CALL HIM JOHNNY
Chapter One: Just Us Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than a pair of Tardis Converse. Author's Note: This will be a multi-chaptered fic...but seeing as exams are looming like erm ...Daleks I must give them my undivided attention :( Set in Pete's World. I think that if Jackie were to have a son, " More Tyler's on the way", then she'd probably name him after the Doctor, since it's sorta because of the Doctor that she was re-united with Pete, yet of course there's only one Doctor, isn't there Rose? So how about 'borrowing' John Smith? Outside, the grey, dreary sky had darkened to a stormy slate-coloured gloom as the morning had progressed, like a new bruise. It had just begun to rain. Great, fat droplets of water fell from the sky, bouncing off the pavements and roads, speckling the windows, causing the shoppers and commuters that milled about London's streets to pull their hoods down low over their foreheads and huddle beneath umbrellas. Drops of misery. Lost in her own thoughts and daydreams as she stared at the falling rain outside the window, she didn't properly hear the question being directed at her, tugging her back to reality. " What do you think, Miss. Tyler?" asked one of the men critically, casting a rather patronising eye over her, as if he deemed her incapable of holding any form or worthwhile opinion. Rose felt her cheeks flush, mentally kicking herself for not paying attention. An old, child-like prickle of guilt came over her, as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't and was about to be scolded by a teacher. What had been the question? What did she think about what? The weather? The tax rates? The price of the most recently released zeppelin? Hardly. She swallowed, clasping her hands together in her lap; the palms of which were sweaty and clammy; the room suddenly felt uncomfortably hot and stuffy. She couldn't afford to let this boorish man know that she hadn't been listening- not when he already seemed to think that she was about as professional as a small toddler dressing up in her mum's business suit and patent heels. Really though, with his halting, toneless manner of speaking, was it any wonder that she'd switched off? This man; Mr. Luguet, or whatever his name was, was exactly like her old history teacher at Jericho Street Comprehensive, who had the same soporific voice that could make even the most diligent student yearn for the bell to ring. The same, insufferably dull teacher was probably the main reason why she didn't do as well in history as she could have done but then, considering that it was mostly because of her and the Doctor that established history actually happened in the first place, rather than be re-written by some form of power-mad alien, (making sure that the Treaty of Versailles was actually drawn up had, incidentally been a particular problem) she thought she could be forgiven for doodling idly on her folder when he'd droned on about the many doctrines of the League of Nations. Nevertheless, she'd just have to bluff her way through this; thinking on her feet was something she was rather good at, having once known a man who had been an expert at talking himself out of trouble… " I think," she said, choosing her words carefully because she really didn't have the faintest idea of what she was supposed to be talking about, " that you're skirting the issue Mr. Luguet. My opinion is irrelevant; it's not my team who will have to cope with Paris in lockdown if the sewers explode, is it?" She raised her eyebrows at the man and saw that, against his will he was rather impressed. " Excellent point," he said wryly, giving her a small smile before turning his attention to his stony-faced colleagues. " Mademoiselle Tyler a dit que…" Exhaling softly and resisting the urge to fiddle with a strand of hair, which she often did whenever she felt uncomfortable, Rose exchanged a brief look with her team, who smirked back at her, nodding approvingly. They, at least thought she could handle it, even if she herself wasn't quite so sure. She felt someone kick her gently under the table and looked sideways to see Mickey grinning at her. " Nice one," he said quietly, out of the corner of his mouth as the rest of the table returned to debating about…whatever they had been discussing before. " You were a million miles away," he teased her, shaking his head at her in mock disapproval. Rose rolled her eyes and reached for the jug of ice-cold water that stood proudly at the centre of the polished table, pouring herself a glass. " I wish I was a million miles away," she said darkly, taking a sip of water and letting out a small sigh. " On a scale of one to ten," he said, amusedly, watching her grim expression, " how much do you hate meetings?" " Ohh," Rose puffed her cheeks out, pretending to think about it, " twelve," she replied, ruefully. Rose Tyler, the girl who had seen the end of the world, killed the Emperor of the Daleks, had tea with Charles Dickens, wound up Queen Victoria and travelled through time and space helping to save the universe, was stuck in a meeting. She didn't do meetings. Not at all. Not ever. She'd only been working for Torchwood for six months yet in that time she'd shown an uncanny ability to bend the rules, single-handedly brought down an illegal operation that had been shipping alien's to China to be sold as factory workers, hated being referred to as 'Ma'am', flatly refused to use a fire arm unless absolutely necessary,( on one occasion she'd even thrown her gun into the Thames in disgust, stating rather cryptically that ' he never used violence') and even managed to ruffle the feathers of Harriet Jones. More recently however, she'd been visiting local schools giving talks and workshops on alien awareness; advising children and teenagers on what to do if they ever came across an alien or an alien artefact. Not that she was remotely bothered, but it was this that had apparently annoyed Harriet Jones so much. Her misguided approach to alien life forms was to sweep any reports under the carpet and bury her head even deeper in the sand, whereas Rose was choosing to do the exact opposite. So, yeah she was more at home charging around London in her jeans and trainers chasing after a rogue Nostrovite or Sleeper than sitting primly around a pristine conference table drinking lukewarm coffee, discussing alien politics with a bunch of stiff, deadpan overly pompous, overly qualified bores from the various different branches of Torchwood around the globe. A week ago though, her dad had called her in to his office and asked for a small favour. " Rose," he'd smiled at her as she came in, passing a hand over his tired, lined face and giving her a sheet of bleach-white paper as she settled herself opposite him. " It's from Torchwood Paris," he'd said grumpily, without preamble, nodding at the piece of paper. " They're going through a bit of a crisis. What's new there? There's been a massive surge in the birth rate of Weevils recently. " They live in the sewers," he'd explained, seeing Rose's blank look. " Far too many for them to monitor; some of them have even spilled out into the suburbs and mauled a couple of civilians." He'd sighed, looking defeated, " Course President Sarkozy's up in arms about it so they've asked for our help," he'd said bitterly. " They've sent a delegation demanding a conference with the Head of Torchwood to discuss the transfer of several packs of Weevils over to us on the 28th." The 28th had sounded horribly familiar to her. What was happening on the 28th? Wait…she'd had a nasty feeling that the 28th was the date her mum had been given to have her caesarean section. Typical Torchwood and their brilliant timing. " The 28th?" she'd repeated, her eyes wide. But that's…" " Yeah, that's the day your mum's due," he'd confirmed, regretfully, his eyes falling on a gilt-framed photograph of Rose and Jackie that he kept on his desk. Rose had followed the direction of his eyes and had given a small smile as she'd recognised the photograph; it was one of her favourites, taken just before she'd met the Doctor. They had the same bleach-blonde hair, the same wide mouth, the same way of smiling with their heads tilted slightly to the side. Except the eyes. Rose had Pete's eyes. She'd looked up to find the same eyes watching her, carefully. " Offer to re-schedule the meeting," she'd told him firmly. " You need to be there." Pete had snorted at that, " Course I'm going to be there; she'd take my head off if I wasn't." He'd paused." No, I need some one to fill in for me," he'd said pointedly, clasping his hands behind his head and leaning back on them. Rose had frowned, not entirely sure of what he'd been getting at. " You could ask Lisa Hallett," she'd replied doubtfully, shrugging her shoulders. Lisa was a bright, chatty, terribly efficient and organised young woman that she worked with. Her and her softly spoken Welsh boyfriend had been the first friends she'd made after…being trapped on this parallel world. Pete had held up his hand to stop her. " I'm talking about you," he'd said, slowly. Rose had gaped at him. " Me?" she'd squeaked, recoiling in horror at the thought of having to deal with Torchwood Paris, who by all accounts were a scary lot. " You're joking?" she'd asked, weakly. " Last meeting I was in I knocked a cup of coffee over that Archie bloke from Torchwood Glasgow!" Pete had grinned at the memory, " Yeah, first time I ever saw the old geezer crack a smile." " Dad," she'd interrupted desperately, " I can't; I'm hopeless at meetings I…In any case, if they want to see Head of Torchwood shouldn't you send your second in command?" " I should, yes," Pete had admitted, regarding his apprehensive looking daughter twisting her hands in her lap, trying to conceal his disappointment in her unwillingness to…believe in herself. " But, I want you," he'd stated simply, with a touch of pride in his voice." You don't play with words, you don't back down, you stand your ground. God knows, I've seen you in action." Rose had shifted in her seat at that, staring down at her bitten fingernails. Accepting compliments wasn't something she'd ever been very good at. " Please, Rose," Pete had said quietly, sounding so hopeful. Then, just for a second his eyes had turned a darker brown, his shorn hair became a tufty, dark mess and his bone structure had melted into a face that was achingly familiar… " I'll do it," she'd gabbled suddenly, shaking her head to clear the image of his face from her mind. Pete had watched Rose pale in front of him; saw the pained expression that drained her face of life, just for a brief moment. " You ok?" he'd asked, concernedly watching her raise a quivering hand to her temple. Ignoring the picture of the Doctor that had strolled freely into her mind, Rose had nodded and risen to her feet. " Fine," she'd said, a little too brightly, failing to sound genuine. " I'll see you at home," she continued warmly, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. " Thank you," he'd said gratefully, " I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were capable. You could run this place standing on your head, Rose." Rose had simply smiled at him in reply. He'd then walked her over to the door, holding it open for her. " You know," he'd mused, as she'd made her way out, " You're very like him." Now, sitting in an immaculate tailored suit, whether it was Givenchy or Chanel, she honestly didn't care; she could have been wearing charity shop cast-offs and she'd still feel just as uncomfortable, just as restricted, like a pampered pet in a silver cage, she found herself thinking about Pete's seemingly casual, throwaway comment. What had he meant? Of course, she could hazard a guess at the 'him' that Pete had been referring to; who else could he have been talking about? In what way was she like him, though? True, she couldn't imagine the Doctor cooped up in a meeting; that was laughable. Was that it? Rose tugged on her ear thoughtfully, allowing the voices of her colleagues wash over her. They'd been sitting around the same, rectangular table for the past three hours and had achieved…precisely nothing. Everything that had been said had had to be translated into English or French, respectively and then back again, which was tedious enough, but the frustrating fact was that they were going around in tireless circles. Understandably, Torchwood London were unwilling to accept the transfer of more Weevils, given that they were struggling to keep on top of them as it was, and instead suggested that Torchwood Paris should build specific accommodation for the increased amount of Weevils. Sensible enough, really but Torchwood Paris insisted that they couldn't do anything without the specific permission of Nicholas Sarkozy; permission he was refusing to grant and…so it had went on…and on. Thoroughly bored, aware that her team was growing restless beside her as Torchwood Paris began to argue amongst themselves in rapid, furious French, Rose tilted her chair back so that she was resting on only the two back legs and, more out of comforting habit than anything else, rummaged in her inside jacket pocket for her mobile; the mobile she'd used when she'd travelled with the Doctor and still carried with her. Obviously, it had ceased working properly as soon as she came through the breach; her parallel world was too out of range even with all of the Doctor's modifications. Still, it was soothing every now and then just to check. As she'd expected though, the screen was blank and the battery was dead; just like it always was. She'd been asked a thousand times why she still kept it when it was so useless but she'd never been able to answer. She wasn't even sure herself; probably for the same reason why she'd kept all the clothes that she'd worn when she'd been travelling with him neatly folded in a plastic bag at the back of her wardrobe; never worn but still there. It was illogical, she knew that; she didn't need old clothes or broken mobiles, or even photographs in order to be reminded of him. She just was. He never went away. There were times; especially in the first few weeks after she'd lost him that she'd say something to him, only to be met with silence and an empty room and she'd lose him all over again, the stifling hurt and agony just as raw and penetrating as it had been the first time, it never eased. Perhaps that was a good thing. Whenever she was running for her life from some strange creature she'd see a flicker out of the corner of her eye and she could imagine that he was once again running beside her. In a sick, twisted way it almost gave her hope; random tricks of the light that reminded her that he was still there; somewhere in the universe he was still trotting around getting into obscene amounts of trouble, talking nineteen to the dozen about absolutely everything, still running, still fighting, still raving about bananas. She just couldn't see him. What would he do if he were here? Crammed in a stale conference room with a table of Torchwood officials? End up insulting someone, probably. Rude as ever. Idly, she began tapping the table with her pen, beating out a steady, somewhat agitating rhythm. There was a low hum of conversation from Torchwood London's side of the table as Rose's team grew tired of waiting for Torchwood Paris to continue, along with several loud rumblings of bellies and moans of hunger and boredom. She studied the three members of Torchwood Paris; a short, squat middle-aged man who had addressed her before, a youngish woman clad in a leather, floor length coat and matching combats, who would have been extremely attractive had it not been for her distinctly sour expression and droopy eyes, and then an old wiry looking man who reminded her of someone's chirpy grandfather, complete with a wise smile and a neatly clipped grey beard. It was the latter, grandfatherly gentleman who seemed to be responsible for the amount of discord, since he seemed to be disagreeing with whatever the other two were saying, shaking his head and gesticulating wildly. In fact, he was in danger of upsetting his cup of coffee; twice the droopy-eyed woman had had to reach out and steady it before he sent it flying with his over enthusiastic elbows. Her schoolgirl French was far from impressive; the most she could remember was, " Je m'appelle Rose, J'habite à Londres, où-est mon stylo?" Even then, the teacher; Madame…whoever, had despaired over her horrendous pronunciation but she could still more or less work out that the man's fevered repetitions of, " Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non, C'est insupportable!" meant that he was far from happy about something. The woman, though seemingly finding Rose's pen tapping distracting sent her a deathly glare, which unfortunately for her Rose picked up on. " I'm sorry," she said dryly, " is my tapping getting in the way of your nice chat? Please, don't mind me, just carry on," she burbled, smiling at them sweetly. " Just, let me know when you want to carry on with the conference, will you? Look, I'll even stop tapping and everything," she promised. Without further ado, she threw her pen across the room, sending it whizzing through the air before it hit the far wall and clattered to the floor. "There!" There was a small silence as both Torchwood teams paused to stare at her in bewilderment, looking at her as if she'd just grown an extra head. " Would you like me to pick that up for you ma'am?" asked a member of her team uncertainly, splintering the silence. Frowning at the use of 'ma'am', Rose declined the offer. " No, just leave it there; it'll be quite happy on the floor." "Err. Right." There was another awkward pause and a shuffling of papers as the table pretended that the acting Head of Torchwood London had not launched her pen across the room for reasons unknown to anyone but herself. "Alors," began the short, middle-aged man from Torchwood Paris with the air of someone struggling to bring the situation back onto a plane of vague normality, " il n'y a pas assez de…" Letting the torrent of French go over her head once more, Rose turned to Mickey, who was elbowing her none too gently with an expression of mixed exasperation and wariness on his face. " Stop it!" he hissed, half angrily. Rose stared at him. " Stop what?" she whispered back, with a sneaking feeling that she was about to receive a mini lecture on decorum and sensibility. She was wrong. " Acting like him!" he said through clenched teeth. She noticed that he was finding it hard to even look at her. " That's exactly the sort of thing he would do!" he said tersely, looking determinedly straight in front of him rather than at Rose. Rose inhaled softly, feeling as if she'd just been slapped. She studied Mickey's profile openly; his was a face she knew very well; the wide forehead, straight nose, strong mouth etched with forced calm. For goodness sake, all she'd done was throw her pen away, and even then that was just because she was mind-numbingly bored and sick of sitting around a table listening to points she could only half understand. A feeling of slight recklessness and sheer abandon had come over her for a second and she had simply given in to it; that was all. What was wrong with that? Had she really just acted like, like…him? Was pen-throwing a Doctor-like thing to do? " Yep!" came a small, irritatingly cheerful voice at the back of her mind. " Just like the Doctor!" The voice of her subconscious sounded male, intelligent and suspiciously familiar. His voice. " Don't be ridiculous," she shot back at him, waspishly, " I'm not acting like anyone, I…" She was interrupted mid-sentence by a quiet, hesitant knock at the door. " Come in," she called evenly, ignoring Mickey who was mouthing at her indignantly. They all turned to the door to see a small, mousy-looking girl peeking anxiously through the window. She couldn't have been any older than eighteen. Rose vaguely recognised her as one of the newly hired secretaries; a quiet girl just finished secondary school and terribly shy. " Sirs," she said nervously upon seeing the group of people huddled around the table as she inched her way into the room. " Ma'am," she nodded as she approached Rose at the head of the table, her shoes clacking on the laminate flooring. "Rose," corrected Rose, gently, smiling at her. The poor girl looked scared half to death, as if she'd just entered the lion's den. " I'm sorry to disturb you," she said apologetically, avoiding the eyes of Torchwood Paris, who were staring daggers at her, put out at her interruption. " You're alright, no worries," Rose assured her, waving away her apology. "This just came through for you," said the secretary, holding out a piece of official looking paper, " it's got Security Clearance One." Rose's smile faded; she felt the people on either side of her tense as she gazed at the paper in the girl's hand. Only very, very few people were given Security Clearance One; the most senior, important officers. She, herself had Security Clearance One, as did her dad and Mickey and Adeola, Head of Scientific Research. Then there was Alex Hopkins, Head of Torchwood Cardiff and the strange Archie from Torchwood Glasgow. Of course, there was someone else who could have Security Clearance One, even if he wasn't a Torchwood Officer…if he was ever able to get through, to contact her, he'd have it, too. Security Clearance One was only ever used in an emergency… Around the table, the Torchwood officers from both Paris and London had sat up straighter, plugged in ear coms and got out numerous mobiles, just in case, ever on the alert for disaster. With a tentative hand, feeling slightly sick, Rose unfolded the paper and scanned the text quickly. Then re-read it. Stumbling to her feet, her legs stiff and complaining at the movement after being sitting down for so long, Rose smoothed down her slightly creased suit, awkwardly and checked her watch. Lovely though it was, she still couldn't get used to wearing a watch again. She'd never worn one when she'd been with the Doctor. Funnily enough time travellers didn't tend to need to check the time. " I'm suspending this meeting until 3 o'clock," she said briskly. She turned to Torchwood Paris, " feel free to help yourselves to the canteen. When I get back we'll sort out your Weevil problem, yeah?" They stared back at her, stunned; meetings were never suspended. They'd heard a lot about this Rose Tyler; heard that she wasn't one to underestimate; a bit of a free-style live wire. She was definitely a bit on the bonkers side; throwing pens across the room and all that... "Rose?" asked Mickey, also getting to his feet and taking her arm, " What's happened?" Rose flapped the piece of paper at him, beaming. " Exactly what the memo says; a Code Red emergency!" She burst out laughing at the priceless look on his face and at the rest of her team, who looked so confused that they didn't seem to know what day it was. " My mum," she said happily, thrusting the memo into his hands, " she's had the baby!" Mickey read the memo, surprised to feel a small lump at the back of his throat; the Tyler's were like family to him. Of course, there was a time when he used to think that Rose would eventually become part of his family; before she ever met the Doctor there'd been an unspoken agreement between them that they'd one day get married and settle down and have children. They'd known each other for their entire lives; it was what everyone thought, what everyone took for granted. Now though, he knew that after all they'd been through; all the battles, all the monsters, everything with the Doctor, their relationship could only ever be fiercely platonic. He still loved her, and he knew that she still loved him, but it was more like a brother than anything else, and that would have to do. As of today, she had a new, more important young man in her life. Baby Boy. 7.03 oz. London Royal Hope Hospital. He watched her gather her files together and stuff them unceremoniously in her bag, tucking her hair behind her ear and racing to the door; her run slightly wobbly in her high heels. " Wait!" he said abruptly, causing Rose to freeze and turn to face him with her hand on the door handle. " I'll give you a lift?" he offered. Rose blinked at him and unconsciously bit her lower lip. She was going to refuse him; he could see that as plain as day. He knew her far too well. " Thank you," she acknowledged him, graciously, " but if you don't mind, I want to walk on my own." She gave him a swift, penetrating look that revealed far more than she intended and he instantly understood her need to do this alone. In the past few years she'd made so many journeys, coped with so many changes. Ten months ago she'd lost her home, her life, the Doctor; the only man she ever truly loved regardless of what she said and now, with the arrival of the new baby her life was about to be turned upside down again. Perhaps it was one change too many. Her thoughts were hers to sort out alone; she'd let no one help her, she was far too stubborn for that. " Ok," he said softly, letting her know that he knew what she meant. " You're joking, Tyler, ain't ya?" came a gruff, incredulous voice from the table. One of her Relations Officers gestured at the window, where she could see that the rain had grown even heavier, the sky was dark and murky, in contrast to the brightly lit meeting room with it's almost fluorescent lights. " It's blowing a gale out there; there's going to be a storm by the looks of it and you're saying you're going to walk?" Rose smiled vaguely. " Mmm, the Oncoming Storm," she murmured to herself. She faced her disbelieving colleague with a strange, faraway look on her face that was present just for a moment before it turned businesslike. " Don't be ridiculous, of course I'm not going to walk," she said, as if he'd asked her if she was going to get there by pogo stick. " I'm going to run!" Without a backward glance she ran out of the meeting room and down brightly lit corridors with glass-fronted doors, down three flights of marble stairs, passing offices and storage rooms and simulation rooms, all the while with the Doctor's words racing through her head. " I said 'run' and we never stopped, did we? All across the universe! Running!" " Nah," she admitted as she skidded through the main reception, dodging stressed looking workers and personnel and reached the security door. Fumbling for her pass she inserted it into the scanner and keyed in her identification code. Stepping through the metal doors into the entrance passage she pulled a face at the torrential rain. It was no good waiting for it to ease off, she had to get to Mother Care and the florist's before going in to see her mum. Going in empty-handed would look cheap and naff. She looked around the entrance passage, desperately, hoping to see and umbrella stand with a spare coat or discarded umbrella or…something. There was nothing more than a stack of old newspapers on the low, brown leather sofas. For one of the richest, most influential organisations, Torchwood wasn't half stingy. Ohhh, she'd just have to get drenched, she thought as she pushed the outside door release and grimaced as the cold wind and first few drops of rain hit her. Pulling her jacket more tightly around her as she readied herself to go out into the violent downpour attacking the city she had a sudden flashback of a tall, thin man and a small blonde woman running hand in hand through London's streets in the rain. His hand had felt so warm, clasped tightly around hers, as if he'd never let go. They'd both been wet and freezing, she remembered that the rain had caused her mascara to run so that her cheeks were streaked with black rivulets and the Doctor had laughed at the sight, throwing his head back, his eyes shining as he beamed down at her, water dripping off his nose. Whilst all around them, the people had looked miserable and depressed at the weather, the pair of them had laughed themselves silly, attracting disapproving looks, tears of mirth mixing in with the rain, kicking puddles at each other. They'd reached a street corner and had to stop, gasping for breath because they couldn't run and laugh at the same time, Rose clutching onto the Doctor for support, laughing hysterically. " Pair of nutters," an old man had muttered under his breath as he'd shuffled past them, shaking his head. " Yep, that's right," the Doctor had called after him, waving cheerily, " Oh definitely." " Shh, you!" Rose had scolded, playfully hitting him on the arm; " You'll get yourself into trouble!" " Trouble?" the Doctor had repeated, looking mildly affronted, " Me causing trouble? Never!" Her way of replying had been to take his hand again as they ran through the rain, soaked to the skin, their hair plastered to their foreheads, dodging the traffic. " It's 'us'," he'd said randomly a couple of minutes later as they'd reached Oxford Street, immersing themselves in the throng of pedestrians. " You what?" Rose had asked, nonplussed "Us," he'd repeated, slowing down so that he could face her properly, " I wouldn't get myself into trouble, I'd get us into trouble," he'd corrected her. " There's no 'me' and there's no 'you', there's just 'us'," he'd said simply, " No me without you," he'd told her earnestly. Rose had raised her eyebrows at him, jokingly, " Really?" " Oh yes," he'd replied, grinning madly and swinging their joined hands, " Really, really." " Just us?" Rose had repeated, looking around at the crowds of wet shoppers that were milling around, but only seeing one man. " Just us." Rose smiled sadly at the memory, realising that now she was going to be running across the rain-drenched London alone. " Look," she said aloud, somewhat ironically, causing a smartly dressed woman crossing the road to stare at her, " I'm still running… I bet you are, too," she said quietly, and with a glance up through the rain at the grey sky she ran out into the storm.
Back Home Doctor Who Main Page Next