Title: Reset
Authors: Gillian Taylor
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Rose Tyler, Ninth Doctor, Jack Harkness
Summary: Time isn't a straight line. Sometimes it loops back before going forward again. Sometimes it's meant to do that. Most of the time it isn't.
Spoilers: Up to Empty Child/Doctor Dances
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
Archive: Sure, just let me know.
A/N: Written for the Anywhere But Cardiff ficathon on the LJ Community Time And Chips. Thanks, as always, to my fantastic betas WMR and Ponygirl.
Reset
by Gillian Taylor
Chapter 1: Rewind
The city is dying. It's only truly obvious at night, when the pale starlight is all that bathes the decrepit buildings in its silvery glow. There are no lights, no power, nothing to fight off the darkness. When she sees people, they walk with a slow, plodding step, their faces etched in despair, as though they know without a shadow of doubt that the end is near.
Sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees the city as it once was – brilliant and gleaming, and a shining example of everything humanity can do in the future. But it's a lie that's stolen away the moment she blinks, the moment she gets distracted by something the Doctor says, something Jack says.
It seems, at times, that they've been here forever. Walking the same path, tracing the same steps, over and over again in some deity's game of chance. The Doctor said that something is wrong here, something terribly, terribly wrong, and she agrees. Death surrounds them. There are a few people that fight against it, yes, but for the most part they are resigned to its inevitability.
When they first arrived on Mars – Mars! She still can't believe that she's on Earth's sister planet – the Doctor said that there was something wrong with time. Nothing more specific than that. 'Something wrong'. Rose wanted to ask if that meant the Reapers would come, but she held her tongue. She didn't want to resurrect those memories, those feelings, of when she destroyed the world and him.
So they investigated, poked around, got into trouble and out of it again. But nothing revealed itself as a possible source, a possible cause. There didn't seem to be a problem here, despite the Doctor's insistence.
They can't save these people, she knows. What happens here is their fault, their own downward spiral. She wishes she could do more here, save lives, but she can't. Not really. Not now. These are the dying moments of a civilisation. Soon – a few years, a century, more – this place will be gone. Swallowed by time and there will be nothing left.
She thinks, in those quiet times, when she lets herself do nothing but feel, that she can sympathise. That was the Rose Tyler before the Doctor, swallowed by Time, leaving something new in its wake. The Rose Tyler she is now, the one who gets into trouble, who laughs and jokes and lives with a Time Lord and a former conman, is something new, something different.
Sometimes she suspects she can see the world as he does, see time stretching out before her. Sometimes, she knows she can. Even here, surrounded by death, she thinks she knows what concerns the Doctor. She can feel it in the air, taste it on her tongue.
"All right?" the Doctor asks, his fingers tightening slightly around hers.
She shrugs. "Yeah. I'm fine." What she can't tell him is that something is starting to creep up on her, a sensation like déjà vu, but not exactly.
Jack gives her a look and something in his eyes, perhaps the uneasiness that she finds there, doesn't reassure her.
She reaches out, entwining her fingers with Jack's, trying to draw as much comfort as she can from their presence. Something is wrong, but she can't explain it. Something is coming, but she knows it's already here.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, startling in the relative silence of the city. She draws closer to the Doctor, unsure of just what's causing her unease. They're almost back to the TARDIS. She knows that she'll be able to relax there, that they'll be safe. They just have to make it in time.
Something of her urgency must transfer to the Doctor as he quickens his pace.
A crack of thunder, far too close, causes them all to jump. "That's not thunder," Jack says, frowning at her side.
The Doctor's expression is grim as he nods. "No, it isn't."
Just ahead of them, she can see Sarassen, one of the locals who had taken a particular shine to the Doctor. He's holding something in between his hands, turning it over and over again. When he looks up at them, there's something dead behind his eyes. Desperation and death intermingled.
"You can't stop me," Sarassen says. "Not this time."
The Doctor releases her hand, telling her without words to stay with Jack. "Call me a bit thick, but what're you on about?"
Sarassen laughs and there's something bitter lacing its tone. "You already know, Time Lord."
She's confused. How does he know what the Doctor is? He never told Sarassen, as far as she knows.
"Nope, sorry. Already told you. I'm a bit thick. Might have to spell it out for me," the Doctor says, smiling.
Sarassen laughs again and she knows he's going to do something. She cries out, slipping free from the Doctor's and Jack's restraining hands to reach towards Sarassen. That device in his hands – what is it? – Saraseen's squeezing it and she's grasping the cloth of his shirt and Jack's hand is on her shoulder and there's a brilliant flash of something like lightning and it's arcing towards the TARDIS and the Doctor's shouting and-
Then there's nothing at all.
Eighteen Hours Ago
"No, wait, let me guess," Rose says, laughing. "You end up naked an' you're running away from some monster or something an' don't stop until you hit the space-lanes?"
Jack grins. "Oh, you already know the punch line!"
"That's 'cause it never changes, Captain," the Doctor says from his position half-underneath the TARDIS console.
"What can I say?" Jack asks, spreading his arms open wide. "I'm easy."
She giggles, leaning against the back of what Jack mockingly calls 'his' chair. "We already know that. So, don't you know any stories where you don't end up naked?" She's really starting to suspect that he doesn't. It's either that or he just likes to get a reaction out of both herself and the Doctor. Then again, that sounds far more likely.
"None worth telling," Jack solemnly replies.
A momentary pang of something akin to déjà vu tingles up her spine. Their words are familiar for some reason. "Wait. Have we talked about this before?"
"What? My nakedness? Plenty of times. Offered to show you, too, but you keep turning me down."
At any other time, she would've used that opening. Would've said something cheeky or teased Jack about his need to show off, but not this time. "No. I mean this. This conversation. This exact conversation. Seems familiar for some reason." She shakes her head. "Ignore me. Probably didn't get enough sleep last night or somethin'. It's nothing."
"I could help with that," Jack says.
"I'm sure you could," she replies, grinning. "So, where're we going next?"
"How about-" the Doctor begins, but his words are cut off by the sound of a siren. There's a loud thump from underneath the console, followed by a string of words that the TARDIS refuses to translate.
Jack's already at the console by the time she disentangles her legs from underneath her and the Doctor's extracted himself from the console. She knows that sound far too well. "Mauve," she says.
"That's right," the Doctor says, flipping several switches and directing Jack to do the same. "Mauve and dangerous, certainly. Oh, no. That's impossible." The Doctor's talking to himself now, barely acknowledging herself or Jack. "That shouldn't exist. Can't exist!"
"What is it?" she asks.
The Doctor gives her an unreadable look as he twists a knob. The TARDIS quakes in response and she's forced to grab hold of the railing in an almost futile attempt to remain upright.
"Oh no you don't. You're not getting away from me that easily! Jack, red button, top right," the Doctor says, gesturing towards the appropriate place.
The quake becomes violent the instant that Jack's fingers touch the button. She grips the railing with both hands, her knuckles clenched white as she fights to retain her footing.
Seemingly oblivious to the tremors, the Doctor moves around the console, continuing to flip switches, twist knobs and pump the bicycle pump without regard to how she and Jack are holding on for dear life. She worries that the TARDIS is going to shake apart – hordes of Genghis Khan not withstanding. How much can even the TARDIS withstand, especially when it feels like her teeth are trying to rattle free from her jaw?
Just as she's about to voice the question – though she doesn't really want to know – everything stills. It takes her a moment to convince her fingers to let go of her death grip, still somewhat surprised that she didn't end up in a heap on the floor.
"Well, that was fun," Jack says dryly. She turns her head to see him carefully picking himself up off the floor. "Doesn't your ship know that there're easier ways of getting me on my back? All she has to do is ask. "
The Doctor rolls his eyes. "Stop flirting with the TARDIS."
"Oh, but she likes it," Jack says, patting the console. "Don't you, girl?"
The Doctor folds his arms in front of himself and gives Jack a look that she suspects could melt lead as the ship's hum deepens in response.
"Should I leave you three alone?" she asks, catching her tongue between her teeth as she grins. "'Cause you know, I can go out an' explore by myself."
Jack reaches out and snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her into a half-hug. "Nah. You can get between us any time you like."
She laughs and pushes him playfully away, slipping free of the embrace to approach the Doctor. "So, where are we?"
The Doctor frowns as he turns to the console, tapping in a few commands. "I don't know," he finally says. "The old girl's refusing to respond."
The hairs at the nape of her neck rise as a chill runs down her spine. The Doctor's expression and his words are striking a chord. Impossible, though. This hasn't happened before.
Or has it?
Shivering, she wraps her arms around herself as Jack joins the Doctor at the console. Several minutes pass where they debate transistors, polarity and something about neutrons. None of it makes any sense but, judging by their expressions, the debate isn't helping.
"Only one thing for it, then," the Doctor says.
"What's that?" she asks, needing to contribute something.
"We take a look for ourselves," he replies and turns on his heel to head towards the doors. He pauses before the exit, resting his hand against the handle. "Coming?"
Both she and Jack have to run to catch up with him as he opens the doors and steps outside.
"Mars," Jack says the instant his feet touch the red soil. He'd recognise this dust anywhere. Got enough of it on him at one point where he was thoroughly sick of the colour for at least a year. Or was it two?
Rose's eyes are wide as she looks around them, taking in the view. There's something different about Mars. Maybe it's because it's the closest planet to Earth or maybe it's the memory of the Ice Warriors that still cling to the soil, but it always gives him the willies. Then again, that could also just be the memory of the last time he was here.
Judging by the air, not to mention the shabby-looking city just ahead of them, it's got to be at least the sixty-ninth century, give or take a hundred years. After Earth's overpopulation got to be too much, humans started to move to the neighbouring planets, never mind whether those planets were populated or not. The Ice Warriors had long abandoned their homeworld, leaving behind ruins that the humans happily adapted into their own dwellings as they terraformed the planet.
They just never counted on the fact that the soil was never meant to sustain terran life. Eventually, Mars will be abandoned again as a dying world. These are just last dying breaths of this particular civilisation.
"When?" Rose asks. She could've asked about the city or even the air, but she didn't. That's what he likes about Rose. She asks clever questions.
Before he can answer, the Doctor replies, "Sixty-ninth century by your reckoning. Locals call it…"
"1969," Jack concludes. The Doctor gives him a questioning look and he shrugs. "That's what the Agency always called it. The dying days of the century of love."
"Doesn't look like this place has got a lot to do with hippies," Rose says and he grins.
"Oh, you'd be surprised. Free love is very popular nowadays."
"Thought you said you're from the fifty-first century." Rose is giving him a suspicious glance.
"Oh, I am. I suppose you could say that I'm just a free loving kind of guy. Born in the wrong century, that's me."
"Something's wrong," the Doctor says suddenly.
Jack's hand is immediately freeing his blaster from its holster at his side, scanning the area for danger. "What is it?" he asks.
"There's something wrong with time," the Doctor answers cryptically and holds out his hand. For the briefest of seconds he wonders why the Doctor's asking to hold his hand before Rose's slips into place. He doesn't question the pang that shoots through him at the movement. After all, it's not often that he gets to travel with two gorgeous, and completely oblivious, companions.
"What's wrong with it?" Rose watches the Doctor carefully, almost as if she's trying to read the man behind the Time Lord's eyes. There've been plenty of times that he's suspected she can.
The Doctor shrugs. "Your language doesn't have the words for it. It's wrong."
Thanks, Doc. That helps ever so much. He shakes his head as he lets his fingers relax their grip on the blaster. "Well, we're not learning anything just standing around here. Might as well investigate. Maybe there's something in the city that can tell us what's so mauve about this place?"
The look on the Doctor's face isn't reassuring. If anything, it's enough to make him want to turn around and head back to the TARDIS. He doesn't, though. That's the Doctor's and Rose's faults.
They walk to the city in silence. Mars, especially the Mars of this era, isn't exactly the holiday spot of the universe. Most strangers are greeted with dislike, if not open hostility. He's about to warn his friends when someone steps out into the street in front of them, his hand extended towards the Doctor and a beguiling smile on his face.
"Welcome to Founder's Landing," the man says. "My name is Sarassen ne Therasil."
Something about the man doesn't sit right with him, but he can't explain what it is or even why. Instinct has him watching the man suspiciously. So far he hasn't done anything particularly threatening, but he's still unconvinced.
The Doctor's smiling as he reaches out and shakes the man's hand. "Hello! I'm the Doctor. This is Rose and that's Jack."
"Pleasure, I'm sure," Sarassen says. There's a flicker of something in the other man's eyes that he's tempted to call hatred, but that doesn't make sense. Why would he hate them? "What brings you to our city?"
He's about to say something, but the Doctor beats him to it. "Promised Rose that I'd show her Mars, actually. She's never been for all her livin' practically next door."
Sarassen's smile falters, but remains all the same. "You have come a few centuries too late if you truly wished to see this city at its best."
Rose shakes her head. "I think it's brilliant," she says. The surprise to him is that she means it. He knew that she wasn't a typical girl from her century before. After all, most of her fellow humans would've been curled in a protective ball and crying by now. Not Rose, though.
She seems to see potential where all he can see is decay. It occurs to him that maybe this is what the Doctor sees in her.
"I will leave you to your explorations, my friends. Knock on any door you wish to enter. If those who live there wish it, they will let you in." Sarassen bowed slightly from his waist, directing the gesture towards the Doctor.
Suspicion has him watching the other man as he leaves, carefully taking note of his direction and speed until he disappears behind a building. He isn't certain which he prefers – having Sarassen gone or having him close.
"I don't trust him," Rose states, startling him with the directness of that statement.
Something of his astonishment must be evident as she turns to him with a brief smile. "Thought you said this time is known as the century of love. If anything, I would've expected 'im to flirt. To say something. He did nothing of the sort. Could've been someone from my time, actually. Seems a bit off, that's all."
"Could be his surroundings," he says, glancing around at the gloomy, decrepit city. "I might not feel like… Nope. You're right. He's just not natural."
Rose's grin makes him feel like he's on top of the world.
"If you're finished?" the Doctor asks, giving him a nearly indecipherable look. On one hand, it might be frustration and aggravation. On the other, it might be regret.
He chooses to believe it to be the latter. Grinning, he moves to stand next to the Doctor, shoulder barely brushing the other man's leather jacket. "No need to insult me, Doc. I can keep going for hours." He indulges in a leer.
The Doctor doesn't bother to respond, instead turning his attention to his sonic screwdriver. "There're strong electromagnetic readings in this direction…" The Time Lord sets off at a rapid pace and, once again, both he and Rose are forced to scramble to keep up.
She isn't certain what she thought they'd find when they discovered the source of the mauve alert. Something in danger of exploding, perhaps. Or a dangerous alien artefact or a rebellion or an evil alien that's decided Mars is his new murdering ground.
That it turns out to be nothing more than a broken communications circuit is almost depressing. At least it would be if she hadn't been expecting it. Sighing, she rubs her eyes as she half-listens to the fervent apologies of the city's Lord Mayor.
Like the rest of the city, this control centre seems to be barely standing. Computers spark and groan around them. The lights are barely functional and it's only thanks to the wide window that she can even see the Lord Mayor's face.
Jack and the Doctor are huddled around the faulty communications grid. Neither one seem to be paying attention to the Lord Mayor, unless it's to cut across his apologies with a pointed question. The grid is dismantled, they're trying to fix it, but all she wants to do is leave.
Damnit. This isn't like her. She should be asking questions, learning more about the city and the Lord Mayor himself. She should be helping the Doctor, helping Jack, as they struggle to repair the broken machine.
"…you're missing a control crystal. Has anyone…?" Jack's voice intrudes on her thoughts, but she doesn't let herself focus on what's being said. Not just yet.
She's focusing on the strange, almost nebulous, feeling that's been growing in her mind ever since they got here. Before that, if she's honest with herself. She knows what's going to happen.
No. That's impossible. No-one knows the future. Maybe the Doctor does, or even Jack, but not to this degree of certainty.
Maybe she should tell the Doctor about this. The sense that every event is predictable, down to the Lord Mayor's snorting laugh, is almost overpowering. Logically, she knows this hasn't happened before. She's never been to Mars. She's never met the Lord Mayor or Sarassen or anyone else on this planet.
This city isn't familiar, the events aren't the same as they always have been and she just needs a good night's rest to get over this. That's the simple answer.
Rose suspects that the answer she's looking for is anything but.
She shivers as a chill runs up her spine, a certainty that something's terribly wrong. Is this what the Doctor meant by 'something's wrong with time'? Is this what he felt? She looks at him, but his attention is on the Lord Mayor.
Something just barely visible through the window catches her attention and she finds herself moving away from the others to investigate. From this height, at least five storeys off the ground, she can see well down the main street that leads through the city. But what causes her to pause isn't her surroundings. It isn't even the few people that she can see hurrying towards their destinations.
It's Sarassen.
He's holding something in his hands, looking upwards. Despite the fact that he can't possibly know she's there, she gets the distinct impression that he's staring at her.
Thunder rumbles through the building and she blinks at the sound, somehow linking it to the man on the street below.
"That's not thunder," she corrects herself.
But before she can analyse the thought, there's another crack of thunder and the world turns brilliantly, painfully white.
To be continued...