Devotion to the Enemy

Disclaimer: Doctor Who © BBC.
Author: Story; Devotion to the Enemy © Dasha Feather.
Characters: The (Eleventh) Doctor, The Part-Human Doctor (James Smith), Rose Tyler, Jackie Tyler, Alt!Pete Tyler, Tony Tyler, Jake Simmons, Alt!Owen Harper, Alt!Toshiko Sato, Alt!Ianto Jones, Alt!Gwen Cooper/Williams, Alt!Rhys Williams.
Original Characters: Jaydon Tyler, Others...
Spoilers: All New!Who Series.
Timeline: Post Journey's End.
Summary: Caring for her 6yr old son and working her hardest to keep the food on the table is a full time job for one, Rose Tyler. Being abandoned by the people you love isn't much fun either, but when it's for someone you adore so much – your son, no less – what choice do you have, but to let them go? Rose's life is getting harder by the day, but then comes back the blue police box... and everything changes.

Author's Note:So, this is my very first story posted here on and I'm really, really hoping it's alright. Also really, really nervous it won't be. I'd love feedback, if you wouldn't mind dropping me a line. It might be a tiny bit... confusing, but the following chapters explain how the situation... began, much better.

Chapter One

The stars blinked, the small dots bright, scattered throughout the dark expansion of everlasting space, as the zeppelins hanging in the dark moved ever so slowly amongst them. The tree tops swayed, a slight and freezing wind rustling the leaves. A layer of white and the lightest blue was beginning to settle onto the surface, the clear, freezing winter night set to skate the roads and paths with frosty ice.

In a small flat in a town in the North of England a mother, Rose Tyler, was sitting by the bed of her son. A small, slightly worn hardback book of Children's Fairy Tales was open on her lap, her brown eyes cast down as she read the words to the small boy, glancing down at him with a smile ever so often as the six-year-old looked up at her with thoughtful and curious eyes. His own deep, dark, black eyes oddly troubled, and uncomfortable. The young boy idly pulled on his white blond hair, curling it around his middle finger.

"...But while the wolf was climbing on to the roof, the little pig made up a blazing fire and put on a big pot full of water to boil," Rose was reading softly. "Then, just as the wolf was coming down the chimney, the little piggy took off the lid, and plump! In fell the wolf, into the scalding water... So the little piggy put on the cover again, boiled the wolf up, and ate him for supper!"

The small boy stared up at his mother, eyes as wide as saucers and mouth now gaping. "He ate him for supper?" he repeated, full of skepticism, disbelief and something similar to regret.

"Well, the wolf ate the third pig's brothers," Rose said knowingly, with a frown, almost a little defensively.

"Yes," said the boy in a small voice, a sigh escaping as if he were now suddenly very bored with the whole thing. "But that's because he's supposed to. It's all part of the food chain. Wolves eat pigs. A pig can't eat a wolf!" he scoffed.

Rose sighed gently, shutting the book and crowing it to her chest. "It's just a story, Jaydon," she said quietly. She stood up from her chair, placing the book on the bedside table and leaning over her son, ready to tuck him away to sleep.

"Not a very good one," the little boy named Jaydon said, and his head tilted in disappointment, though Rose wasn't sure whether that was due to the 'not very good' story, or because he knew she was now kissing him goodnight, ready to leave him for the night. "I like wolves. Why did the fat, ugly pig have to eat the wolf?"

"Because," she said simply, not elaborating further but simply stating the word as a fact of reason Jaydon should already know.

"Because what?"

"Just because," she sighed a little impatiently, her voice rising slightly and hand moving subconsciously to wipe a blond strand of hair behind her ear. Rose sighed, regretting her short words when she saw her son's hurt, confused features. "It was just... bad."

"A bad wolf," Jaydon said, his voice hushed.

Rose felt a sudden chill run up her arms, the hair at the back of her neck standing abruptly on end. The words caused much more of a creeping déjàvu than she would like to admit. "Yes," she said quietly, "a bad wolf."

Jaydon yawned tiredly. "As long as you don't eat me up if I'm bad," he mumbled, rolling onto his side, his eyes already half closed.

Rose smiled gently, kissing his forehead and stroking back his blond curls. "I'll try not to," she murmured softly, standing up. "Though I might have to consider it if you nick my mobile again," she quickly added, remembering a few days ago when she'd caught him messing about with her large, black mobile phone (clan with an aerial Jaydon used to call the 'pointy thingy'); changing the ring tone among other things.

Soft, sleepy breathing was all she gained in reply.

At the doorway of the bedroom, Rose looked back to her son's sleeping form, smiling openly and leaning her head against the door frame. "See you in the morning, sweetheart," she whispered softly. He did not stir, and most probably had not even heard her, but still smiling, Rose turned around out the room, closing the door behind her.

She walked the short distance into the living room across the dingy hallway, almost tripping over one of Jaydon's Transformers, and doing a good job of stubbing her toe. Wincing and giving a tiny hop and huff of annoyance, she fell back onto the sofa, leaning her head back for a moment of peace. The silence consumed the air around her.

Nothing except the very gently, so very quiet, tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. Ticking away the seconds, minutes, hours...

Rose looked silently round the small living room, taking in the mess of another day gone by. Toys and books littered the carpet; various objects, from a spilt plastic box of Lego pieces, (now covering the carpet in a reel of bright colors) to a large, thick Earth and Space Encyclopedia.

Their large, wildly outdated 90's TV set with the small screen sat on the DVD cabinet opposite, looking more like it was part of the big, black cabinet it was sitting on. Their wonky Christmas Tree stood right by the TV, leaning towards the telly as if gravity were pulling it forward and blocking half of the screen (though admittedly, there wasn't really anywhere else to put it). Jaydon had insisted they put up their tree, despite the fact it was only the beginning of November.

To the left of Rose was the kitchen, where she knew were mountains of pots and plates for her to wash; remnants from the spaghetti hoops and chips they'd devoured on the sofa earlier as the two of them watched Tracy Beaker, by Jaydon's request. She couldn't be bothered to start washing them, though she knew that would come back to bite her tomorrow when she'd be making their breakfast in a filthy kitchen to which a layabout with no job and a bout of messy persona would be proud of.

She stared at the messy living room she was in for a moment, wondering how her mother had ever managed this. This 'single mum living in a council flat' lark. Then she felt the dreaded prickle of hot tears in her eyes and croaky closing of her throat she always felt when thinking of her mother and family. Blinking furiously and swallowing hard, Rose took a steady breath to try and relieve the sobs threatening to overwhelm her.

She closed her eyes, settled her head back, and tried to think of other things. Like what though? The bills that were due in yesterday? Or the cupboards that were just about empty? She almost physically groaned when she remembered that she was working tomorrow; a mind numbing job stacking shelves at Tesco with a wage similar to a paper boy... well, near enough, anyway. Not that she could find anything else, or even ask for a pay rise or overtime.

They had made sure that was never possible. Nope, no ounce of happiness. That was the law they'd set her alone. They had the power over the entire country. And that's how they used it.

Shaking off unwelcome thoughts, Rose opened her bleary eyes just as her mobile phone began to ring. Her head whipped round, seeing it vibrating on the cabinet in between the wonky Christmas Tree and large TV set as it screamingly sang out Slade's Merry Christmas Everybody (a ring tone Jaydon had clearly set on her phone, despite her protests). Rushing over and quickly answering it before the roaring singer even got out the second line, Rose spoke quietly and a little nervously into the phone (the large 'brick' phone, as her son loved to call it).

"Hello?" she greeted.

"Rose?" came the tentative whisper of a child's voice in reply.

Rose felt her body relax, grinning solidly as she recognized the voice. The voice of her favorite, eight-year-old brother; Tony Tyler.

"Tony!" she gushed with a grin, hopping over various bits and pieces of Lego as she plonked herself back onto the sofa. "Hey! You alright? How you doing, little man?"

Over the phone she could hear Tony swallow, his breathing a little shallow as he coughed nervously. Rose suddenly felt a clench of fear squeeze at her chest. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

Then a thought crawled into her head. "Are they listening? Mum an' da-," she stopped suddenly, and corrected herself, "Your mum an' dad – are they with you? Are they listening? Tony, I've told you not to call when they're with you," she scolded him gently, with a small bit of exasperation.

For a moment there was only continued hallow breathing over the phone, then she heard the distinct sound of something like a small, strangled sob. "No," her brother croaked. "They're not h – here."

"Then what is it?" Rose felt her heart clench painfully, as she was greeted with nothing but another loud sob. "Tony, why are you crying? What's wrong?" The beating pulse in her chest was painful; Tony never cried.

She heard a loud sniff as Tony got his bearings, taking a steady breath in the same way Rose always did when controlling tears. "I wanted to... to talk to you," he murmured shakily.

"You know you can always talk to me," Rose said softly. "Always. What is it you wanted to talk about?" She hesitated for just a second; her hand around the phone clenched tighter, painfully. "Has something happened?"

"I gotta – I gotta t - tell you somethin', Rose," Tony struggled between sniffs and tears.

Rose could just imagine, with a lump in her throat, her little brother scrunched into a ball on the corner of his bed, probably in the Scooby Doo pajamas he'd told her about the other week, with tears running down the clear complexion of his face and messy, dark blond hair squashed against his pillow as he held his mobile phone tight to his ear.

"It's... it's my mum."

Rose swallowed the rising lump in her throat, only to have it chucked back up at her. Her heart was beating fanatically and fear aching and consuming every part of her. "What? What's wrong with mum?" she breathed out; her voice sounded like someone else's. She didn't even notice she'd referred to Jackie as 'mum' instead of 'your mum'.

Tony seemed not to notice either. "My dad says she's sick, Rose," he choked. "He says she's got... got ca – cancer."

Rose couldn't speak. The clenched hand around her mobile loosened considerably and she almost dropped it. She'd heard the words her brother had spoken, but they couldn't really function into her brain. She couldn't fully grasp what he was saying."What?" was all she could whisper.

"I don't know what to do!" Tony sobbed, and she could hear the hysteria in his voice. "I don't know what it... Everyone's so sad." Then, in a hushed whisper, "I'm scared, Rose..."

Rose's stomach churned at her brother's fearful tone. He was scared. So scared. But she had to help him; it was her job as an older sister – even if he might not exactly know she was his older sister. Taking a deep breath and steadying her voice, Rose spoke kindly and firmly to him, "Listen, little man. It's gonna be okay, but you've gotta be strong. For mu– for your mum. Can you do that, Tony? I know it's scary, and your confused, and everyone's very sad and scared, but you have to try and be a brave boy. Okay?"

For a moment all she got was more hallow, deep breathing in reply. A few sniffs and a small cough later and Tony spoke quietly. "'Kay.... yeah, okay"

Rose nodded, though Tony couldn't see her. "She'll be okay, Tone. She will; she'll be... just fine."

"Yeah..." She heard Tony take a gulp of air, before he hiccuped loudly into the phone.

"It's your mum, Tone," Rose whispered, smiling small but fondly, "She'll be back to nagging you senseless by next month. You watch."

Tony gave a small, nervous titter of short laughter, and hiccuped once more. "Th - thanks, Rose." She heard his deep breathing calm slightly, his sniffs thinning.

"What are cousins for?" she murmured softly.

That was the story she'd had to tell her brother a year or two ago when she'd first got into contact with him; she and Tony were distant cousins, she'd fallen out with his mother a while back and he wasn't to tell her they were contacting each other. And that was that.

Her own breath was heavy, and she had to close her eyes for a moment, doing what she always did.

Swallow her feelings. Bury them deep down.

She then flicked her eyes back open, blinking furiously, tears blinding her momentarily. She took another deep breath. "How's mum right now?" she asked quietly, with slight hesitation. She realized immediately after that she had once again referred to Jackie as 'mum', not 'your mum'; but again, Tony seemed not to notice.

"Uhm. Okay," Tony said, his voice croaking just a little, broken voice fixed just slightly. "She's in bed right now. Tomorrow she's going to the... the hospital."

Rose's lip quivered and she frowned regretfully; her mother had always hated hospitals. "Yeah? Well, I'm sure they won't keep her long. She'll be out again by the time you're back from school."

"Yeah..."

There was hesitation in his little voice and Rose got the feeling he was desperate to tell her something, but not sure she'd want to talk about it. She could picture him biting his lip as the thick air between them grew. Rose waited patiently for it, both desperate to know what was on his mind and dreading it at the same time. If he talked about her mother dying –

Rose did not complete that thought.

"James helped," he blurted out suddenly, in a loud tone that shocked her next to the soft and a little whispered conversation they'd just been having. "Uhm, I mean... James got her into a private hospital type thing, and he's in the house right now... helping."

Rose sat, stunned; whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't that.

Tony knew that Rose didn't like talking about James, the family friend who visited every so often... Rose knew that, and she knew he'd thought maybe it was something to do with his job, a very important job at that. And following her silence, or sometimes even tears, at the mention of James, Tony would always drop it, almost understanding, not even asking about it.

She swallowed hard. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't the name ('James') that turned her stomach to stone. James was just a meaningless name. It wasn't even his name. All the actual name brought to her mind was an idiot she used to go to school with, who used to shove pens up his nose and smash half-eaten, bitty pieces of a Mars bar down her top.

No, the name James did nothing for her really. It was the meaning of the words though. The simple fact was that although she may not think of him as James, it didn't change the fact that he was still helping her mum. Helping all of them where she couldn't.

Rose took a deep breath. "Right," she breathed heavily. "James is... there with you."

"He's downstairs," Tony half whispered.

"I thought he was a bit... busy, for stuff like that..." Rose murmured, the hand that wasn't clutching the phone now wrapped tightly around her legs. She put her chin on her knees, staring straight ahead, at the door leading to the hallway and her son's room.

"Yeah." Tony hesitated. "He is. But he's here helping sometimes... Probably, just, uh, trying to help his job... his campaign thing. I heard our sectary say that, anyway."

Rose smiled gently. She knew Tony made a huge effort to hate their family friend. And found it very difficult. Rose couldn't blame him though. She had been very much the same... once upon a time.

"I better go," she then heard him swallow and say quietly. "...He's gonna put me to bed soon."

Rose stomach did a double back flip as her heart span between her ribs. He was putting her little brother to bed. Her brother was going to see him, speak to him, in a matter of minutes.

"Right," she said, and it came out as a croak. "Best get off then. I'll... talk to you soon, 'kay Tone?"

"Yeah, 'kay," he replied. He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Thanks Rose... I – I feel a bit better now."

The lump in her throat was taking a new high again. Rose took yet another steady breath. "Anytime, little man. I'll see ya."

She smiled slightly into the phone (knowing he couldn't see her, but also knowing he was doing the same) and pressed the red hang-up button.

Sweet, bitter silence welcomed her.

For several minutes she sat in the dim, cluttered living room; arms trapped around her knees, lips shaking, staring straight ahead. Then abruptly, not being able to take the mocking silence around her anymore, she stood up, walked over to the TV and switched it on. The news reporter began droning through the tiny speakers and Rose relaxed a little.

Until he flickered onto the screen. She couldn't have told anyone what the news story behind the entire thing was. Some sort of debate in the Houses of parliament, by the look of it. She couldn't hear anything – nothing except the hallow roaring in her ears at the sight of him.

This was why she hated the news, dodged politics, and rarely watched the TV...

"Earlier today the Prime Minister, James Smith, was speaking in the..." The words droned on, meaningless to Rose.

On the screen James Smith was smiling tightly to his audience; his brown hair as messy as ever; his drawn eyes not twinking, just glassy. He stared at the screen and a rare wave of despair, loneliness and boredom passed through his features before quickly being pushed aside and replaced with a fake smile and due resignation.

Rose just stared. For once she didn't turn it off. She simply watched as James Smith did his Prime Minister thing.

Read a speech. Faked a smile. Lied to his audience now and then.

Rose just watched with tear stained cheeks.