Author's Note:Please note that the first couple of chapters are mostly background leading up to meeting the Doctor, so if you can muddle through to at least chapter three, it'll get more interesting (hopefully).

Also, this story is rated M for a reason. I'll make a note at the top of each chapter as to what you can expect.

I'll try to respond to comments at the end of each chapter.

Warnings: Strong Language

Edited: Sept. 23, 2019

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Chapter One: Mirrors

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Cold.

So cold.

The ground was cold.

Rough and wet and cold.

Everything hurt. Deep, dull ache.

Like I had been hit by a very large truck.

Had I been hit by a truck? Don't remember a truck.

A bus? Don't remember that either. Maybe it was a University bus.

At least if it had been a University bus, the school would have to wave tuition.

I groaned painfully. Stupid. Cold and in pain, but thinking about getting a slightly cheaper education. Though at least then we wouldn't have to worry about covering whatever medical care I was surely going to need.

Stop thinking about money, you dumb bitch.

Where was I? I curled my fingers and grasped at whatever substance I found between them.

My right hand found cool, pliable stuff that was simultaneously rough and smooth. Grass. Probably grass. I tugged at it feebly and a few pieces came away with a recognizable squeaky-breaking noise. Definitely grass.

Left hand. Rough. Hard. Cold. Rocks. I ran my hand over them and felt them roll under my palm. Not smooth like river rocks. More like gravel, but not concrete.

My neck ached because my head wasn't exactly aligned with my shoulders, suggesting that I was laying on my stomach; the pressure on my chest and abdominals confirmed this theory, aching like they were, as if I had been laying on them for a while.

I straightened up my head, the gravel scraping uncomfortably under my chin, and opened my eyes.

Everything was blurry. Through the fog in my brain I could decipher the cool, soft, faint light of my surroundings. Soft grey-blue, like outside right before sunrise or just after sunset.

I blinked a few times and the ground right before my face shifted into focus. Grass, medium length, like someone had cut it at one point but hadn't bothered with it in a few months.

There was a path, too, a gravel path. Too small for cars to pass down it, but appropriate for a casual hike.

A few feet away: bushes and trees. Dark scraggly branches twisted together to form a single, giant mass of twigs and leaves that only allowed a small amount of light to trickle through.

Slowly, painfully, I worked my hands and knees under my body and pushed myself up into a sort of sitting position as every single damned muscle and joint popped and ached and cracked in protest, like I was a thousand years old and hadn't moved once in that entire span of time.

Nevertheless, I was up, and I was alone. From my new kind-of-upright position I could see that I was roughly halfway down a very tall, very steep hill.

"Hello…?" My voice was every bit as worn as my body, barely registering as a hoarse whisper.

The coughs that forced their way out next were louder than my attempt at speech. Phlegm and mucus were stripped roughly away from my throat by the harsh, productive hacks, leaving me even more exhausted and uncomfortable than I had been before.

I didn't recognize this place, nor did I have any memory of how I got here.

My drowsy brain ticked through the possibilities.

I didn't drink; hated the taste of alcohol.

Party? Doubtful. I didn't have many friends, nor did I particularly enjoy social gatherings.

Kidnapping? More likely, though the idea still had some holes in it. I really didn't go out much; class, dining hall, dorm. Not a lot of opportunities to be caught unawares, though that didn't really mean anything. It wouldn't be particularly hard to slip some kind of drug or whatever into my food or drink.

But where had I been taken? It would be hard to grab someone in broad daylight on a densely populated college campus, with students and cops milling about.

From my dorm? Even less likely. There was 24 hour security at the door. Surely someone would have noticed something.

Right?

I sighed and rubbed my face, too exhausted to freak.

Okay, first, check for injuries.

I turned my foggy attention to my body and was immediately confused. I was dressed in a long almost-robe thing that came to my knees and baggy pants. Both garments were scarlet with gold trim. I pulled at them in confusion.

Had I been at a costume party?

I stopped pulling at the robe and ran my hands over my body. Although sore, I couldn't find any open wounds or broken bones. There was something off about me, except I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

I ran my fingers through my hair in agitation. My head had cleared somewhat, leaving room for panic to worm its way in. It didn't help that when I ran my fingers through my hair, I discovered that it was significantly longer than it had been by several feet. Last I remembered, my hair had just been long enough to touch my shoulders. Now, it draped all the way down my back. And it was NOT the same color. Why was it red? It had been brown!

I bit my tongue sharply to steady myself. Process first. Questions later.

Second: Phone.

After frantically patting myself down for pockets, a quick glance behind me revealed a bag. A book bag. Grey, blue, and purple with a broken strap that had been tied back together. My book bag.

I fumbled for it clumsily, muscles still not fully cooperating. My shaking fingers struggled with the zipper for a solid ten seconds before managing to get the center pocket open. I reached in, feeling for my purse, which theoretically should have been inside.

Instead, my fingers came into contact with the cool, smooth texture of something metal. I retracted my hand and studied the object.

It was some kind of medallion on a chain; gold and a shade larger than a half-dollar coin.

I flipped it over in my palm to study the markings on the other side. Circles, lines, and dots danced across the metal, sweeping in and out of each other elegantly to form a design that resembled the inner mechanisms of a clock; a design that was altogether very, very familiar.

Weirdly familiar. I'd seen them before. I wracked my tired mind for the design's origin, but the only word it would produce was 'shiny'.

Oh. Wait. Doctor Who.

I stared at the medallion again. A useless trinket; probably something someone got me for Christmas or whatever. I couldn't remember when I got it or who had given it to me, but not being able to recall that sort of trivia was significantly less alarming than the fact that I had no idea where I was.

I traced the complex designs again with my thumb, this time more for comfort than curiosity. The digit strayed to the medallion's center, where a single red ornate jewel sat, a gleaming scarlet fire.

As soon as I touched it, blinding white light flooded my vision and burned into my brain.

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I was looking into a mirror.

No idea how I knew it was a mirror, it just was.

I was in an overwhelmingly white room. Light emanated and reflected from the sterile white walls and floor.

A girl stared out at me from the reflective surface, her face blank but expressive, young but wise.

Red hair. Blue eyes.

Intelligent blue eyes.

Those eyes had a story to tell.

No, not a story.

A purpose. One for her and one for me. Except I wasn't allowed to know hers yet.

I glared at the girl in the mirror.

The bright blue eyes were sharp and cold. Devoid of any form of compassion or warmth.

An anxious tingle pricked its way up my spine.

I couldn't trust her.

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The searing light receded like an ocean tide, leaving me gasping like I had been drowning in the watery depths, numb and weak.

All emotions had drained from my head, but I was no longer confused; temporarily, at least. No doubt the numbness would fade and panic would reestablish its hold. But for now, it didn't matter.

I went back to the bag, now digging through it with purpose. Inside was a variety of objects, all of which I ignored, save for the smallish black rectangle. A card, credit or debit, I wasn't sure. I didn't care.

The bag was thrown up on my shoulder roughly as I scrambled to my feet and started walking.

Once again, I didn't think about what I was doing. I might as well have been on autopilot. Up the bank and into an unfamiliar town, across unfamiliar roads, and around unfamiliar buildings, weaving between the scraggly number of people already up and moving about in the early morning sun. I traversed the foreign city like I had lived in it my entire life, scarcely giving thought to the cars and people I passed on my unknown yet predetermined course.

The destination was a hotel. I had never seen it before, but I knew that the tall building was where I was supposed to be. I ambled foggily through the sliding doors and up to the lady at the front desk.

"Good morning, love," the dark haired woman greeted, cheerful despite her groggy disposition and giant cup of steaming coffee. "Need a room?"

I hummed in assent and passed her the black card, which she took without further comment. She passed it back along with a key, receipt, and an overly cheery, "Enjoy your stay!"

Giant grey spots were beginning to cloud my vision as I took the elevator up to the fourth floor. It was all I could do to stagger down the hallway and unlock the door. Once in, I slammed the door shut behind me, curled up under the covers, and promptly passed out.

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The bed was so soft. And warm. I felt so tired and heavy, like I should after a long, deep sleep.

For the second time that day, I opened my eyes slowly to blearily survey my foggy surroundings and have no idea where I was.

I had convinced myself that it had all been a dream. A sick, bizarre dream. For those sweet, first few minutes of consciousness, I had thought that I was going to wake up in my own bedroom. But those few minutes passed and reality started to sink in.

I sat bolt upright, ignoring my screaming muscles, and gazed around in shock.

The room was the standard for an average hotel room; consisting of a bed with white blankets, an oldish television, a mini fridge, an armchair, and a bathroom situated between the main area and the door.

My gaze flickered to the window. I immediately untangled myself from the sheets and scrambled over to it, yanking the curtains to the side.

I was in a city, or rather, near the edge of it. A somewhat familiar skyline stretched across the view.

"Is that… London?" I asked aloud.

When no one answered, I scoured the room briefly for the flyers and brochures that hotel rooms usually put out. I found a few beside the TV. Titles like: Explore London! and Places to Visit in London! and Where to Eat in London! jumped out of the otherwise useless pieces of paper.

"Really? London? Are you fucking kidding me?" I snarled softly.

I started pacing the room again, trying to get my head around the fact that I had somehow made it from America all the way to freaking London, when suddenly the long reddish hair swished into my face.

I made a frantic dash for the bathroom to look in the mirror.

Screaming had never been my thing, no matter how terrified I was. Now was no exception. So instead of crying out in shock, I clamped 'my' hand over 'my' mouth and tried to back away from the mirror. Or at least until my heels abruptly came into contact with the edge of the bathtub, sending me crashing down inside of it, taking the shower curtains with me.

It was her. The girl in the dream mirror, she was in this mirror too.

Ignoring my now aching head, I hauled myself out of the basin and crawled across the bathroom floor. I slowly pulled myself up in front of the sink, using the cold white marble counter for support.

"Who are you?" I demanded stupidly.

I half expected her to reply. In the dream, or vision, or whatever it was she would have. But now she just stared back out at me, horror written all over her features..

I pulled up the image of the Mirror Girl in my mind's eye and compared her to the person in the mirror now. She looked exactly the same. Dull red hair that trailed all the way down her back, large blue eyes that were slightly too close together, a pale narrow face, lush lips, and an agonizingly thin body.

Mirror Girl explored herself with delicate hands starting at her face, down to her neck, over her breasts, and finally down to her hips..

She was thin, painfully so, to the point of emancipation. She turned in the mirror for a side view and I did the same.

There were differences between her then and her now. The first time I saw her, her eyes were old; confident and unsettling. Now they were young and frightened, sunken in and underlined by dark circles.

"Why am I in your body?" I asked again, desperation entering my voice. "What was wrong with mine?"

I shuddered when I received no reply and turned off the bathroom light.

When I walked out of the bathroom I made a mental note to never look in the mirror again. Even when I had to use the bathroom, I was leaving the lights off.

My book bag was laying in the middle of the floor, right where I had abandoned it carelessly when I came in. Now I picked it up and dumped its contents on the bed.

It turned out to be quite a lot. My purse, phone, laptop, and an unrealistic number of clothes and shoes tumbled out, accompanied by several objects that I didn't immediately recognize.

I picked up my phone. No signal. Figures.

I threw it carelessly to the side and began going through the objects in the 'other' pile.

The first object was the medallion. I picked it up and stared at it for a second. It was what triggered the hallucination-vision-dream-thing.

I caressed the red jewel again but nothing happened. I felt a flash of rage.

"What do you want me to do?" I cried, throwing the gold trinket at the nearest wall. It bounced off with a metallic thump.

I borrowed my face in my hands in frustration.

The echoes that the vision had left behind floated their way to the front of my mind. I stiffened.

I threw myself back at the bathroom and, ignoring the promise I had made minutes before, smacked on the light and confronted the mirror.

"It was a fucking TV show!" I snarled at the girl. "A FUCKING TV SHOW! THE DOCTOR ISN'T REAL!"

I stood there, watching the girl pant while I tried to catch my breath. My heart was racing and I couldn't seem to get enough oxygen to keep up.

"The Doctor isn't real," I told her again, calmer now, though condescending poison still dripped from my words. "He's a fictional character. From a TV show. He isn't an actual person. He's a character. Played by actors, every move planned out by writers."

The girl didn't look convinced, no matter how much I wanted her to be.

I gave up trying to reason with her and wandered back into the main room, chewing my lip and hoping the other hotel residents wouldn't complain about my outbursts.

The girl had told me what had happened and what I needed to do, all without moving her lips. This was a different universe, and I had to find the Doctor. Help him. Serve my purpose.

What purpose was that, again?

I frowned. She hadn't said.

A dry, humorless laugh forced its way from my lips.

Absurd.

Even if this was another universe, and he was real, what the hell was I supposed to do to help him?

I was no Rose Tyler. I wasn't brave. I wasn't smart. I wasn't witty, quick thinking, or brilliant in any way. The exact opposite, actually. I was a socially anxious geek that stammered and trembled in any new sort of social experience. I sucked at on-the-spot situations, poorly handled stress, and had a tendency to break down under pressure.

I laughed again, though this time it came out more as a sob. I was literally the definition of someone that the Doctor would not want to travel with.

I bit my tongue and composed myself. I wasn't even fully convinced that this was the Doctor's universe.

I turned to my laptop and opened it. Thankfully, this place did have wifi, even if it was slow.

Research. One thing I did know how to do.

I searched 'Doctor Who'. Nothing useful came up.

'Doctor Who TV Show'. Nothing.

Then I stopped. What year was it? I had no idea. What if the show hadn't even started yet?

I typed 'Today's date'.

January 18th. 2004.

2004.

Two thousand fucking four.

I had been in March, 2018.

No. No way.

I shoved the laptop to the side and went to my door to peer out into the hallway. A middle aged man was unlocking his door.

"Excuse me?" I asked tentatively.

"Hmmm?" He looked up expectantly, eyebrows raised in polite curiosity.

"I'm sorry, but uhh…" I stammered, my voice sounded strange.

Holy shit, I sound British. "What's today's date? Year and all… I'm uhh…"

"A bit hungover?" He finished in a distinctly British accent.

"Yeah. Hungover."

He laughed. "January. The eighteenth of. 2004, last I checked. Must've been some party, eh?"

"Something like that," I answered numbly. "Thanks."

I slunk back to my room and sunk back down in front of my computer. Fine. If it was 2004, and the TV show didn't exist, how could I know that I was in the Doctor's universe?

I wracked my brain. Characters. They would be real people here, people I could search.

Rose Tyler. Nothing really came up, but I wasn't exactly surprised. She hadn't exactly been important in 2004.

Who was kind of important?

Harriet Jones. There it was. MP for Flydale North. Exactly like the show. I chewed my lip. Who else?

Pete Tyler. He had died. There could be an obituary somewhere. A death record, news article, something to indicate his death. I found it. A few lines in a news article. Man killed in Hit and Run. Peter Tyler is remembered by wife Jackie Tyler and their daughter, Rose.

Then there you go. Pete, Rose, and Jackie. They existed here.

I chewed my lip again. If I were to think in sci-fi terms, what could be off?

Was I, the person I remembered being, even real?

I dug out my phone. Pictures.

They were all there, exactly like I left them. I scrolled through picture after picture of my cats, my dog, my parents, friends, and brothers. They were all there.

I instantly regretted not having more pictures of myself. I hated having my picture taken. My face had been round and my smile thin. Not ugly, just not photogenic. Almost the exact opposite to the bony, angular body I was in now, which was also not photogenic for a completely different set of reasons.

Finally, I found a few. A couple of me and my best friend making goofy faces at the camera. Another of me playing with a toy lightsaber. Posing with my favorite dog way back before she died of old age.

I existed too. My version of reality did. That expelled my concerns of hallucinating my entire life.

My attention returned to the items in the 'other' pile. Time to go through it properly.

I found the credit card again. Turning it over and over again in my hand, I discovered that it didn't have any numbers on it, it was just a black piece of plastic. So how had it worked for the lady at the desk?

Better question: what made me think that it was a credit card?

Well, I was in the Whoniverse, so assuming that the object was a psychic credit card wasn't all that far fetched.

Psychic credit card. So what else?

A black wallet caught my eye. Holy shit, really?

I picked it up and flipped it open to see the white paper inside the plastic.

It read. 'Yes. It's psychic paper'.

I couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh.

Then my attention turned to a silver metal object. It looked like a thick, silver pen.

After writing a few scribbles on my palm, I was able to conclude that it was, in fact, a pen. At the end opposite to the point was a dark purple stone, making the object look kind of like…

"Please?" I pleaded as I fiddled with the object.

The thing twisted in my hand, revealing that if I twisted it like one of those pens that you twisted instead of clicked, both the writing tip would retract and the other side would spin up to reveal a tiny display screen. "Come on. Please."

I extended my arm, pointed the pen at the TV, pressed a button on the side, and thought ON.

Much to my excitement, the TV turned on.

I gave a little squeak of delight. Sonic pen. Yes.

The next few minutes were whittled away by me experimenting with my new toy. I found out that I could turn the TV to specific channels, gauge the temperature of the fridge, and make all the car alarms on the other side of the road go off all at once.

I grinned maliciously as I watched the people on the street running around in confusion, trying to figure out the cause of the alarms. With a point of the pen, I turned the alarms all off again, making the people on the streets even more confused.

The remaining objects were of a more realistic nature. Eight bottles of water, two boxes of protein bars, a few packs of crackers - and even more bizarre - six pairs of shoes…

I stopped examining the shoes and peered back into the bag. The inside looked like the normal inside of a book bag. But there was no way all of that had fit in there, especially since the thing hadn't even been heavy before I'd emptied it.

A bag that was bigger on the inside. Very Doctor Who-y.

… Six pairs of shoes, including converse, combat boots, silver high heels, tennis shoes, a black pair of flats, and a purple pair of ankle boots. Shoes for every occasion (roughly).

A first aid kit was also included. Upon opening it I discovered things that I did recognize - like band aids, antibacterial ointments, aloe, etc - but then there was a weird scanner-y thing, like something out of Star Trek. There was also what appeared to be a hypospray - also very Star Trek - and a variety of small vials full of colorful liquid. Luckily, they were labeled with uses, like 'headache' and 'diarrhea'.

I made a face at the 'diarrhea' vial and set them to the side.

There were numerous sets of clothes that were, like the shoes, for a variety of occasions. A couple vintage tees, a leather jacket, a sweatshirt, a heavy jacket, a gorgeous purple dress, a sparkling silver dress, several pairs of skinny jeans, a few sweaters, underwear, and a pair of pajamas. At least I wouldn't have to go shopping.

At the bottom of the clothes pile was a thick roll of cash kept together by a rubber band.

I shoved the extensive pile of things off the bed and onto the floor - except for the phone, computer, and screwdriver, of course - and settled back on the pillows to think.

"Okay… it's okay," I said aloud. "When you find the Doctor, he'll sort it all out. He's a genius… he'll understand."

So what's next?

"I have to find him. How do I do that?"

Foreknowledge.

I made my mouth into a little 'o'.

As long as this reality followed the show, I could probably work out where he would be when. I was in London, so that was a start. The Doctor was almost always in London. And if this was 2004, the next time I for-sure knew he would be here was…

2005.

"Fuck."

It was January 2004.

"That's a whole year! What am I going to do until then?"

The panic I had been staving off came back in full force.

I was eighteen. I was in college, living in the dorms, but I had never actually been on my own before. My mom still made my appointments, gave me money, and helped to make all of my important decisions. Now I was on my own. Really on my own.

NOW the panic set in, accompanied by grief and dread.

Would I ever see them again? The tenth Doctor had made it very clear that traveling across the universes was next to impossible. I mean, I had got here, but that was no guarantee of getting back.

I started to cry. It was all too much. I wasn't going to see them again. Sure, there was a chance, but it was the tiniest of chances. And even then it would be easily over a year before it even became an option.

Might as well accept it now.

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Once I had hiccuped myself into silence afteI wiped my eyes and grit my teeth.

I had to find the Doctor. That was the only thing I could do. The entire year was a good thing; it gave me plenty of time to prepare. Prepare and adjust.

He would be in London some time in 2005. But where?

I smacked myself in the forehead.

I had the episodes, damnit. They were on my laptop. I had downloaded them all from a bootleg site ages ago in a fit of rage after they had been taken off of Netflix. All of the new series, from season one to season ten, were at my fingertips. All of the information I could ever need.

I started with episode one of season one. Rose. I picked through every piece of that episode. Over and over again. Nothing passed unnoticed, not a piece of paper, not a building sign, not a person. I had to get this right. Very little room for error. One wrong building, one wrong location, could mean the difference between an entire year.

I wasn't going to miss it.

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