply yanked her back, handling her as easily as if she were a doll. He threw her bodily to one of the cushions on the floor.
Several of the captives tittered and gaped at the spectacle, but not Dyana. Her smirk faded away, to be replaced by something else altogether. She watched as Rose sprang up again, desperation etched in her face.
“Rose—” Dyana said in halfhearted protest, but Rose ignored her. She ran full-pelt at the Guards but this time they merely stepped back out of the room, throwing the doors shut behind them so that Rose slammed against the doors with a sickening thump. She staggered back, cursing under her breath.
“Let me out!” she yelled, punching and kicking at the doors. “Let us all out!”
“Sorry sweetheart, but that’s not going to happen,” said one of the other young women, a pretty blush-haired horse-girl Dyana knew from school as Vareem. She pulled a pink silk dress from one of the casks and held it up against her creamy-pale skin, admiring the play of gentle color even as she sighed in resignation. “No one gets out unless they’re claimed at the Championship, so you might as well make the best of it.”
“This is bollocks,” Rose announced to the room, staring at each and every one of the captives in turn. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Isn’t anyone going to stand up to them? Won’t any of you fight back?”
No one replied, but that didn’t surprise Dyana. She agreed with Rose, of course, but still—Rose wasn’t from Hohm. She didn’t completely understand. She couldn’t.
“You can’t honestly be okay with this!” Rose said, exasperated.
Vareem shrugged defensively. “It’s going to happen whether we want it to or not. So what does it matter if we’re okay with it?”
Glancing between Vareem and Dyana and all the other captives, Rose shook her head, her mouth hanging open in wordless disbelief. One by one, the captives turned away, returning to their task of sorting through dresses and gems, pulling pieces and examining with an efficiency like they had prepared for this day their entire lives—which, Dyana knew, many of them had.
“Doesn’t it bother you, though?” Rose pleaded with Dyana.
Dyana examined Rose closely, looking her face up and down. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to trust Rose—she did want to, very, very much. She and her allies could use every scrap, every crumb of help they could get, no matter how small.
(But probably her sister had trusted someone too—and look how that turned out.)
“Why did you come to Hohm?” Dyana asked suspiciously. “If not for the Championship, why?”
Rose’s face darkened. “I was tricked.”
“By a Champion?”
“By an idiot. An idiot who had better bail me the hell out of this if he knows what’s good for him.”
Dyana scoured Rose’s face once more, seeking out any indicators that Rose might be lying to her, but she saw none—her eyes didn’t dart away, she never played with her hair, her cheeks never flushed nor did her pupils dilate. If anything, all she saw painted across Rose’s face was fear, tempered with a healthy amount of anger.
Ah, what the hell, Dyana thought. The plan was probably doomed from the start anyway.
“Hypothetically,” Dyana said slowly, “—all theoretical, nothing practical, you understand—someone might be planning something. It might possibly be an escape. Possibly. Perhaps.”
Rose’s eyes widened, brightening with hope.
“If that were to happen,” Dyana continued, keeping her voice carefully casual, “would such a thing interest you?”
Rose nodded. “How can I help?”
Head held high, Dyana stood up from her cushion, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress.
“How do you feel about going out in style?” she asked.
***
“There!” Mickey yelled, pointing at the vidscreen. He swiveled it round so the Doctor could see. “Looks like some sort of stadium—that’s got to be what we’re looking for, right?”
The Doctor glanced up from the console. The image was too fuzzy for him to make out much—unfortunate, but only to be expected in the Vortex—but he could see a vast Colosseum-like structure, filled with what appeared to be terraformed mountainous terrain, if he were to hazard a guess. But with the TARDIS trembling and groaning all around him, his mind was admittedly a bit elsewhere.
“Let’s hope you’re right!” the Doctor shouted. He pulled a lever on the console and the entire ship pitched forward violently, throwing Mickey against the railing.
“Oi!” Mickey protested. “Watch your driving!”
“And watch your footing,” said the Doctor with a grin, “cos it’s about to get worse!”
***
“Honored Champions, treasured guests, ladies and gentlemen and variations thereupon!” the announcer’s voice boomed throughout the stadium; “Welcome to the pre-games for the fortieth anniversary of our glorious restored Championship Tour!”
The crowd erupted in a wave of noise, the massive stadium echoing endlessly with the roar of an audience ready and eager to see treasures claimed and blood spilled. Each of the thousands of people shouted and cheered, clapped hands and stomped feet. Each of the thousands, that was, but a small scattered few.
“But before the pre-games begin, we have something special to share with you,” the announcer continued, his voice as jovial and slimy as the worst sort of used-car salesperson. “In light of recent events, our Esteemed Protectorates of the City Council have decided that this year’s celebration will mark a true return to our core values—a return to our prestigious roots—”
The crowd cheered.
“—a return to our glory days—”
The crowd yelled even louder.
“—a return to tradition!”
The crowd shouted its assent, people leaping out of their seats and pumping their fists into the air.
“And now,” the announcer shouted gleefully, “Let the games begin!”
The crowd screamed out a cacophony of indiscernible pandemonium, bellows and chants and cheers all competing viciously to be heard over each other in a wave of sound as heavy and dense as the planet itself.
Unnoticed amongst the chaos, several crowdgoers snuck between the stadium-bleachers, each of them drawing hoods over their heads.
***
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***
Author’s Note: For anyone worried about Rose's earlier encounter with a spiked drink: she has always had a good friend in Shireen, who, despite having one of the best flirts of her life that night, noticed pretty quickly that something was wrong with Rose when a bloke--a friend from school--brought her over, claiming that she was pretty far-gone, so he "was going to make sure she made it home safely." But Shireen and Rose had gotten sloshed together enough for Shireen to know that Rose was at least a four-drinks gal on a bad day, so at one drink in, there was no way Rose should have been stumbling like that, no way she would have needed the support of the bloke's arm around her, no reason for her eyes to be cloudy and unfocused like they were. So Shireen struck up a fuss, the other patrons of the pub riled around her, and the nasty bloke was tossed out on his arse on the street like the nasty piece of garbage he was. And Shireen (see above, re: good friend), after calling Mickey, spent their entire time waiting making sure that Rose was all right, keeping her supplied with glasses of water, wrapping an arm around her protectively, and wiping her smudged makeup away. Fortunately Rose experienced no harm beyond imbibing a spiked drink, but she felt such an overwhelming mixture of (incredibly undeserved) stupidity and shame that she avoided talking about the whole thing in the hopes that it would all go away. And by the time the Doctor came into her life, she had all but forgotten about that night. (And a few rounds of Torchwood-mandated therapy, in another universe, just before her and the metacrisis Doctor's happy ending, will settle her mind about the whole thing once and for all. <3 <3 <3)
