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chelseagirlThe Tyler Conspiracy 3/3
chelseagirl47
Gen: Sam Tyler. Rose Tyler. Jaye Tyler. (Life on Mars/Doctor Who/Wonderfalls)
some violent imagery.
Notes: Spoilers through Doctor Who season 2 and Life on Mars season 1. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blancafic and bakednudel for their most helpful advice on a previous draft and to blancafic for beta'ing this version. And to my husband for Britpicking; any remaining Americanisms are due to either me or to Jaye!
Sorry for not posting the last bit over the weekend -- got a bit obsessed by some work/academic projects and figured if I was obsessed with something I *should* be obsessed with for a change, I should go with it. ;-) Sorry.
The morgue wasn’t exactly what Rose and Jaye had expected it to be. Neither had Sam been tremendously helpful.
“It’s police business and far too dangerous for the two of you,” he’d insisted.
“So why do you think we’re here then?” asked Rose.
“Well, I’d hoped you were here to help me get back to the 21st century. What I wasn’t planning on was bringing either of you back there in pieces.”
So clearly they were on their own.
“I’ve never investigated a murder before,” Jaye whispered. “My voices are usually about . . . you know, getting people together, helping priests find their long lost children, advising one of the Native tribes to open a casino. Everyday kinds of things.”
“I’ve seen some horrible things in my travels. Anyway, we need to search the body for clues.”
Jaye stepped back. “Be my guest – it’s all yours. But, er, won’t the forensic pathologist have done that already? You know, like they do on CSI?”
“Sam said there’s just a regular coroner.”
“Oh. Right. 1973. Bad fashions, worse food, and cops like a Starsky and Hutch rerun.”
The morgue was as lacking in high-tech devices as the rest of 1973. The girls found the sliding drawers at the far end, easily enough. “But how do we tell which one is our victim?” whispered Jaye.
“I’ve actually never done this before either,” Rose whispered back. “It should be a young girl, about our age, with her throat cut and . . . some mutilation. Something Sam didn’t want us to hear about.”
Jaye had slid out a drawer and was starting at a particular corpse. “Like this?” She looked slightly green.
Rose gulped. “Uh, yeah, like that.”
The body was that of a dark-haired woman in her late teens or early twenties. Her throat was slit, her nose was cut off, and her eyes were removed.
“Maybe some kind of ritual killing? Or like the killer feels like the eyes house the soul? Or capture his image, or something?”
“And the nose?”
“Uh, houses his scent? I dunno. I’m basing this on a bunch of serial killer movies I watched on DVD last winter. Winters get really boring in Niagara Falls.”
Rose frowned. “So how do you think this might connect to the whole ‘bring him home’ thing?”
“No idea, but--” Jaye began, and then abruptly stopped. It was as if someone had suddenly flipped a switch that turned her from full color into black-and-white – she looked utterly drained.
“Jaye? You all right? What’s happening?”
Jaye’s eyes looked huge. “Rose?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Remember how I said anything with a face . . . could talk to me?”
Rose looked at her in horror.
“The body?”
“Something about the canal. A warehouse.”
“Isn’t that a bit less cryptic than the messages you usually get?”
Jaye nodded. “There is nothing about this that is like the messages I usually get. Shall we?”
##
Rose and Jaye found their way to the canal, aided by a set of directions obtained by an exceptionally weak excuse (one had to worry about D.C. Puppydog and his gullibility, one really did).
“So we’re here,” said Rose, expectantly.
Jaye looked around. “Umm . . . umm . . .”
“Awaiting further orders?”
“Looking for something with a face.”
“Will I do?”
The girls jumped at the words.
“Over here . . .”
The man was tall and unusually thin, almost cadaverous, dressed in nondescript clothing that had seen better days. Thin, colorless hair was plastered down closely over his skull. He had watery pale grey eyes and he blinked a great deal while he talked to them. “I don’t have much time; he’ll wake up soon. You’d best be careful; he’s the one who’s been killing the girls.”
“Who’s he?”
The thin man pointed vaguely at himself. “He’s called Edward Pennington. He used to be an accountant. Then I came along and . . . I didn’t know. I didn’t realize he had such fantasies, and I didn’t know that my being here would awaken them.”
“Is this some kind of, like, dissociative personality disorder?” asked Jaye.
“Huh?” Rose frowned at her. “Oh, like . . Sybil or whatever? No, I think we’re talking to someone else, really someone else. A traveler?”
The man nodded. “I’m called . . . well, you couldn’t pronounce it. I flew my ship too close to the earth’s atmosphere and I was shot down . . .”
“So they’ve got a Torchwood in this reality as well.”
“I do not know. My physical form was too badly damaged to repair itself, so my essence sought another host. This . . . Edward Pennington came along, and I chose him. I didn’t know what he was like; I’m not certain he knew what he was like. He began to think he was going mad—“
“I know what that feels like,” Rose and Jaye blurted out almost simultaneously.
“—and that if he was mad, it would be okay to make the pictures in his head be real. It is horrible . . .”
“What can we do to help you?” asked Rose, urgently.
“There is nothing you can do for me. But . . . he must be stopped. You must . . . you must find a way to . . . “
“Surely you don’t expect us to . . . kill him?”
“Not you,” he said. “But someone must. Now be careful; he is about to wake up and I cannot control him. Keep your distance.”
“Keep our distance from a serial murderer? Not a problem.” Jaye was already backing away.
“Now,” said the man, and suddenly his eyes changed color. Instead of pale grey, they were dark brown. His expression was different as well. “Hello, darlings,” he said, in a much deeper voice. “Both of you come to play with me?”
“Run!” said Rose, grabbing Jaye’s hand, and they ran as quickly as they could, through the unfamiliar landscape, past old warehouses and at one point under a tunnel bridge, the darkness magnifying their fear. The man was always close behind, never quite gaining enough to catch them.
But one of the turnings they took was a wrong one, and they found themselves at a dead end, up against a high brick wall as the man – Edward Pennington – came closer.
“He’s got a knife!” whispered Jaye.
Rose was used to getting out of tight situations, but without a TARDIS and a sonic screwdriver, she was at a bit of a loss. “Nice knowing you, cousin Jaye.”
“Same here, cousin Rose.”
Pennington thrust with the knife as Rose twisted out of the way. Jaye took advantage of the distraction to slip around him, and head out of the yard. But she couldn’t see what to do for Rose, and didn’t want to leave her.
She heard a scream.
“Rose!” she cried, and, unthinking, ran back towards the noise.
Pennington had pinned Rose to the ground; he was crouched over her, reaching back with his knife.
“No!” cried Jaye, and not thinking, she rushed towards them and threw herself on the killer, knocking him down. He grabbed her, and now the knife was against her throat.
Rose looked around desperately, searching for a weapon or an opportunity, and finding neither.
There was a sound of squealing brakes, and heavy footfalls.
“Hands up!” came a voice. “We’re armed and you cannot escape.”
It was Gene Hunt. Greatly to her relief, Rose saw him, with Sam, and several other members of their unit.
Pennington stepped forward, still clutching Jaye tightly. “I’ve got the girl, and if you take another step, she’s dead.”
Sam stepped forward, taking his place at Gene’s side. “Let her go. Let’s talk about this.”
“There’ll be no talking. There’s only one way this can end, and we both know it. I kill the girl, you kill me. The only question is what order.”
Crash! From behind Sam and Gene came a loud noise. Pennington started, and Jaye took the opportunity to slip out of his momentarily weakened grasp. She and Rose darted to the side, while Sam and Gene rushed forward. In a moment, Gene had the killer pinned to the ground, and uniformed officers were moving forward to handcuff him.
Rose looked behind the crowd, and saw D.C. Puppydog . . . Chris, his name was . . . still trying to pick up the row of trash bins he’d plowed his car into. “Sorry,” he was saying. “Sorry,” as she and Jaye came closer.
“Chris, you’re a hero, is what you are.”
“Saved my life,” Jaye added. “But, Rose, let’s never do this again, ‘kay?”
A moment later, Chris found himself being soundly hugged by Sam’s two pretty cousins. He blushed and sputtered a little bit, then gave himself up to enjoying the attention.
It was only later he learned how he’d become the inadvertent hero of the day.
* * *
Later, at the Railway Arms, Jaye was making her way resolutely through her fourth scotch-and-water.
“Slow down, cuz.” Rose appeared behind her.
“Can you believe Nelson had never heard of a mojito? Or a kamikaze?”
“Welcome to England. Have some beer with a beer chaser.” Rose looked over at the dreadlocked barkeep. “I don’t think he’s really from Jamaica, either. Mickey’s grandma is, and his accent . . . I dunno. It keeps slipping or something.”
Over at the other side of the bar, Sam was sitting at a table with the Guv, Ray, Chris and Annie.
“So, really, it’s a Tyler thing,” Gene was saying.
“What do you mean?”
“Your cousins, lovely girls that they are, are every bit as annoying and incapable of following simple instructions as you are.”
Sam shrugged. “Family characteristic, yeah, absolutely.”
A moment later, Rose tapped him on the shoulder. “Er, Sam? Jaye just received another . . . message.”
***
When Sam, Rose and Jaye arrived at the Oaks, some of the other parties were in full swing. The room in back, though, still marked reserved for the Tyler family reunion, was empty, but brightly lit. As it had been earlier, there was a lavish buffet set out, and the bar, though unattended, was well-stocked.
“Pity we couldn’t have brought the others back with us,” said Sam.
“So . . .” said Rose, “what now?”
Jaye was already pouring champagne. “A toast, and then we talk back through that door and see where we end up next.”
They clinked glasses. “Cheers!’
“Cheers!”
“Here’s . . . uh . . . whatever.”
They drained their glasses, set them on the bar, and stepped through the door.
“Umm . . .” said Rose, “I don’t think we’re in Manchester anymore.”
Sam looked around. “I don’t think we’re in 1973, anymore, either.”
“Guys?” said Jaye. “Have I had too much to drink, or . . . is that car hovering above the pavement?”
chelseagirl47
Gen: Sam Tyler. Rose Tyler. Jaye Tyler. (Life on Mars/Doctor Who/Wonderfalls)
some violent imagery.
Notes: Spoilers through Doctor Who season 2 and Life on Mars season 1. Thanks to
blancafic and bakednudel for their most helpful advice on a previous draft and to blancafic for beta'ing this version. And to my husband for Britpicking; any remaining Americanisms are due to either me or to Jaye!Sorry for not posting the last bit over the weekend -- got a bit obsessed by some work/academic projects and figured if I was obsessed with something I *should* be obsessed with for a change, I should go with it. ;-) Sorry.
The morgue wasn’t exactly what Rose and Jaye had expected it to be. Neither had Sam been tremendously helpful.
“It’s police business and far too dangerous for the two of you,” he’d insisted.
“So why do you think we’re here then?” asked Rose.
“Well, I’d hoped you were here to help me get back to the 21st century. What I wasn’t planning on was bringing either of you back there in pieces.”
So clearly they were on their own.
“I’ve never investigated a murder before,” Jaye whispered. “My voices are usually about . . . you know, getting people together, helping priests find their long lost children, advising one of the Native tribes to open a casino. Everyday kinds of things.”
“I’ve seen some horrible things in my travels. Anyway, we need to search the body for clues.”
Jaye stepped back. “Be my guest – it’s all yours. But, er, won’t the forensic pathologist have done that already? You know, like they do on CSI?”
“Sam said there’s just a regular coroner.”
“Oh. Right. 1973. Bad fashions, worse food, and cops like a Starsky and Hutch rerun.”
The morgue was as lacking in high-tech devices as the rest of 1973. The girls found the sliding drawers at the far end, easily enough. “But how do we tell which one is our victim?” whispered Jaye.
“I’ve actually never done this before either,” Rose whispered back. “It should be a young girl, about our age, with her throat cut and . . . some mutilation. Something Sam didn’t want us to hear about.”
Jaye had slid out a drawer and was starting at a particular corpse. “Like this?” She looked slightly green.
Rose gulped. “Uh, yeah, like that.”
The body was that of a dark-haired woman in her late teens or early twenties. Her throat was slit, her nose was cut off, and her eyes were removed.
“Maybe some kind of ritual killing? Or like the killer feels like the eyes house the soul? Or capture his image, or something?”
“And the nose?”
“Uh, houses his scent? I dunno. I’m basing this on a bunch of serial killer movies I watched on DVD last winter. Winters get really boring in Niagara Falls.”
Rose frowned. “So how do you think this might connect to the whole ‘bring him home’ thing?”
“No idea, but--” Jaye began, and then abruptly stopped. It was as if someone had suddenly flipped a switch that turned her from full color into black-and-white – she looked utterly drained.
“Jaye? You all right? What’s happening?”
Jaye’s eyes looked huge. “Rose?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Remember how I said anything with a face . . . could talk to me?”
Rose looked at her in horror.
“The body?”
“Something about the canal. A warehouse.”
“Isn’t that a bit less cryptic than the messages you usually get?”
Jaye nodded. “There is nothing about this that is like the messages I usually get. Shall we?”
##
Rose and Jaye found their way to the canal, aided by a set of directions obtained by an exceptionally weak excuse (one had to worry about D.C. Puppydog and his gullibility, one really did).
“So we’re here,” said Rose, expectantly.
Jaye looked around. “Umm . . . umm . . .”
“Awaiting further orders?”
“Looking for something with a face.”
“Will I do?”
The girls jumped at the words.
“Over here . . .”
The man was tall and unusually thin, almost cadaverous, dressed in nondescript clothing that had seen better days. Thin, colorless hair was plastered down closely over his skull. He had watery pale grey eyes and he blinked a great deal while he talked to them. “I don’t have much time; he’ll wake up soon. You’d best be careful; he’s the one who’s been killing the girls.”
“Who’s he?”
The thin man pointed vaguely at himself. “He’s called Edward Pennington. He used to be an accountant. Then I came along and . . . I didn’t know. I didn’t realize he had such fantasies, and I didn’t know that my being here would awaken them.”
“Is this some kind of, like, dissociative personality disorder?” asked Jaye.
“Huh?” Rose frowned at her. “Oh, like . . Sybil or whatever? No, I think we’re talking to someone else, really someone else. A traveler?”
The man nodded. “I’m called . . . well, you couldn’t pronounce it. I flew my ship too close to the earth’s atmosphere and I was shot down . . .”
“So they’ve got a Torchwood in this reality as well.”
“I do not know. My physical form was too badly damaged to repair itself, so my essence sought another host. This . . . Edward Pennington came along, and I chose him. I didn’t know what he was like; I’m not certain he knew what he was like. He began to think he was going mad—“
“I know what that feels like,” Rose and Jaye blurted out almost simultaneously.
“—and that if he was mad, it would be okay to make the pictures in his head be real. It is horrible . . .”
“What can we do to help you?” asked Rose, urgently.
“There is nothing you can do for me. But . . . he must be stopped. You must . . . you must find a way to . . . “
“Surely you don’t expect us to . . . kill him?”
“Not you,” he said. “But someone must. Now be careful; he is about to wake up and I cannot control him. Keep your distance.”
“Keep our distance from a serial murderer? Not a problem.” Jaye was already backing away.
“Now,” said the man, and suddenly his eyes changed color. Instead of pale grey, they were dark brown. His expression was different as well. “Hello, darlings,” he said, in a much deeper voice. “Both of you come to play with me?”
“Run!” said Rose, grabbing Jaye’s hand, and they ran as quickly as they could, through the unfamiliar landscape, past old warehouses and at one point under a tunnel bridge, the darkness magnifying their fear. The man was always close behind, never quite gaining enough to catch them.
But one of the turnings they took was a wrong one, and they found themselves at a dead end, up against a high brick wall as the man – Edward Pennington – came closer.
“He’s got a knife!” whispered Jaye.
Rose was used to getting out of tight situations, but without a TARDIS and a sonic screwdriver, she was at a bit of a loss. “Nice knowing you, cousin Jaye.”
“Same here, cousin Rose.”
Pennington thrust with the knife as Rose twisted out of the way. Jaye took advantage of the distraction to slip around him, and head out of the yard. But she couldn’t see what to do for Rose, and didn’t want to leave her.
She heard a scream.
“Rose!” she cried, and, unthinking, ran back towards the noise.
Pennington had pinned Rose to the ground; he was crouched over her, reaching back with his knife.
“No!” cried Jaye, and not thinking, she rushed towards them and threw herself on the killer, knocking him down. He grabbed her, and now the knife was against her throat.
Rose looked around desperately, searching for a weapon or an opportunity, and finding neither.
There was a sound of squealing brakes, and heavy footfalls.
“Hands up!” came a voice. “We’re armed and you cannot escape.”
It was Gene Hunt. Greatly to her relief, Rose saw him, with Sam, and several other members of their unit.
Pennington stepped forward, still clutching Jaye tightly. “I’ve got the girl, and if you take another step, she’s dead.”
Sam stepped forward, taking his place at Gene’s side. “Let her go. Let’s talk about this.”
“There’ll be no talking. There’s only one way this can end, and we both know it. I kill the girl, you kill me. The only question is what order.”
Crash! From behind Sam and Gene came a loud noise. Pennington started, and Jaye took the opportunity to slip out of his momentarily weakened grasp. She and Rose darted to the side, while Sam and Gene rushed forward. In a moment, Gene had the killer pinned to the ground, and uniformed officers were moving forward to handcuff him.
Rose looked behind the crowd, and saw D.C. Puppydog . . . Chris, his name was . . . still trying to pick up the row of trash bins he’d plowed his car into. “Sorry,” he was saying. “Sorry,” as she and Jaye came closer.
“Chris, you’re a hero, is what you are.”
“Saved my life,” Jaye added. “But, Rose, let’s never do this again, ‘kay?”
A moment later, Chris found himself being soundly hugged by Sam’s two pretty cousins. He blushed and sputtered a little bit, then gave himself up to enjoying the attention.
It was only later he learned how he’d become the inadvertent hero of the day.
* * *
Later, at the Railway Arms, Jaye was making her way resolutely through her fourth scotch-and-water.
“Slow down, cuz.” Rose appeared behind her.
“Can you believe Nelson had never heard of a mojito? Or a kamikaze?”
“Welcome to England. Have some beer with a beer chaser.” Rose looked over at the dreadlocked barkeep. “I don’t think he’s really from Jamaica, either. Mickey’s grandma is, and his accent . . . I dunno. It keeps slipping or something.”
Over at the other side of the bar, Sam was sitting at a table with the Guv, Ray, Chris and Annie.
“So, really, it’s a Tyler thing,” Gene was saying.
“What do you mean?”
“Your cousins, lovely girls that they are, are every bit as annoying and incapable of following simple instructions as you are.”
Sam shrugged. “Family characteristic, yeah, absolutely.”
A moment later, Rose tapped him on the shoulder. “Er, Sam? Jaye just received another . . . message.”
***
When Sam, Rose and Jaye arrived at the Oaks, some of the other parties were in full swing. The room in back, though, still marked reserved for the Tyler family reunion, was empty, but brightly lit. As it had been earlier, there was a lavish buffet set out, and the bar, though unattended, was well-stocked.
“Pity we couldn’t have brought the others back with us,” said Sam.
“So . . .” said Rose, “what now?”
Jaye was already pouring champagne. “A toast, and then we talk back through that door and see where we end up next.”
They clinked glasses. “Cheers!’
“Cheers!”
“Here’s . . . uh . . . whatever.”
They drained their glasses, set them on the bar, and stepped through the door.
“Umm . . .” said Rose, “I don’t think we’re in Manchester anymore.”
Sam looked around. “I don’t think we’re in 1973, anymore, either.”
“Guys?” said Jaye. “Have I had too much to drink, or . . . is that car hovering above the pavement?”
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no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 11:58 am (UTC)Well done, and thanks for sharing. Will there be more adventures to look forward to?
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 12:29 pm (UTC)There is the now nigh-inevitable Ten and Sam encounter, complete with mistaken identity, but I kinda *don't* want to write that because that's cropping up in so many different forms. (OK, maybe nobody else would have Rose and Jaye along.)
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 12:18 pm (UTC)(Now surely you'll have to write the sequel about the Time-Travelling Tylers in the era of hovering cars!)
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 12:31 pm (UTC)I guess it really depends on whether I come up with a plot for another adventure. There's the now-inevitable Ten-Sam encounter complete with mistaken identity, but that's going to be very overdone -- though perhaps eventually.
Glad you enjoyed!
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 12:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 12:36 pm (UTC)I'm not very prolific; I've mostly written Sam/Annie, some of which should be on lifein1973. But I'm doing something for the ficathon, and working on a gen story for Annie month as well . . .
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 12:34 pm (UTC)I've loved this all the way along, and the ending was brilliant XD ...Hovercars? Not in any of their eras.. the only thing I can think of is Back to the Future, lol.
Now, surely, we can look forward to more? I think the Tylers make a fab team, and you're a great writer!!
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 12:40 pm (UTC)Wow . . . if I can come up with a good enough plot I'd love to do another. (Other than the inevitable Ten and Sam encounter . . . )
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 12:52 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for writing it!
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 01:32 pm (UTC)I feel like the plot, when I finally got to it, was a bit rushed, but I think that's a hazard of a crossover setup story. I'm glad it was effective!
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 07:35 pm (UTC)Oh, and I love it how you kept calling Chris 'D.C. Puppydog' and made him a hero for a day. He's an adorable character, though quite underused in the original series. Luckily, fanfiction does him justice, sometimes! :)
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 10:36 pm (UTC)Yeah, Chris needs not to be just the "div" sometimes. He's a sweetie. Now if only I could soften up towards Ray. . . .
no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 06:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-09 03:18 am (UTC)Would love to know where they go now. Was that just some random bit of the future or another fandom I'm unfamiliar with. And who is this "Ten" person?
Anyway, thanks for sharing and again, genius combination.
~Ai
no subject
Date: 2007-08-09 10:00 am (UTC)Ten = Tenth Doctor.