The Doctor’s Pyjamas

The Doctor’s Pyjamas

By Nancy G.

Story begun 28^th March, 2008. 2^nd draft completed 31^st March 2008)

This story is dedicated to all my wonderful friends at Doctor Who Online

Doctor Who is exclusive copyright of the BBC

ONE

The Doctor awoke with a start. He was lying flat on his back, in a room that was enveloped in total darkness. Moving an arm, he felt around him with his hand. Whatever he was lying on, was soft and covered with cloth. Trying to bring his fuzzy mind into focus, the Doctor realized suddenly that he was lying in a bed. He couldn’t see, “But,” he thought, “that’s not my only sense.” The Doctor gave a great sniff. The unmistakable odour of disinfectant assailed his nostrils. Next, he tuned his ears into the sounds around him. He heard rapid footsteps nearby, the rattle of a metal trolley, the barely discernable mutter of voices, the low, soft beeping of some kind of machine in his room. A hospital, he was in a hospital. “Well, that’s sorted.” The Doctor mumbled.

For some reason, speech seemed to be difficult for him, at first. But then, very slowly, he managed to form cohesive words. Trying to remain calm, the Doctor’s befuddled mind wearily groped around for answers. “Right, first things first.” he whispered, “Who am I?” After a long pause, he tried to remember his name. “The Master? Meh–that’s a bit egotistical, isn’t it? And,” he murmured, “just a little bit kinky. Hmmm–let’s see…” he continued, “Ricky, perhaps?” He made a face. “Bleh! No, don’t think so. Dalek!” The Doctor exclaimed, and then shuddered involuntarily at some fragment of a bad memory. “Ah. That’s a no, I’m thinking. Erm–Sarah Jane?” He asked himself hopefully. “That sounds very familiar.” The Doctor’s hand strayed downward. “Nooo–definitely not Sarah Jane…unless I’m here for a special operation?” He gave a mental shrug. “Nahhh–.”

The Doctor sighed and continued, “Theta Sigma?” There was the briefest of pauses, as this name seemed to register with his brain. Yes!” He whispered gleefully. “No!” He uttered softly, disappointed when that didn’t sound quite right. Somewhat perplexed, he said, “Well, yes and no…I think.” All of the sudden, outside the closed door there was a disembodied female voice, echoing from somewhere: “Doctor Cole, Doctor Cole, please report to X-ray.”

The Doctor’s head came up, and he broke into a wide grin. “Doctor…? Oh, yes! How could I be so thick?” He said. “I need to avoid politicians more…either that, or stop watching Big Brother.” Searching deeper, a vision of a blue police box came into the Doctor’s mind. “Taardiss…” He said wonderingly, drawing out the name with a sound of genuine affection. His eyes lit up with a sudden epiphany. “That’s it! I’m the Doctor!” Then, his eyebrows knitting into a frown, he muttered, “But, if I’m the Doctor, why am I a patient?”

Abruptly very tired, the Doctor sagged back into the pillows and closed his eyes with a weary sigh. He was wondering what had become of his suit. Apparently, someone had undressed and then re-dressed him. ‘Very glad I decided change my pants this morning,’ He thought to himself. Less than a minute later he shot upright again, nearly pulling out an IV tube. “Ow!” He said, touching the tender spot, “What have they got taped to the back of my manly hairy hand?” A thought had occurred to him. Running his tongue over his teeth, he murmured, ‘Oh. Don’t tell me I’ve regenerated again! I wonder if I’m ginger this time?” A second later, he said, “No, still the same teeth, so it’s not that.” Suddenly feeling woozy, the Doctor leaned back again. That’s when he realized that his head was sore. Gingerly, the Doctor’s fingers explored his scalp all over, until they came to a rather sizable bump at the back of his head. “Double owww!” He complained, “With an extra helping of ‘Ow’ on top.”

The Doctor lay in brooding silence, his mind stormy with a whirlwind of incoherent memories. Forcing himself to relax, he did a meditation exercise that Gandhi had once taught him. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “I knew Gandhi?” He whispered incredulously, “Who else do I know?” Closing his eyes again, the Doctor slowed his breathing, and centred himself, allowing his inner-being to become serene and tranquil. Ten seconds later, he stiffened. “No!” The Doctor whispered hoarsely. His face reflected a horrifed comprehension, as the memory of what happened came back to him, with startling clarity.

TWO

It was Rose’s birthday. As a treat, the Doctor had decided that the two of them would spend a pleasant weekend in Rose’s native London–well, three London’s really. First, on Friday night, he’d taken her to Edwardian London. Wandering down Drury Lane, the Doctor produced two tickets to a Gilbert and Sullivan production from his suit pocket. Afterwards, they’d taken a carriage to a fashionable restaurant for dinner.

Lying in hospital, the Doctor smiled, remembering how beautiful Rose had looked. After doing up her hair, Rose had raided the Tardis wardrobe. She’d chosen a long, elegant pearl gray velvet frock, with midnight blue accents. It came with a wide-brimmed straw hat, coloured and trimmed to match the gown perfectly. On re-entering the console room, Rose had playfully chided him for not trading his crumpled brown suit for a morning coat and top hat. The Doctor had merely given her an indignant sniff, and pointed out the new pair of black trainers and burgundy tie he’d donned, just for the occasion.

After dinner, the Doctor had guided Rose to Earl’s Court. There, the two of them wandered around the colourfully lit lake, mingling with the gaily dressed crowds and enjoying the exhibits. The Doctor talked Rose into riding a little steam train around the shores of the lake. The train had been made to look like a Chinese dragon, complete with steam shooting from the nostrils.

Re-entering the Tardis, the Doctor headed forward in time to the swinging London of the Sixties. Popping back into the wardrobe, Rose had exchanged her Edwardian gear for something more mod and groovy. After re-doing her hair, she soon came back into the console room wearing white shiny boots with a matching cap, and a hot pink and ivory mini-skirt outfit. Coming out of the Tardis doors hand in hand, the two of them spent a happy Saturday mingling with vibrant throngs of young hippies. Later, the Doctor took Rose to a Beatles concert. Rose was thrilled when on a whim, the Doctor used his physic paper to gain access backstage, so she could meet the Fab Four.

For Sunday, the Doctor piloted the Tardis to the London of Rose’s time. To his vast relief, he’d learned that Rose’s mum, Jackie, had gone to Blackpool with her cousin Mo. But, in the event that Rose might happen to show up while she was away, Jackie had thoughtfully left Rose some presents and a nice card on the dining table. Rose used her mobile and rang up her mum to thank her. Jackie had scolded Rose for not telling her that she’d be visiting, and insisted on speaking to the Doctor.

Suddenly alarmed, the Doctor silently made a cutting motion with his finger across his throat. Trying not to laugh, Rose told her mum she had to run, thanked her again, and rang off. “Oh, I forgot to tell her that I’d just met the Beatles,” she sighed. The Doctor made a face. “Maybe that’s not the best idea anyway, Rose.” Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Why ever not? What’s wrong with that?” Rolling his eyes at her, he answered, “Because, she might ask me to take her to meet them. That’s why! And,” he added, making another face, “no offense, but quite honestly Rose, I’d almost sooner kiss a Dalek.” Rose threw back her head and laughed. “I think mum might pay to see that.”

After leaving her flat, Rose and the Doctor spent Sunday strolling about in the London sunshine. They’d sat contentedly over coffee at Starbuck’s, watching a combination of Londoner’s and tourists walking past the windows. After a long walk along the Thames, the pair had gone to Rose’s favourite chippy for a late lunch. Staring into the darkness of his hospital room, the Doctor frowned deeply. He recalled that it was when they’d come out of the chip shop, that everything had quickly gone horribly wrong.

THREE

The Doctor and Rose had been having such a good time that neither of them had noticed that they were being followed. From the Powell Estates, to outside the coffee shop, along the Thames, and on to the chip shop, a shadow had dogged their every step. But, the Doctor and his companion could be forgiven for their lack of observation. That is because their shadow was literally that; a black, elongated shape, roughly in the outline of a human.

The two friends had emerged from the little chippy, arm in arm, laughing at some joke the Doctor had made. They didn’t notice the shadowy form, as it slipped by them. Dodging past the Doctor and Rose, it had gone through the open door of a bus that had stopped at the corner. The black shadow seamlessly merged with the seated driver. The man behind the wheel instantly stiffened, and his mouth formed a soundless cry of distress.

Standing near the kerb, the Doctor cheerfully asked Rose what she’d like to do next. Before she could reply, he’d heard the screams and turned to look. There, in his mind’s eye, the Doctor could still see the red bus that had jumped the kerb and was barreling down the pavement towards them, remembered shouting, “Rose, look out!”

Lying in bed, the Doctor closed his eyes tight, trying to force the rest of his memories to the surface. Yet, everything after that one ghastly moment was a complete blank. There was the bus bearing down on them, and then there was this dark room with nothing else in-between. But, there had to be, he thought. There had to be something more, something his mind had simply forgotten.

Hands grasping the sheets, the Doctor fidgeted restlessly. Where was Rose? Had she escaped, or was she…? He gritted his teeth, his face set into a mask of denial. The very idea of Rose being dead wasn’t something the Doctor was willing to accept. Despite the chill of the room, his anxiety for Rose was beginning to make him sweat. There might be a reason his mind had a blank spot. The Doctor was wise enough to know that injury or illness alone didn’t always cause memory black-outs. So did emotional trauma. “I have to get out of here.” He whispered fiercely. “I need to find out what happened to Rose!”

Struggling upright, the Doctor swayed slightly, as a wave of nausea swept over him. He swung his lean legs over the side of the bed. Except that one leg didn’t quite want to move properly. He shifted it, and heard a rattling clank. Feeling downward with his hands, the Doctor’s fingers touched something cold and metal encircling his left ankle. So, he was chained to the bed. That was interesting. ‘Why would they do that?’ He thought, ‘Was it because they’ve discovered I’m an alien? Had they–whoever they are, thought me to be insane, a criminal, or criminally insane? Or, was it for some other, more sinister reason?’

There was a sliver of light, coming from beneath the door, and by degrees, the Doctor’s eyes adjusted enough so he could dimly make out some of the objects in the room. The privacy curtains around his bed were drawn back, and he could see that there was the usual hospital machinery, beeping and blipping away. It seemed to be a private room, as his was apparently the only bed in it. The Doctor fervently longed for his sonic screwdriver, but his suit was nowhere to be seen. Bending down, he pushed up the leg of his pyjamas, so that he could get a better look at the lock of the leg shackles.

The Doctor smiled Picking that lock would be child’s play. In fact, as a child, he’d picked much more difficult locks than that. His face fell. Pick it with what, though? The bedside table was out of reach. He couldn’t even pour himself a glass of water, let alone find something to open a lock with.

The thought of water made the Doctor realize that he had a raging thirst. His head throbbed and his hearts weren’t quite beating in sync. The Doctor fussed, worrying over Rose, frustrated over the loss of memory. Burying his head in his hands, the Doctor gave a great sob. “Rose. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He whispered sadly.

The Doctor lay back again on the pillow, staring helplessly at the ceiling. His fists clenched the sheets, just as a lonely, scared feeling clenched at his hearts. All of the sudden, a set of passing footsteps stopped outside the door and a key scraped quietly in the lock. The Doctor blinked as a square of bright light filled the room. Someone stood in the doorway, gazing intently at the bed. Sitting upright again, the Doctor shaded his eyes against the glare, trying to make out who it was. His eyes registered shock, as his mouth dropped open in genuine surprise. “You! What are you doing here? Where’s Rose? What have you done with her?” The Doctor shouted angrily.

CHAPTER FOUR

A woman in a smart business suit came into the room, closing the door behind her. Snapping on a light, she walked over and stood beside the Doctor’s bed. The woman wasn’t smiling, but neither did she appear to hold any animosity in her eyes. “I don’t know where Rose is, Doctor. She wasn’t with you when the ambulance brought you in.” She said in a businesslike tone. “I’ve made some inquiries,” she continued, “but I’m afraid there’s been no trace of her so far.” The sternness of her manner softened slightly. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more. She’s a quite a girl, your Rose. I must admit, in the brief time I had known her, I do think that she’s one of the bravest young women I’d ever met. And, certainly, I know she means a great deal to you. I promise you Doctor, I am doing everything I can.”

The Doctor leaned back in the bed, eyeing his visitor guardedly. “Harriet Jones, ex-Prime Minister.” He muttered tactlessly. After a moment’s awkward pause, she said, “Actually, I’m working for an old top-secret government organization, now.” Smiling, she added, “I can’t even tell you its name, or what my title is. In fact, I wouldn’t even be here, except that it’s my job to look into…alien encounters. When the report came in from this hospital, of a man with binary bypass system that fit your description, well, I decided to personally take charge.” At this, the Doctor merely raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I am sorry about the leg shackles.” She continued, “It wasn’t my idea, I’m afraid. For some reason, they seemed to think that you might represent some kind of a security risk.”

There was another long pause this time, as the Doctor raised his other eyebrow. She moved over and sat at the foot of his bed. “How are you feeling?” She asked tentatively. More stony silence from the Doctor, made Harriet clear her throat uncomfortably. “You see,” she said, not looking at him, “I’m asking because I may need you. There’s more to this than your missing friend, Doctor.” She brought her eyes up to meet his. Still appearing a bit wary, he nodded for her to go on. Harriet was relieved to see that she seemed to have finally peaked his interest.

Harriet gave a small sigh and carried on, “Tell me, do you remember what happened, how you got here?” After hesitating for just a fraction of a second, the Doctor said, “Well, not really. I do remember the bus, of course. But, after that…” His voice trailed off. “I have no idea, Harriet Jones, whatever-you-are-now.” The Doctor narrowed his eyes, and said, “What do you mean, there’s more to this than Rose being missing? And, I warn you, that as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing more important than that.”

Harriet Jones gave him a long look, saying. “You’ve been in a semi-coma for approximately fifteen hours. It’s Monday morning. I’ve been up all night, sifting through reams of police reports and eyewitness accounts, so I guess it’s up to me to brief you on the situation.” The Doctor gave a startled gasp. “Fifteen hours? Rose has been gone for over half a day?” Her hand touched his leg gently. “Calm yourself Doctor. I know you want to get right out there and search. But, maybe you should wait, and hear what I have to say first. You won’t help anybody if you lapse into a coma.”

After a moment passed, Harriet launched into a description of events as she knew them. She told the Doctor that witnesses had seen him jump aside at the last minute, bodily hauling Rose from the path of the out-of-control bus. How, in doing so, he’d apparently lost his balance and fallen backwards, hitting his head hard against the pavement. No one remembered seeing Rose, after that.

Harriet looked at the Doctor’s chest, noticing that his rate of respiration had increased. After a few seconds, she continued with her story. The Doctor had been taken to the nearest hospital. On examining him, doctors there had discovered the dual hearts and, additionally, the Doctor’s fractured skull, an injury which would have killed any ordinary human, seemed to be actually mending itself. Alarmed, hospital staff called in security to quarantine him. Then, hospital admin had enacted pre-arranged protocols with her organization, contacting a certain minister, who, in turn, had contacted her.

Harriet paused, inquiring if the Doctor felt alright. He merely gave her a curt nod, so she went on, telling him the rest. She didn’t believe that the Doctor’s injuries were entirely accidental. Though he was silent, listening, she could see by his face that the Doctor was of the same mind. Police on scene had found the bus driver sitting dead in his seat, still gripping the steering wheel. One constable commented that it was as if the driver’s eyes were frozen in horror. The man had been in perfect health, and had been with the bus company for eleven years. Furthermore, until now, the driver had had a spotless record. In fact, he’d won numerous safety awards. After the police finally managed to remove the driver, they’d interviewed the three bus passengers. Two of them, a young couple who had been sitting in the back, had neither heard nor seen anything out of the ordinary. However, the third passenger, a middle-aged man who had been seated behind the driver, had seen something. Apparently, when the police began interviewing him, the man had babbled incoherently about evil spirits and a dark shadow.

The Doctor’s eyes sharpened and he gave a slight gasp of surprise. “A shadow, he said a dark shadow?” He asked in a concerned tone, “Are you sure that’s what the man had said?” “I believe those were his exact words, yes. Why?” Harriet replied, “Is that important? Does that mean anything to you, Doctor?” The Doctor sucked in his breath and shrugged. “Possibly,” he said, “I’d need more information than that, I’m afraid, to know for sure.” He leaned forward, “Tell me, has there been any other instances like this, anywhere else?” Harriet shook her head. “Not so far as I know.” She said. Her look and manner abruptly became more intense. “What is it, Doctor? She queried, “Another alien invasion?”

Folding his arms against his chest, the Doctor shot her an undisguised look of disgust. “Why do you want to know?” He said, “So you can use some new weapon of mass destruction against it?” “I hardly think–” Harriet spluttered. “Any excuse to try out one of your latest toys, eh, Harriet Jones?” He continued, contemptuously. “I would hardly call a weapon a toy, Doctor.” She sniffed. Then she relaxed. “I suppose I deserve that, though,” she said, a sad expression in her eyes.

Suddenly, Harriet felt tired. “I’ve thought about that day we destroyed the Sycorax ship for a long time, Doctor.” She murmured. “I really believed that I was doing what was best for Great Britain. Still do, in many ways. But, now, I’m not so sure. We do need to protect ourselves.” She said with conviction. “And surely you, of all people, must know that we are hardly a match for most alien species. On the other hand,” she continued, “I am very hesitant over the idea of my country becoming another Russia or America, stockpiling enough weapons to destroy the Earth ten times over. I mean,” she said, “defense is vital, certainly. But, if you are going to exploit technology to the point where you destroy, not only your enemies, but your own planet in the process, then what’s the point of having it at all?”

The Doctor’s features softened only marginally. He said, “You could, if you wanted, join a humanitarian organization. You could do what’s best for Britain, without having to hurt anyone.” Harriet again seemed to be struggling not to argue with him. She was about to point out that people around the Doctor seemed to get hurt–killed even, with some regularity. Then, she thought about Rose. It wouldn’t do to voice those thoughts, under the present circumstances.

Visibly forcing herself to relax, she gave him a tight smile. “Perhaps I will, one day. I agree that there are many worthy British charities out there which could do with some help, especially in these times. But right now Doctor, I’m here, and I have a job to do.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Look, I know you don’t harbour any good will towards me, and certainly, you’re under no obligation to assist us. But I’m asking you–no, I’m begging you, please. We need you Doctor. Rose is missing, and there may be some alien with violent intentions running around loose out there. Do you really want to leave your friend alone, unprotected, with it lurking around, whatever it is?”

The Doctor was silent, staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Then, he heaved a sigh. “Oh, alright,” he said. Then, looking daggers at her, he said, “But the minute I even think that you’re going to start wantonly murdering aliens with one of your technological horrors, I can’t promise that I won’t put a stop to it, is that clear?” Harriet stiffened, and looked like she was about to bite back a retort. Instead, she relented. “Okay, Doctor,” she said, “you have my word. I won’t allow any weapons to be deployed, without your say so…on one condition. If this thing begins attacking innocent people en masse, if people are dying, I must do my duty for Queen and country. We will have no other choice but to deploy, with or without your permission. Is that clear?” The Doctor reluctantly agreed. “I guess that’s fair enough, Harriet Jones.”

Getting up, Harriet once again stood at the Doctor’s beside. “Now that that’s settled,” she said primly, “suppose you tell me what you think this creature–if it is a creature, might be?” The Doctor shook his head, then instantly regretted it, as the throbbing increased. “As I said, I’m not sure. It was the word ‘shadow,’ that got my attention.”

Looking up at her, he explained, “You’ve heard tales of poltergeists and evil shades? Well, behind every myth, there is a grain of truth. Billions of years ago, in the Howling Halls of the Dark Times, there were these elementals known as Shadows.” The Doctor drew in a long breath and let it out. “Living shadows.” He said, “A mockery of life is what they really were. They stole the souls of the living, to feed their own life force. They were banished from existence eons ago, by the Eternals of Enlightenment. But, not long ago, one of them somehow managed to turn up again. I’ve no idea how or why. I tracked it down with the Tardis and managed to eliminate it. Unfortunately, I was too late to stop it from…” He shifted uncomfortably, and continued bitterly, “Anyway, I’d hoped it was the only one. Apparently, that hope may have been in vain.”

Harriet frowned. “And, I take it, there’s a chance that at least one of these Shadow creatures may be wandering the streets of London?” The Doctor drew in long breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah, with perhaps Rose being its next target,” he concluded somberly.

CHAPTER FIVE

Rose was sore and tired. As the Doctor had pulled her away from the bus, she’d caught a fleeting glimpse of the driver’s face. He’d seemed terrified. Things after that were still a bit of a blur, inside her mind. She remembered crashing into a cyclist, whom had swerved to avoid being crushed by the bus.

Rose vaguely recalled seeing the Doctor, lying on the pavement. But, just as she’d picked herself from the heap of bicycle spokes and spandex-clad cyclist’s legs, something cold had brushed against her. Not just cold, though. It was as if the chill of an Antarctic iceberg had passed through her body. Looking up, she was startled to see a black shadow walking past her. Only, it wasn’t a proper shadow. This one had form and substance. Oddly, no one there seemed to have noticed it, only her.

There was something else, as well. The shadow seemed to have some kind of power over her. Against her will, Rose found herself following it. Ignoring the wail of sirens, the murmurings of the gathering crowd, and, most significantly, the Doctor’s prone body, Rose trailed after the dark specter like it was some sort of Pied Piper.

Now, Rose was trapped in a cellar somewhere. It seemed that she’d walked across half of London, ending up finally, in one of the most disreputable parts. One full of old warehouses, run down flats and seedy pubs. “Terrific birthday,” she whispered to herself ironically, “I went straight from backstage with the Fab Four to a place right outta’ East Enders. The Doctor sure knows how to show a girl a good time.”

Rose had tried repeatedly to tear herself away from the Shadow–for that’s what she felt it must be. The Doctor had told her about them. Unfortunately, it was as if the creature had sucked her will from her. She’d been powerless to speak or run away. In the back of her mind, she was wondering what the Shadow was doing. Deep down though, she knew. Rose suspected that she was being used as bait, and that the Doctor was the quarry. At least, that’s what she hoped. The last time she’s seen him, he’d appeared to be out cold. Yet, if the Shadow was keeping her hostage, then very probably, that meant that the Doctor was still very much alive.

Now that the Shadow had gone away, Rose was free to explore her surroundings. She didn’t like what she encountered. The cellar seemed to be in some long abandoned building. At least, there was no sound of any noise or activity coming from nearby. The room was small, with rough limestone and red brick walls, everything coated in a thick layer of dust. There was a single ancient light fixture hanging from the ceiling, with no bulb in the socket. Rose had climbed the stairs and tried the door, but it was locked. There were two windows, but they were high up and set with iron bars. Her only light was the daylight coming through the cracked glass, filtering through decades of soot and grime. The room was completely bare, save for a small pile of coal in front of an ancient rusty boiler, parts of what looked like an old printing press, and a couple of empty wooden crates. Even stacked on top of each other, Rose found that the wooden boxes were still a good meter too short for her to reach either of the windows.

Sitting on an upended crate Rose heaved a disgusted sigh. “Wish I had me a sonic screwdriver.” She muttered, propping her elbow on her knee and resting her chin in her hand. “Or at least a torch and something to read, ‘cause it looks like it’s going to be a long night. Still, I suppose it could be worse,” she whispered, “at least there’s no spider’s crawling around. I don’t fancy sleeping down here in the dark, with a mob of spiders.” She was staring resentfully at the barred glass, when suddenly she heard a noise coming from near the boiler. Rose turned and squinted at the coal pile. She jumped when out of the shadows, skittered an enormous rat. “Erm–I take that back.” She said aloud, eyeing the rodent. “It’s worse.” Rose glanced distastefully from the rat, to the cobwebbed ceiling above. “Where are you, Doctor?” She sighed.

While Rose was pondering rats and spiders, on the pavement in front of the building she was in, two men stood together. A more unlikely looking pair, that particular neighbourhood had probably never seen. One was balding and middle aged, wearing an Armani suit and a spotless white Burberry shirt. The other man was much younger, and less nattily dressed. He was wearing torn jeans, a dirty tee shirt and a black leather jacket.

They were stood beneath the building’s faded sign: Pruner and Sons, Ltd., Printers. “This building’s been an albatross around my neck for far too many years.” The well dressed man said, “If I can’t sell for a profit, then I might as well burn it for one. I’m using you because I was told you’re the best. I want this to look accidental–you know, spontaneous combustion, kids playing with matches, that sort of thing,” he rattled on nervously, “that’s why I asked for someone who could pull a daytime job. Do the job anytime after Monday morning. I’m leaving for Los Angles tonight, so you won’t be able to contact me. Gives me time to be well out of the country, you see?” The man in the designer suit handed leather jacket an envelope and said. “Here’s half of your fee. You get the other half when the job’s finished. I’ll have a friend phone your mobile to give you further instructions. He has the money.” Without saying a word, leather jacket pocketed the cash, nodded his head, and walked away.

Back in his hospital bed, the Doctor looked expectantly at Harriet. He raised his leg and gave it a shake. The shackles clanked against the side of the bed. She sighed. “I’m afraid that it’s not in my power to release you, Doctor.” Harriet said firmly. Then giving him a sly smile she added, “And, besides, how far do you think you’d get, barefoot and in your jim-jams?”

Just then, the pager in her purse went off. She took it out and looked at the number. “I have to take this,” she said, digging her mobile from her purse, “it may be important.” Flipping open her phone, Harriet read the text message, then she looked at the Doctor. “What is it?” He asked. “According to this, someone matching Rose’s description was seen walking through a rather unpleasant section of East London. Well, here,” She said, handing him her phone, “you can read the details for yourself.” Taking the phone, the Doctor held it up to his face and squinted at it, rapidly reading the message. It was a bad part of the city, alright. Very, very bad. What in Rassilon’s name was Rose doing there?

A chain of thoughts rapidly ran through his head: He defeated the first Shadow he’d encountered. If that shadow had a mate, a partner, a whatever, was it that one that had killed the bus driver? Was this whole thing merely a trap to ensnare him? Did Shadows even possess feelings for each other, a desire for petty revenge? Or, did it have some other, ulterior motive, as yet unknown? That’s assuming it was working alone. The Doctor rubbed his hand across his face, his eyes clouded with worry. Too many questions and no answers, that wasn’t good.

Harriet silently watched the Doctor, her face softening with sympathy. She didn’t envy him his position. Heaven knows what she would do, if her old mum suddenly turned up missing. The Doctor handed her back her phone, and Harriet turned away. “Well, I’m afraid that I must get on with my other duties. I’ll make sure that the staff here checks in on you regularly, to see how you’re progressing. But,” she said pointedly, “it seems that they are rather short-handed today. It might be another half hour, say, before we can have a nurse in to check on you.”

Harriet stopped, walked up to the bedside again. “I do seem to be getting rather forgetful, these days.” She said. “Must be a touch of job stress, I’m just so swamped by paperwork. You know how Her Majesty’s government is, Doctor, they want every little detail in triplicate. Sometimes I even have to turn off my phone, just to get things done. Like this afternoon, for instance. I have to fill out the forms listing the entire contents of a certain prisoner’s pockets, right down to the lint.” She said mildly, “Security took your clothes after you were admitted. But they sent over the contents of your pockets to me, at my request. I told them that if you are an alien, you might have something in there that’s dangerous…or useful. Anyway, what I meant to ask is, before I go, is there anything that I can get you, to make you more comfortable?” A minute later, the light snapped off. Harriet said goodbye and closed the door, leaving the Doctor in the dark once again, this time tightly gripping his sonic screwdriver.

CHAPTER SIX

Inside the darkened room, the Doctor winced as he pulled out his IV needle and ripped off the EGK patches from his chest. After that, it took him less than five seconds to free himself with help from the sonic screwdriver. He slid the sonic into the pocket of his pyjama top. Getting out of bed, the Doctor had to grab the sides for a moment, as his equilibrium was still a little off-kilter. “Steady on, old chap.” He chided himself, “You won’t be any good to Rose if you pass out again.” The Doctor slowly walked away, and stood with his ear pressed to the door. All was quiet. He opened the door a crack and peered out. The hallway seemed deserted. The Doctor silently stole down the hall. There was one man at the nurse’s station, but he was staring intently at a computer screen, while talking softly into the telephone.

The Doctor passed by the patient’s lounge. He stared in. There was only one person in there, an old man asleep in a chair, snoring away. The television in the corner was blaring out the morning news broadcast. The Doctor noticed that one of the man’s slippers had fallen off. He reached down and picked it up. Arching an eyebrow, he noted that the old man had rather large feet. Same size as his, apparently. Carefully pulling off the other slipper, the Doctor tried them on. He didn’t have any qualms about running around London in his jim-jams, but barefoot, people might notice that. He just hoped that the old man wasn’t in hospital for some sort of contagious foot fungus. He hated itchy feet.

The Doctor knew that it would be difficult for him to get out of the building dressed as he was. Suddenly, the lift doors at the end of the hall opened, and two security guards stepped out. Ducking back into the lounge, the Doctor glanced around, looking for a place to hide. His eyes lighted on a newspaper on a side table. Snatching it up, he settled himself down in a chair and put the paper up to his face. Moments later, the two guards walked into the lounge, casting bored looks at the two pyjama clad men. “I’m tellen’ yer, Samuel, our team were cheated outta’ that goal.” The shorter of the two guards said. “Ya’, mate,” replied his partner, “but look on the bright side, next week they’re playing against Scotland.”

Glancing at the tele in the corner, the two men stood, absently watching the news for a minute, then left. The Doctor sighed with relief. He was about to get up from his chair, when two more people walked into the lounge. “Bilmey,” the Doctor whispered, “it’s like Victoria Station in here.” This time the two visitors were an older couple. The woman said, “Here he is, John, wandering off again–and without his slippers, this time. Dad will catch his death of cold one day, doing that.” She said. “Well, at least he’s already in hospital if he does.” Her husband said dryly. The woman gave the man a sour expression. “Well, don’t just stand there doing your impression of a coat rack,” The Doctor raised an eyebrow, and the man rolled his eyes, “help me get him back to his room, John.” She commanded, “I’ll go and fetch a wheelchair.” The man took off his trench coat and bill cap with a disgusted sigh. He bodily lifted the still sleeping old gent from his chair. His wife came in with the wheelchair, and they maneuvered the man into it.

As the married couple wheeled the old man back to his room, the Doctor quickly went over and put on the man’s hat and coat. Leaving the lounge the Doctor took the lift down to the main floor. Casually sauntering through the lobby, the Doctor had come to the outside doors, when he heard a shout behind him. The disembodied female voice began announcing over the Tannoy, “Attention, attention. Security alert level one, security alert level one. Secure all exits.”

Without hesitating, the Doctor bolted through the doors, just ahead of a burly guard. The man’s arm shot out, and he grabbed the back of the coat the Doctor was wearing. Fortunately, the man he had taken it from was larger than the Doctor’s skinny frame. He easily slipped it off, leaving the beefy guard standing there holding nothing but coat. The Doctor took off the hat and threw it over his shoulder. “Oh, and you might want this, as well,” he shouted, “the style suits you.” Two more security guards came tearing around a corner, headed straight for the Doctor. The Doctor looked around him. With one guard behind, and two in front, his escape looked to be cut off before it had barely begun.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Casting around for a means to get away, the Doctor’s eyes lighted on a bicycle. It was chained up to a lamp post. Palming his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor undid the lock, hopped on the bike, and pedaled out into the street, quickly merging with the traffic. It was a dangerous ploy, but very effective. In seconds, the three security men had lost sight of the Doctor.

A few hours later, the Doctor was pedaling through the streets of East London. He wasn’t entirely sure of the exact location of where Rose had been last seen. The report on Harriet’s phone had been somewhat vague, only mentioning that the sighting had come from the owner of a Chinese takeaway. Apparently, Rose had bumped into the man, knocking him down. The takeaway owner was incensed, because she’d not said a word to him, merely kept on walking. Knowing Rose as he did, this worried the Doctor. Obviously, wherever she’d been going, it wasn’t of her own free will. Rose would never have run into someone as hard as that, without at least saying that she was sorry.

The name of the restaurant had been the Main Moon. Problem was, that after stopping to look up the address, he’d found that there were two such takeaway’s by that name, and that they were several miles apart from each other. The Doctor had played a solitary game of rock, paper, scissors, to decide which restaurant to visit first, hoping he’d chosen correctly. Leaning the bike against the building, he stood looking inside the first takeaway, with the heavy smell of garlic wafting through the open door. Going up to the counter, the Doctor asked for the owner.

The man came up, wiping his hands on his apron. “What you want? I am busy, now.” He said shortly, eyeing the Doctor’s pyjamas. The Doctor looked around the empty restaurant. “Ah,Yes, I can see that.” He commented mildly. “I just wanted to talk to you. I promise that it will only take a second.” The man scowled. “I am a Buddhist. I don’t need saving.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Okaaay. I’m always for any religion that practices non-violence. But, what I wanted to ask you was…” “I am not buying anything today either.” The man said, turning to go. The Doctor frowned and shook his head. Humans! He didn’t have time for this. “Stop!” He commanded, in his most authoritarian voice. The restaurant owner turned, startled. “I just wanted to ask if you were the man who nearly got run down by the blond haired girl, yesterday.” He said evenly.

Suddenly, the owner came bustling from behind the counter, waving a kitchen utensil, and yelling violently in Chinese. Of course, having once spent some time around the docks of Hong Kong, the Doctor understood every single word the man said, unfortunately, most of it wasn’t easily translated, especially not in polite company. “Erm–I take it that’s a yes?” The Doctor asked, backpedaling out of the angry man’s way. The owner responded by hurling more insults, the last one’s regarding the origins of the Doctor’s family. “Actually, that would be physically impossible. But, thanks anyway, I’ll just see myself out then,” he said, ducking out the door. Grabbing the bike, he wheeled off down the street, only to come face-to-face with a constable in a police car.

The flashing lights came on, and a whine of sheer frustration came from the Doctor’s throat. For a moment, the two police constables merely sat in the car, staring at the sight of the pyjama-clad Doctor, straddling his borrowed bicycle. Heaving a martyred sigh, the woman got out, holding a note pad, while her male partner stayed behind the wheel. “Morning, sir,” she said, “would you mind getting off the bicycle, please?” The Doctor did as he was told. Giving her what he hoped was his most disarming smile, he said, “Erm–I know how this must look, but it’s not what you think, constable…” The woman gave another sigh, as if to say, that the Doctor’s words were a line she heard all too frequently. Frowning even more deeply, she eyeballed the Doctor’s attire again, and said, “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you if you have any I.D. on you?”

After spending an uncomfortable and sleepless night, Rose was pacing the cellar. For the twentieth time she tried the locked door at the top of the stairs. It was sort of funny, she thought. She’d faced down the Dalek emperor, Slitheen and bat people, but being left alone in a cellar with a big rat, had left her genuinely scared. Rose thought that she’d not ever tell the Doctor about that. He’d never let her live it down.

Without warning, there was a noise from above, the sound of breaking glass. Rose bounded up, instantly thinking it was the Doctor. Running to the top of the stairs, she pounded on the door. “Hello? Doctor? Is that you? It’s me, Rose! I’m down here!” She shouted.

There was no response. Rose could hear what she thought were footsteps, but no one came. After a short while, the footsteps retreated, and she was left in silence again. Dejected, she sat on the top step, leaning her head against the door. That was where she had spent most of the night, hoping the rat wouldn’t climb the stairs after her. About ten minutes later, Rose heard an odd crackling noise. Turning, thinking maybe whoever it was had returned, she was about to stand up, when a strange smell came to her. Then, to her horror, Rose saw a tendril of thick smoke coming from under the crack in the door, as the crackling and popping noises increased. Standing, she pounded on the door even harder. “Hey! There’s someone in here! Help! Let me out! Can you hear me? Is anyone there?” She screamed. But, no one heard her.

The Doctor was searching his mind for a way around the situation, when he noticed a black figure stealing around the side of the police car. Without warning, it slipped through the open passenger door. The woman constable turned to see what the Doctor was looking at. “What the–?” She exclaimed, staring at the Shadow. As it merged with her partner, he suddenly gave a silent scream and went rigid. “Oh not again,” moaned the Doctor. The police car had been left running, and now the dead constable’s foot hit the petrol pedal. With an “Excuse me, officer.” The Doctor pushed the constable aside and aimed his sonic screwdriver at the Shadow, rapidly adjusting the setting.

The end extended out, the tip glowing blue, as the device emitted a high-pitched whine. Just as the car shot forward, the Shadow slid away from the dead man. The out-of-control police car harmlessly drove into a vacant lot, coming to rest against a cluster of old rubbish bins. The Shadow had moved from the car, and was advancing on the Doctor. The constable had drawn her weapon, but the Doctor put out a restraining hand. “No. Don’t bother. That won’t work on these creatures.” He said sternly. “But, it killed my partner.” She shouted. The Doctor looked sad and said, “I know. And I’m sorry. But bullets would just pass right through it, and might end up hurting an innocent bystander. You don’t want that.”

Wide-eyed, the woman sputtered, “What is it? Is it real? I’ve never seen anything like it, before.” Eyes narrowing, the Doctor said, “Oh, it’s real, alright. It’s called a Shadow, only these Shadows aren’t harmless. They’re the stuff of nightmares. They kill.” Readjusting the sonic, he aimed it again at the Shadow. “Alright, you have me. Now where’s Rose?” He demanded. The Shadow responded by fluidly running towards the Doctor, arms outstretched. The Doctor grimly trained the sonic on it. “This is your last warning. Tell me where Rose is, and go. Leave this planet, and you will be unharmed.”

Without stopping, the Shadow charged the two of them. With an odd cry that sounded like, “Punishment!” it dived at the Doctor. He turned on the sonic. This time, the buzzing was even louder. The second the sonic beam hit it, causing the Shadow to freeze in place. The Doctor made another adjustment, and the whine from the screwdriver increased. The creature began flailing its “arms” helplessly. Then, with a mewling sound, it slowly dissolved into nothingness. The Doctor stood there, still holding the sonic, staring at the empty space where the creature had been. Suddenly feeling old, the Doctor lowered his arm, and his shoulders sagged. From his lips, came a solitary word: “Rose.”

Rose had backed up to the rear wall of the cellar. The space was rapidly filling with thick, black smoke. Coughing and choking, Rose slid down to the floor, to escape the increasing heat. Even though she’d pulled her tee shirt over her mouth and nose, it was getting very hard to breathe. Rose stared fearfully, as flames began to eat through the door and floorboards above her. Tears streaked her soot-smudged face, as she struggled to maintain consciousness. She wished fervently she’d had her phone, but she’d lost it when she’d fallen against the cyclist. Rose wondered how her mum would take it, when they’d finally recovered her body–if they did. And the Doctor, how would he get on, knowing what had happened. She knew it would break his hearts, as well. Her thoughts were beginning to cloud, as she started to black out, when she heard a familiar sound.

Rose shook her head, hoping that she wasn’t merely wishing the sound into existence. But no, the smoke swirled around her in a sudden breeze, as the groaning sound grew louder. The Tardis materialized. The door slammed open, and she felt herself being scooped up and lifted over the Doctor’s shoulders, in a fireman’s carry.

The Doctor gently set her down on the Console room chair. He quickly produced a portable oxygen cylinder and a blanket. Rose gave a racking cough as the Doctor swiftly adjusted the oxygen flow, and placed the mask over her face. Draping the blanket over her shoulders, he knelt down, and stared into her eyes. Brushing a strand of hair away, he said softly, “You’ll be alright, Rose. Everything’s all right. Just relax and breathe.” She leaned forward and buried her head in his shoulder, crying. Smiling with joy, he hugged her protectively and said, “Safe and sound with me, in the good ol’Tardis. No worries.”

Rose’s head came up and she smiled, raising an eyebrow as she noticed the Doctor’s attire. Rose lifted up the mask. “N-ice threads, Doctor. H-how did you fi-find me?” She asked weakly, in between coughs. Giving her a disapproving look, the Doctor firmly replaced the mask and explained how he’d done it. “A very nice constable gave me a lift back to the Tardis. Once there, I used a DNA sample that I obtained from your lipstick, and inserted it into the console. Then, I reversed the polarity of the neutron flow to home in on your unique biological signature. Of course, it wasn’t as easy as all that. Before I could set up the process, I had to do some rather complex and precise mathematical equations, you know.” The Doctor shook his head in disgust and rolled his eyes, “Blimey!” He complained, “That took me nearly five whole minutes! Can you imagine that? I thought I was never going to get it right.”

The Doctor gently rubbed the back of his head, wincing slightly. “I should have done all that in the first place I suppose, ‘stead of running around like a loon over half the East End. But, thanks to that knock on the head, my mind wasn’t quite running on all its cylinders for a while, I’m afraid.” He admitted sheepishly. “Fortunately, you’ve been traveling in the Tardis for a good long time, long enough for her to absorb some of your genetic structure into her matrix. DNA homing usually has less than a zero point oh-five success rate. But you were lucky, Rose.” She gave him a questioning look. With a twinkle in his eye, the Doctor winked and said, “I think the Tardis has a bit of a crush on you.”

Kissing Rose gently on the forehead, the Doctor stood and walked over to the console. “Let’s get out of this cellar, shall we? The Tardis may be fireproof, but I’m not very keen on having to wash the soot off of her. I’ve a little stop to make, anyway. I have a feeling that this fire wasn’t accidental. And, a certain acquaintance of ours has my clothes. As comfy as these are, for some reason I’ve found that it’s sometimes–mind you, I’ve no idea why, sometimes it’s rather difficult to have you humans take me seriously, when I’m wearing my jim-jams.”

EPILOUGE

The businessman in the Armani suit was sitting with some associates at an exclusive Thai restaurant. The man was smiling. Here he was, living the high life, surrounded by gorgeous women and famous celebrities. He’d been inquiring about investing in Hollywood films, and had been invited to a cozy get-together with some major players in the California film industry.

He was talking with a handsome movie star who’d just finished yet another blockbuster film, when two police officers walked up to the table. The man in the designer suit raised an eyebrow, when the two policemen asked him to stand up. Suddenly, he found himself being handcuffed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.” One of officers said.

When the man in the Armani loudly asked why, the other officer said, “You’re wanted for questioning in your own country, regarding the charge of arson. Some broad named Harriet Jones pushed through the extradition papers. I’m told they’ve already caught your associate, so if you’re gonna’ start hollerin’ the roof down about how outraged you are, we’re not gonna’ listen, okay? Tell it to the judge when you get home. We’re just here to see that you board the plane back to Heathrow. An officer from Scotland Yard will be taking charge of you from there.” Flanked by the two policemen, the bewildered looking gent in the Armani was led away.

The celebrity with whom the arrested man had been speaking, turned to a producer who was sitting beside him, and said, “Wow, an arsonist, cool! I’ve never met a real criminal before. You never know who you’re going to meet at one these parties, huh?”