“So what is the plan exactly?” Rose asked the Doctor as they marched along the colonnade. She tried to sound chipper, but it was proving more difficult than ever.

“We’re going back to the beginning,” he replied plainly.

Rose responded with a look of perplexity, which encouraged the Doctor to flash her one of his grins. “You’ll see,” he said.

“I’ll have to, won’t I?”

Seeing as the Doctor had said the TARDIS was on the roof, Rose did wonder why she found him leading her down the stairwell. “Where are we going?” she asked as they trundled down the concrete steps. “I thought you said --”

“I did,” he nodded, cutting her short, “we’re taking the scenic route.”

“Scenic route?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

It was very dark on the estate as they crept out of the stairwell, the sunlight eclipsed by the huge diameter of the Dalek saucers, which were hovering increasingly closer to the surface. In fact, if one dared to watch any of these ships closely enough, one could perceive the regular deployment of the Dalek divisions, spurted forth from the ship’s many orifices. These troops would glide smoothly through the air, keeping in formation all the time, and each with but one aim in mind - to kill. Where these constant spates of Dalek infantry were heading seemed unclear, but the Doctor was cynical in his speculation, maintaining that wherever there was a high volume of people, the Daleks would soon be found.

As throngs of panicking residents on the Powell Estate rushed to their cars around them, trying in vain to escape the invasion, the Doctor took Rose by the hand and calmly walked her through the madness, his eyes scanning the vicinity as if he were searching for something. His gaze settled at last on a pair of abandoned bicycles, which were wedged in-between the large metal bins near the Chinese Takeaway. He smirked and immediately looked to Rose. “How are you on a pushbike?” he asked.

Rose’s face told him it was out of the question, but he utterly ignored her. “C’mon!” he said.

There were tanks crawling along the streets of London, helicopters were flying low in the air, and large cannons were being set-up all over the shop, ready to face-off with the alien threat. Jack felt quite at home, he had to confess, for this was the kind of situation in which Captain Jack Harkness thrived, and where he was truly alive - out on the battlefield.

He made his way casually through petrified hordes of refugees, which some soldiers were trying but failing to keep in some semblance of order, and looked around for the head honchos of the military operation. He could see some corporals, a sergeant or two, and even a captain, but they weren’t what he wanted. He needed someone who was higher up and decidedly superior, for only with them could he truly play his cards; so he continued with his search, walking through the bands of militia as if he were one of them (and he might as well have been, since no one stopped to question him. It seemed that no one dared; Jack had too much of a presence about him).

The Captain eventually found his way to a group of red-beret-wearing privates, who were cradling some rather impressive rifles in their arms. He rose a brow at their guns and looked at each man in turn. “Good morning, gents,” he said, approaching them, “Nice hardware.”

The men exchanged wary glances with one another, then looked back at Jack. “And who are you?” one of them, a youthful-looking man with short, blond hair, asked.

Jack gave him his charmer’s grin and held out his psychic paper. “Capt’n Jack Harkness,” he announced, “I believe I can be of some assistance to you all.”

Three of them checked his I.D. before something of a silent conference enused, each exchanging glances with the others, until it was decided that this needed to go higher. “You’ll be wanting to see the brigadier then, ‘Captain’,” another of them said, inclining his head toward a van behind them.

Jack glanced across at the typical green-and-brown camouflaged truck and gave a nod of thanks to the company before heading on his way. He felt the burn of their uneasy gazes on the back of his head as he went, but he paid it no heed; he could understand that they were all on edge, terrified of what they might be up against in the approaching battle, after all - and who could blame them for feeling that it was not in their best interests to add a dashing stranger to this equation, no matter what his fancy I.D. said?

When Jack reached the wagon, he knocked on the window, and had to wait but a few seconds before he was met by the stern visage of a red-haired, moustachioed officer who was in no need of an introduction. “Can I help you?” the man asked, his deep voice oozing authority in just the way one would expect.

Jack held up his psychic paper again for good measure and said, “I’m Captain Jack Harkness, sir, formerly of the US Marines. I’m here to help.”

He watched as the brigadier’s eyes studied his person intently, tracing him from head to toe and taking in as much information as he could from this initial analysis.

It was clear that the brigadier recognised in him a man who was not easily crossed, but it wasn’t enough to sway him, and he could offer no reply except a mild smile which said that, although he appreciated his bravado, he couldn’t possibly bring him on board. “I’m sorry, soldier,” he said directly, “but things are just not that simple. You should know that.”

“I do, sir,” Jack countered, “but this isn’t exactly a normal situation, is it?”

The brigadier gave him another look over. “No. But that doesn’t give me the right to call up ranks from the civilian population.”

“I’m not your normal civilian, sir.”

“No, but very few people are. Good day, Captain.”

The man was about to disappear back into his truck when Jack threw in his trump card. “If I mentioned Torchwood,” he said, “would you be willing to forget convention and allow me onboard?”

The brigadier halted and wheeled about a second time to face Jack. His eyes studied him even more closely than before and, after a heavy pause, he got out the van and conceded Jack’s victory. “Very well,” he muttered at last, his hands on his hips. “Follow me, Captain Harkness. Let’s talk.”

It was funny how one’s mind worked at times like this, when it looked likely that you would lose everything. Simple things quickly became much more significant, and what you took for granted yesterday, you dared not lose sight of today. Rose, for instance, suddenly found herself thinking over the reasons why she loved the Doctor. Perhaps she was trying to take her mind off things, but she didn’t care - it seemed to be something worth thinking about, especially since this affection had outlasted his six year absence. It had a lot to do with his personality, she conjectured; it was so fraught with irresistible little mannerisms and traits, she simply couldn’t help but be drawn to him. And his spirit was so akin to her own, as well; they were more than simply lovers, they were best friends and soul mates, and he made her life not just worth living, but fun to live, even in moments like this, when the entire world looked likely to crash down on top of her.

And, she thought furthermore, he was very fortunate that she loved him so much, or else she might have killed him for putting her through this.

“Keep up!” the Doctor called from ahead, letting his bicycle roll down an empty street as Rose pedalled furiously behind him.

“I am keeping up!”

“No you’re not, you’re way back there!”

She tried to throw him a glare, but he was too far away for it to be effective. “Well, someone has much longer legs than me!” she thus attempted as a counter attack.

He scoffed. “No excuse. Try switching your gears.”

“I’ll give you ‘switch your gears’,” she murmured as she glanced at the confusing array of twenty-one that were set on the bicycle bars. She refused to touch the contraption lest she made things worse. She’d never got on with these flashy mountain bikes. Give her back her red bicycle from childhood any day.

“Why the Hell are we doing this, anyway?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“I said, why the--”

“I can’t hear you from all the way back there.”

“Your ears are big enough.”

“Oy!”

She smirked. “Thought you’d hear that one.”

The Doctor pulled on the brakes and slowed down so that Rose could catch up. She drew up by his side and they shared one of their silent moments, exchanging humoured glances, before their eyes returned to the road.

“Right, say it again,” the Doctor said.

Rose glanced at the dark sky, filled with ‘flying saucers’, then looked back at the road once more. “I said why are we doing this? It‘s ridiculous.”

“What, cycling?”

“Yes, cycling’s nearly always ridiculous - but cycling during an alien invasion kind of ranks pretty high in the most ridiculous things ever list.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. It’s right up there with trying to claim you can triplicate the flammability of alcohol.”

The Doctor gave her his pseudo-hurt look. “Well excuse me for my spur-of-the-moment originality. And I’m surprised you even remembered that word.”

“What, triplicate?”

“No, alcohol.”

He swerved out of the way as she threw a light-hearted slap in his direction, but suddenly his face fell sombre and his arm shot out toward her. Grabbing her roughly by the arm, he turned them both into a side street, and told her quickly to hide.

Rose was off her bike in a second, and they both hid in the shadows, keeping completely quiet, save for their breaths, their backs pressed flat against the red brick wall of a multi-storey office block.

After an agonising moment of utter stillness, a unit of Daleks broke the peace and slowly passed them by, floating down the middle of the road with their laser arms extended out front, and their eye stalks scanning the vicinity for human stragglers.

Rose watched them go by, then allowed herself a sigh once the coast was clear. “We could have avoided this by using the TARDIS to get from A to B,” she pointed out sharply.

The Doctor’s face was dour. “Possibly,” he conceded. “Or we could have made things a hundred times worse.”

They remained silent for a while longer before, checking that the Daleks were far away, and that no more were creeping up on them, they wheeled their bikes back out into the street.

“I want the TARDIS to be safe,” the Doctor explained. “If they destroy her, I’m stuffed.”

“No, you’d be stuck here.”

“Exactly, stuffed.”

They mounted their bicycles and pushed off, eyes darting every which way now that their senses were on the alert.

“Now bikes the Daleks don’t care much for,” the Doctor rambled.

Rose stifled a laugh. “Well that I can understand. I can’t see one of them ever riding one.”

“Bikes are safe, y’see. They’re not like your cars, which just break down far too often, and blow up far too easily. They don’t rank as dangerous local technology, either, like some of your cars do, ‘cause they don’t have an engine, they don’t have a navigator, they don’t have--”

“Anything going for them,” Rose mumbled.

“Trust me, the Daleks are hardly gonna fret if they do catch sight of us.”

“Oh no, they might only kill us - if they don’t die laughing first.”

The Doctor ignored the latter half of her comment. “If we’re quick enough, they won‘t have time to kill us. We have far more chance of bailing off of one of these than we would from inside a car.”

“Can you even drive?” Rose challenged.

“ ‘Course I can drive! I had a nice little car once. She was yellow.”

“Just like Mickey’s first car.”

The Doctor grimaced at her. “Nothing like Ricky’s first car.”

“You never even saw it.”

“Still nothing like it. Trust me.”

Rose sighed and let it drop. “I still say the TARDIS would’ve been better,” she insisted.

The Doctor shook his head. “Rose, you’ve gotta stop trying to take the easiest path. It’s hardly satisfying.”

“No, but it’s usually the least embarrassing. I’ll never live this down if mum finds out.”

There was a significant pause, filled with nothing but the sound of rotating pedals, until the Doctor added, “Or worse, if our daughter does…”

---

Despite Rose’s doubts over the Doctor’s reasons for taking them pedalling into London city centre, it was rather amazing how right he was, and how little attention was paid to them. It seemed that the tanks, cannons and other rather large and impressive pieces of machinery were much more attractive to the Daleks’ thirst for destruction than a pair of unimposing cyclists. (And of course, their were thousands of screaming, panicking people rushing around like headless chickens, just asking to be slaughtered. If Rose hadn’t given the Doctor a reason to stop insulting the human race, he would have called them ‘stupid apes’.)

And so Rose followed the Doctor right into the heart of London, zipping down the abandoned roads with an ease that surprised her. Occasionally they would have to steer around some piles of burning rubble which littered their path, each one standing testament to where the Dalek offensive had already left its mark, but the rest of the journey remained Dalek-free.

Rose found herself wondering again at length where exactly the Doctor was taking her, until he suddenly braked on the bridge over the Thames, near the Embankment, and she skidded to a halt by his side. When she looked at him, he was smiling.

“What?” she asked.

He gestured to the locale. “Bring back any memories?”

There was a huge blast from the other side of London and Rose flinched. “Yeah, that reminds me of when some strange man blew up my job.”

He groaned. “No, not that.”

She allowed herself a moment to look around and, after noticing that the London Eye remained unscathed, gave him a genuine, heartfelt smile. “Of course I remember. This is where we had our first adventure.”

“Yup,” he nodded. “And what happened on our first adventure?”

“You shanghaied me into service.”

He blinked. “Not quite the lingo I would have used, but yes. And what did we face underneath the big wheel?”

Rose bit on her lip. “The Nest-… what was it called? Nestey? Nestin?”

“Nestene Consciousness. Righto.”

It was Rose’s turn to blink at him whilst another blast echoed out from across the city. “And what’s that got to do with us pedalling to the centre of London whilst the sky falls around us?”

The Doctor looked up. “The sky isn’t falling.”

She rolled her eyes and he quietly laughed at her. “Come on,” he said, “We’re nearly there.”

And Rose grudgingly put her feet back on the pedals and set off after him. Wherever he went, she would follow, after all.

NB: The Torchwood reference went into this chapter before the spin-off TV show started last October (which tells you how long I‘ve been working on this), so it’s in no way meant to hint toward anything like that. I was just having fun with what “Torchwood” could possibly mean. :)