This is a gift for Gingergallifreyan for Secret Santa! I am so sorry it is being posted so late, I was so terribly sick, and my fever just kept coming and going so I couldn't finish. I felt awful! I hope this makes up for it.

The requirements were: Any kind of AU, as long as the Doctor and Rose were happy together. Fobbed! okay, and bonus for use of the name "Theta".

Hopefully, this fic will live up to that. It's a bit darker than my usual, but I was inspired to give you something a bit outside the element, and I really, really hope you like it.

There will be some violence, it's Lovecraftian. There will be pining, smut, soulmarks, and ofc, an ending where the Doctor and Rose are extremely happy together. If you're a huge fan of River Song or Reinette, please know that they're featured here, but our protagonist finds them to be obnoxious as sin.

"Commodore Lethbridge-Stewart! There's a wreck, off the starboard side!"

The sound of the lower ranked Royal Navy sailors clamouring to get a view, be nearer to assist, sent a tremor along the hull. The Commodore made it over, taking a pair of binoculars from a midshipman and looking out.

Calling it a wreck was being extremely kind. The boat had been pounded nigh on to sawdust in some parts, and the fins cresting above the water led him to believe that whatever corpse had caused the darkened pool mixed in with the water had been taken care of already - or was going to be polished off soon enough, at any rate. All in all, it looked like a tragedy, but naught much to be done outside of identifying the vessel. As his ship came closer, the sharks took their quick exit, knowing when they'd been outmatched. Shortfin Makos were the cheetahs of the sea.

"Check over the wreckage," he ordered. "Find out the name, and we'll report this. Poor souls on board."

The Commodore watched, biting his lip as he heard his wife call out after their daughter, Kate.

"Katherine Marie, don't run on the ship! You'll fall, and take your baby sister with you!"

"Kate, come on over here, take a look at your first shipwreck," he called out, cheerfully, ignoring his wife's gasp at the impropriety of a little girl seeing that.

"Wow, dad! It's destroyed!" his twelve year old said, eyes wide. "Is there anything left?"

"Not much from the looks of it, but that's why there's a crew in that boat right there. They'll go over and take a look."

"Was anyone on the boat?"

"Might have been, we're not sure, my love. You see the darkened spots? That might be blood-" he ignored his wife's second gasp - "but it could just as easily be petrol, or some food or another supply that the boat was carrying. It could just as easily be some chum, or some unfortunate fish that fell into the sea and made the local sharks quite pleased."

She giggled, and Doris squeezed his hand, shooting him a tight-lipped warning look. He gave her a reassuring smile, pushing down the nerves in his stomach. Something about the waters they were in felt a bit… off. He was too old to believe in fairy tales, but it felt like someone had just walked over his grave. Looking down (and then kicking himself for such a thing) he could see that the waters were choppy, a darker shade of blue than he would have expected for being so close to the shore.

He couldn't see the bottom of the English Channel on a good day, but the waters were usually a bit clearer than this. It had been such a gorgeous, sunny day until they'd begun to hit these waters, in fact. Rainstorms weren't uncommon in England, for God's sake. He was looking for problems where there weren't any, and hadn't done so since he was in Bible Study.

There were no demons here.

"Commodore! We found something!"

"Dear God!" Another shipmate screamed. "Someone help me!"

Chaos descended on the scene, as multiple men were shouting at the same time, followed by the sound of breaking boards and someone falling into the water.

Alec felt himself floating, drifting in and out of familiar water, his body gently lilting from side to side with the motion of the ocean. He could hear soft bubbling from somewhere, a clam buzzing along the floor to escape a predator, and it was a comforting noise. Stretching his fingers out and upward, he could feel blood returning to his appendages. The gentle tugs of the waves above tousled his hair, and his lips twitched before blooming into a soft smile.

Opening his eyes to the familiar kelp forest, the sunlight filtering through the water, dancing along the waves and making it more beautiful than any sunset he'd ever seen. Home, that was the feeling that this seascape gave him. He was home, and as he kicked off from the sea floor a bit, poking about the greenery, he truly felt it in his bones. He was like his father in that way, he supposed, always needing to be near the water.

He could hear soft noises, like a dull roar but from far off now. The muted noises underneath the waves, the vibration still felt, as though metal clanked with a bathtub while one's head was submerged. He could feel her body singing to him, she was calling to him from somewhere in the deep.

His angel.

Listening for the singing noises flattened by how far they had to travel - likely seals, mimicking the boats around them. When he was a little boy, his father had honked the horn of the ship once, in a varied pattern, and he could hear the seals ashore striving to copy it. He ignored the feel of the moss on his bare feet, knowing this place for its safety for so long that he didn't panic, thinking something was going to eat him like he'd thought as a little boy.

A school of fish swam and fluttered by, dancing along and hiding amongst the greenery as a piece of wood, jagged and soaked through, casually fell from the surface. It was joined by another, and another - what had happened up there?! Was there an explosion? Part of a wooden plank boat was sinking from the surface flipping too quickly for him to read the words on it and it sent his gaze above. He witnessed sharks jutting along the wreckage, the soft blooms of ruby darkening instantly against the waves before he was jerked away from the image.

He felt a hand grab his, and pulling him out of the kelp by the most beautiful angel he had ever seen. When he turned to look back, the image was gone, and no matter how much he tried to remember it in any detail, he couldn't. It was like overexposed film, burnt away. Her hands were on his face, turning him back to what was most important to him - her.

His angel.

He didn't know her name. They had never spoken, which made sense as they were underwater… but he could feel her feelings. He could almost sense her in his mind, and as she floated with him, her smile never ceased. He kicked his legs, never able to breathe down here like she could until she gifted it to him.

The desperation always built up, and the one time he had tried to swim to the surface to breathe, he had never made it. He kicked his bare feet, in his pajama pants, while she was in an ethereal, long white night dress. It flowed about her with the waves so elegantly, her golden hair catching the light from the waves as she touched his hands.

A soft lean in, and with a kiss from his angel he could breathe, reluctant to pull away but desperate for the lungfuls of air he took under the water. Her brown eyes looked almost obsidian under the waves, and as he swam by her side, he felt like he was home. Her hand touched his, and he could see the strange mark on her inner wrist, the same place his was. They perfectly matched, and as his fingers brushed her mark, it glowed. She gave him a teasing smile and did the same to his, and he felt pleasure alight him.

They were swimming toward a cave, and he felt fear on sight of it in every dream. It didn't look like any cave he should be going anywhere near. The stonework decorations all looked menacing, the writing along it was in that same script as was on his wrist. The nearer he got, the nearer the dull roar came. It sounded like a mixture of singing and chanting, and he could feel the tightening of fear in his chest. The carvings in stone looked like creatures out of horror films, deep sea creatures that murdered blondes in bikinis, and ate sharks for lunch.

He tried, like always, to take her hand and pull her away from the cave. She stopped, like she always did, giving him that soft tilt of her head, confusion in her beautiful eyes. She pulled his arm, swimming ever closer. She wanted to go inside, for reasons he couldn't fathom, and didn't he trust her with his mind, body, heart and soul? He glanced back toward the entrance. The mouth of the cave was huge, a monolith in the deep, and seemed to be ribbed on the inside, as though what made it had been monstrous.

He could hear the singing and chanting come louder, the closer they came.

Iyah… Iyah… Iyah, iyah, Rassilon fhtagn…

He had to distract her, stop her from pulling them in. She was such a strong swimmer, he could never fight her. He pulled her to him and kissed her, deeply, the water's salty inclusion on his tasting her tongue not an unwelcome one. She was instantly a willing participant, her hands gliding along his body as he leaned her against the outside of the cave for leverage, ignoring the claws of the monster she was up against. Her supple breasts met his palms and he worked them, kneading them as he pulled back, seeing their alabaster shade under the deep. She was so perfect, and he would finally have her.

The chanting grew louder, matching his pulse in his ears, encouraging him. Have her, the chanting seemed to call. Mate her, make her yours. Take your place, take your prize.

He ground against her, drunk off the feel of her hands on him, the pressure they used along his sides and the nails scraping along his back. He let out a growl that should have scared him, biting her neck. Just as he reached to feel the silk between her legs, a hissing noise drew his attention to the side, seeing a giant monster with fangs opening its jaws to-

Alec's eyes snapped open on a gasp as he heard a woman's voice hissing 'ouch!' and he looked up, seeing Jeanne looking at her hand and pouting. Alec already wasn't in the best mood due to his dream being interrupted, but seeing Jeanne made him ready to tear the room apart in rage.

"What the fuck are you doing in my cabin?!" he snapped.

"Oh, Alec, baby! I was just thinking…. It's time to take our relationship to the next level."

His lip curled as he took in the fact that she was in a negligee. Her hair styled, makeup tastefully done, perfume carefully applied… she looked like she could have stepped out of a Victoria's Secret catalogue. Any red blooded man would have been ready to take her to bed.

Any red blooded man but him.

"We don't have a bloody relationship, and if we did, I wouldn't stand for you waking me up in the middle of the night to bother me!"

That had been partially a lie. A few times Tess had woken him up in the middle of the night, and while still sleep drunk, he had been able to work off his need while still daydreaming about his angel. But the instant she had begun to make noise, moan, or speak, he'd gone limp and ended up sleeping on the couch, grumpily.

If his angel was real, she could wake him up any time, for any reason. He would wait on her hand and foot if she needed, just for one kiss. One look. One touch.

"Mon dieu, Alec, do you realise how fortunate you are? I want you. Me! I could have any man, and I want you. I choose you. Why do you insist on playing hard to get? Do you need to remind me of how virile you are? I see your manliness."

He felt a twitch forming right above his right eye as his jaw clenched. He'd sworn an oath, and would absolutely not murder her. Absolutely not, the daft hen.

"But the way you play hard to get, mon cher, it makes me think you're not interested in having sex with me at all! I insist you stop playing these games with me. I want you, lover. Let us- "

"Right now, my interest was a good night's sleep. That's been interrupted now-"

"Is it another woman?"

Yes. One who doesn't exist, but drives me spare.

She took his silence for an affirmative. "Oh god! Tell me it isn't River Song! That ancient trollop! Obsessed with tombs and pyramids. She's likely to be mummified down below."

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

She climbed onto the bed, and he shoved her off, angrily, feeling satisfaction in the thud noise followed by a gasp. Good. Maybe the wind knocked out of her would teach her something.

"I have told you to leave, and I'm still a goddamned cop as long as we're in British waters, so sod tae fuck off. Now, I'm going to be taking a shower, and interested in coming back to an empty room so that I can do my research until I fall back to sleep."

Jeanne pouted, stomping her foot and making a childish whine. He marched into the bathroom and slammed the door, snicking the lock. Pulling himself out of his silk pajama bottoms, he lifted the toilet seat and set about doing his business. Mid-piss, he snapped, "I don't hear the sounds of LEAVING!" and got the satisfaction of hearing Jeanne stomping out of his cabin and slamming the door behind her.

He shook off, pulling his trousers back up, and triple checked his room before locking the door and applying the chain.

He rolled his eyes, sending a puff of breath upwards to get his hair out of his fucking eyes. He was furious, and the last thing he needed was to be on this ship with three of the most obnoxious women he had ever had the displeasure of meeting, and his scheming sister and her best friend, that owned the yacht in question.

"You gotta put yourself out there, Alec," he mimicked in a higher pitch tone, rolling his eyes at Clara's statement. She was his sister, he loved her, and he wanted to just get this whole bloody weekend over as quick as possible so she would stop bugging him about finding a new wife.

He was over Tess. He'd be angry that he'd been cheated on, but angrier that her duplicity had lead to the crime of child murder going unpunished. He'd been angrier that he had lost custody of his daughter. His marriage had been a lie from the start, but his daughter… the only good thing to come of it.

He got into the shower, closing his eyes and letting the hot water beat down on him. Her face flashed behind his eyes, and his breath stuttered as he imagined her here, in this shower with him. She was still in that lathy white dress, but under the shower, he could see the outline of her breasts and her nipples. He let off a growl, lifting her off her feet and pressing her against the shower wall.

So supple. So his. She wanted him, he could feel her lips pressing all along his neck. He could hear the ringing in his ears as he clenched his jaw, panting as he thrust home.

He gripped his cock in his hands tight, giving it some squeezes to mimic the pulsing feel of her that he knew would be there. Swearing against her hair, praising her with each move he made. He imagined gripping her creamy thighs, marking her neck and breasts as he did his best to ensure that any other lovers she'd ever had before would be erased from her memory.

He gasped as his orgasm hit, eyes opening to nobody else in the room, and the flood of disappointment sinking into his stomach as he decorated the shower wall.

He leaned his forehead against the glass shower door, and whimpered, "Angel…" on half a sob.

Why couldn't she be real?

He put a new pair of cotton pajama bottoms on, pulling on a white t-shirt without the slightest bit of patience or grace. Sitting down at his desk, he opened his briefcase, clicking on the lamp. A glance at the clock told him that it was almost 1am. It was pitch black outside, only the glistening of the moon on the cresting waves giving any sign of which way was up.

He stared at the blackened waves a bit too long, something about the pitch seemed to call out to him. He felt the pounding in his ears as his eyes followed the light on the water.

He could hear the chants from the cave. Iyah… iyah…

"Rassilon fhtagn…" he murmured, glassy-eyed, before his phone buzzed from a text message notification. Fuck, it was Clara. He clicked to open it.

{{What the hell, Alec?! Jeanne Antoinette just left my room crying because you lead her on and then kicked her out? Call me. NOW.}}

He raised an eyebrow at the sms, and typed back. She could talk a good game, but she knew better than to think he would listen to orders like that. Alec and Kate had taken after their dad, the retired Admiral Lethbridge-Stewart. Kate had gone right into the Royal Navy, and he could remember watching her ascend ranks with stars in his eyes when he was younger. While not going into the military, he'd become a policeman and gotten into a leadership position as soon as possible. The look on his father's face had been bursting with pride as he'd shaken his son's hand after he'd graduated from the police academy, and his older sister introducing him to her peers, and the way she'd looked at him… every brother should experience that level of love. They'd always gotten on like houses, and Clara had often felt the odd one out, despite their support of her.

Clara had taken after their mum, working as a teacher and having her nose in everyone else's business. She had youngest sibling syndrome something fierce, pushed away everyone who ever tried to help her, and always insisted that she knew what was best for positively everybody. Everyone knew better than to call her a control freak to her face, as the tantrum would be forthcoming, but it was thought often enough in her direction. They loved her so, but were glad when she started to relax a bit as she got older.

Hence insisting he came on this stupid yacht for the weekend. She'd pleaded with him over the phone, saying that she and Danny needed him there to spend time together, because she missed him. He'd allowed himself to get suckered into it, finding out once the ship left shore that it had been her trying to set him up with three of her friends from the school she worked at. She had hoped that he would like at least one of them.

Something about how he needed to move on, get over Tess, get back on the market. Now that he'd been redeemed, he had a lot to offer a good woman, and if he wanted to get custody of Daisy back, he needed a stable home life. She'd known he would be against the idea, but as he'd had no choice, he'd hoped it would just be three shy teachers who would bore him to death with discussion of their school subjects.

Instead, she'd managed to find three women who assumed they were already a shoe-in for a relationship with him. River Song was an Archaeology/History teacher, and subtlety was far from her strong suit. She kept calling him her future husband, and practically purring the word sweetie at him. Jeanne Antoinette Poisson was a French teacher who thought that him telling her he wasn't interested was 'playing hard to get, lover'. Lynda Moss was an Administrative Secretary, and the least obnoxious of the three. She just stared at him with puppy eyes and kept trying to talk to him about some comic book she was reading, and telling him how he looked better than in the papers.

{{You keep that little psycho the hell away from me. She came into my room uninvited all trussed up and I sent her on her way.}}

He scowled, opening his files, not sure why he had been so entranced by the water. He began writing about his dream again, including the part about the shipwreck. That was new. He hadn't dreamt about that before at all, at least as far as he could remember. He found no mention, and rubbed at his eyes in exhaustion, both mental and physical. Sliding his glasses on, he continued writing, a bit of a faraway look in his eyes appearing as he remembered how his body burst to life when she touched his tattoo.

He was startled out of his reverie when his phone buzzed again. Oh yes, his sister.

{{She's never been turned down before. It's a heartbreaking experience for a woman to put herself out there for a man, just to be turned down cold. You weren't attracted at all?}}

He let out a laboured sigh, shaking his head.

He started to text, 'I wish you'd remember you're my sister, instead of only her friend' and then deleted it in a rush. She and their mum had likely cooked up the idea, and once she put her mind to something, she couldn't be stopped.

He stared down at the blank screen, before typing 'Good night' and shutting his phone off. He didn't have the energy to deal with this right now.

Glancing down at the page, he could see right underneath the sketch he'd made of his angel (he did one every other page, it seemed) he had written entire paragraphs in those weird looking glyphs he sometimes drew. He'd made them up when he was a kid, because some of them looked similar to his tattoo. The script looked almost threatening, and he couldn't read what it said, never having assigned each one an actual letter.

"What the fuck is happening to me…" he muttered, rubbing his five o clock shadow before shutting his Journal of Impossible Things and hiding it back in the briefcase, locking it. It wouldn't do for anyone to see it and have him institutionalised. His stomach clenched as he acknowledged that they were the ravings of a man who had cracked. If he wanted to make the logical, sane decision, he would give each of those girls a solid chance. He would face the day tomorrow, and try to honestly communicate with them.

Maybe one of them would be worth dating. Maybe he could get a stable home, and bring his daughter back. Maybe he could have more children, and a life. Maybe he could be satisfied with that.

But he knew that wasn't going to happen. He had tried marriage, after accidentally getting Tess pregnant when they were teenagers. It had only served to show him that with one governmental document, he could go from making himself miserable, to making two people miserable. His daughter was his only shining light, and he wanted to apologise to her a thousandfold for her mother not being his angel. Instead she was a demonic harpy, that according to their last phone call, was making her equally miserable.

He should put all of this spooky shite away, just focus on surviving this weekend without committing homicide, and then getting back home and phoning a lawyer. He needed his daughter back home, where she belonged.

He went to sleep, pretending not to be hopeful that he would see his golden haired angel, rubbing his mark.