Post Pomp (3&4 of 22)

[amberfocus]

Chapter Three:  Eighty Days

There’s one thing you should know, Cara Mia. Ice guns, no matter what the Doctor calls them, come in handy for killing rats. Or the 51st century equivalent of rats. Six legged, long-tailed, purple-furred, orange-glow-in-the-dark-eyed, rats. I’ve spent the last ten days doing just that. Killing rats.

The first chamber I searched was full of them. Scared me half to death until I realized what they were and then I got mad at myself for acting like a little girl. I took down the Emperor of the Daleks with the wave of my hand. I could surely take down these creatures with a couple of ice guns.

I found a large freezer unit in Storage Room Six. Let’s just say I spent a full day gutting, skinning, and storing rats just in case I didn’t find another food supply on the Madame Pomp. That’s not exactly something I’m proud of or ever looking forward to, but well…I’m not going to starve if I can help it. And the TARDIS supplies are getting low.

Who’d have thought I’d ever be grateful to Mickey for forcing me to go on that one hunting expedition all those years ago. The skills I learned that day just might keep me alive a little longer. I’m trying to decide if that’s a good thing. I don’t think I have a death wish. I mean, I want to be alive, I’m just not sure that here is the place for that.

I cut my hand badly yesterday. Sliced clear across my left palm. At least I don’t have to worry about tetanus. That was one of the things Mum forced me to do when I signed up with the Doctor early on. She made me get all my vaccines updated. If I was going to die out there in the vastness of space, it wasn’t going to be from something stupid and preventable. I wish I’d made Mickey do the same. But I can’t think about that right now.

It’s been a hassle, the hand. It makes it very hard to climb which means I’m confined to one floor on the ship and I’ve already searched this one pretty thoroughly. I’ve got to find another food supply. Real food. Not those things. And water. The TARDIS seems to be getting really stingy with the water supply. She won’t let me shower more than three times a week and she cuts the water off after five minutes no matter how much I cajole, whine, beg, plead, or whack her with the mallet.

I suppose she’s just being sensible, but it’s infuriating. What I’m really afraid of is the time is coming when I won’t be able to shower at all, to keep clean. It’ll be just down to drinking water. But keeping clean, well that helps counteract some diseases and with these rat things, well who knows what they’re carrying?

Another reason I really don’t want to have to eat them. I hate wasting time over a stupid injury. Maybe I’ll just force my way through the pain and climb the ladder to the next floor anyway. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve worked through pain and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

I so hate this life right now. Such a far cry from the girl adventurer I was until he abandoned me. See that big scribbled out mess, Cara? That was a very nasty curse word I just wrote down. I wouldn’t have been able to kiss Mum with this mouth after saying that word. That’s what I say when I think about him. I keep telling myself stop thinking about the Doctor. He stopped thinking about you while you were still with him. Don’t think about him now he’s gone.

Think about Mum instead. Though really, that’s not better. It’s not like I get to ever see her again. She must be so worried about me. Ninety days without a word. The Doctor had my super phone in his pocket when he disappeared. I think if I’d of at least had my phone, if I could have at least talked to my mother, I wouldn’t be like this right now. I’d be able to go on with a lot more conviction that life was what I still wanted, no matter how dismal.

Now I sound suicidal. I’m not. I swear, I’m not. I need to locate the communications equipment and see if I can’t find a manual and figure out how to rig a signal. There’s got to be someone else somewhere in this portion of space who can rescue me.

I know I can make a life. Maybe it won’t be my life, the life I always dreamt of living, but it’ll be a life. A life off this ship. That’s about the only thing I hope for these days. A life off this ship or the discovery of food stores. Food stores without rats.



Rose slid a ribbon into her diary and placed it on her night stand, the pen on top of it. She glanced down at her hand and noticed that the blood had soaked through the bandage again.

“That’s not good,” she said. She took herself off to the infirmary and cleaned the wound with soap and water then rummaged around until she found a needle and some catgut thread. At least she knew how to sew. How different could stitching up her left hand be than that?

It wasn’t too different, though she did wince painfully as she forced the needle through her skin and the top layer of tissue. But as each suture drew the wound closed, she knew she was doing the right thing, already it seemed to have stopped the beading of blood that had been soaking her bandage.

Carefully she rebandaged the wound when she was done and tucked the supplies back away. She’d most likely be needing them again and it would be better not to have to look for them in odd places.

She left the infirmary and the TARDIS and then headed for the nearest ladder. She yelped in pain as she pulled herself up a rung. It did not deter her one bit. She leaned into the pain, fully aware that she was still alive because of it and that she still wanted to be.



Chapter Four:  Ninety Days

Three months it’s been since I was abandoned. I wonder how she’s living her life now, that woman? With the Doctor? I can’t imagine the king of France would allow his lover to live a life with the Doctor. And if he did, I can’t imagine her husband would have. Sure, the Doctor’s charming and all, but the woman already had two men she belonged to. I have to wonder what the Doctor was thinking running off after Miss Pompadomp.

He was always so big on not messing with history and then he goes and makes about as big a mess as it’s possible to make of it. Just goes to show that he’ll mess with it if he feels like it, if it’s important enough to him to do it. All talk, he was. So much smoke and mirrors. I wish I’d figured that out sooner. If I had I wouldn’t be in this barren existence now.

I’ve given myself permission to recall the happy times but all that keeps coming up in my mind is how many times he left me, how many times he sent me away. Why did I keep coming back to him? Why did I think he was worth that? I know at some time I thought he was worth doing anything for, even dying. I just can’t remember why. I wish I could. Maybe it would make living like this easier.

Not that remembering is going to change anything. Harsh truths remain harsh truths and the harshest truth of all is that the TARDIS has run out of food. Well, almost out. I’ll eat the last of it over the course of the next three days. She’s got me down to two five minute showers every three days. And she’s cut my drinking water to 64 ounces. Which is the minimal amount needed for healthy functioning. But I’ve put out so much exertion, sweat so much with all my running around on the ship, that I know I’m not replacing what I expend.

I guess I’ll have to make my exploring less vigorous. Make even and measured movements and not rush or run or do anything to work up a vigorous sweat. It’s getting colder in the TARDIS. I think she may be starting to lose environmental control a bit.

Madame Pomp is plenty warm, though. I just don’t want to have to move out there to sleep. I killed most of the rats but, well, I left some to breed…just in case I need a further food supply. That makes me sick just writing that, but I can’t be stupid. Three days and I’ll have to start in on that particular protein source. I don’t want to. It’s horrible.

I know they’ll survive for awhile on the rotting remnants of what was in Storage Room Twelve. And I’ll survive on them.



Rose closed the journal and dropped it on her bed then rose to her feet. It was time to get to it. “On the agenda today, Cara Mia,” she said, no longer just addressing the diary as that, but the air in general and her so-called imaginary friend, “Is a trip up to Deck Thirteen. The mission, should I choose to accept it, and of course I will because I don’t want to die here, is to find a food storage locker without rats or spoilage. And more importantly, locate a water source. A ship this big has to have a water source. It was run by humans after all.”

With a measured step she set off. Climbing up five decks to Deck Thirteen was quite a chore. Doing it slowly enough to not break out in a sweat caused a lot of muscle soreness and her left hand still ached abominably. She’d come to the conclusion shortly after sewing her palm up several days ago, that she must have nicked a tendon when she’d sliced herself, because her hand never did open and close quite right again, even after she’d removed the stitches four days ago.

Still, she forced it to do its share of the work despite the pain. She couldn’t allow herself to be weak or she’d never be able to accomplish what needed to be done. Survival was a harsh task mistress.

At last on the desired deck she heaved herself onto the metal gridded plating of the cat walk. She waited until her slightly accelerated breathing returned to normal before setting off, her eyes reading each door plate in the pale gloom.

She just about burst into tears when she found a plate about one kilometer down the corridor from where she’d come up the ladder. In bold beautiful letters it said HYDROPONICS. And when she opened the door and went inside, it was brightly lit and smelled of lush growth. But even better than that, she heard the flow of water.

She danced through the aisles of verdant growth gone unchecked and shouted in joy. “I found it, Cara. I found it. I’m not going to die and I won’t have to eat rats!”

“Well,” said a voice behind her, “You still need a protein source. Fruits and veg are all well and good, but you can get sick if you don’t balance your carbohydrates with appropriate amounts of proteins and fats.”

Rose spun around. “Who the hell are you?” She gasped in surprise. “Not that I’m not grateful to see you,” she amended. “I just thought I was alone here.”

“Oh, Rose, you are alone here,” the woman said.

“What? But you--.”

“Look at me, Rose. Who do you see?”

Rose’s eyes trailed across the woman’s face, angular, high brow, good cheek bones, sapphire eyes, long curly red hair that parted in the middle and fell to her waist. “Cara?” she said.

“Got it in one, Rose. You’re one sharp girl.”

“But you’re not real!”

“At this point, I think I’m as real as you are.”

“I’m hallucinating,” Rose said. “I must be.”

“Very probably. But does it really matter? The important thing is that there is food here. You need to figure out what you can carry and take it back to the TARDIS. Although…” And Cara trailed off, her searching eyes on Rose’s face.

“Although, what?”

“Well, she’s running down, isn’t she, the TARDIS? Perhaps it’s time you made yourself a nest on the Madame Pomp. Something near here so you can be close to your food and water supply,” Cara suggested.

“But the TARDIS is my home,” Rose protested.

“Why? Because you used to live in it with the Doctor?” Cara asked snidely.

“Yes!” snapped Rose. “Now go away. You’re not helping.” Rose was surprised when Cara did what she'd ordered and promptly vanished. “Well, if I’m going to have a hallucination,” she told herself wryly, “I suppose it’s good she minds me.”

She moved into the room and began cataloging what she’d found, pushing the thought that she might possibly be going mad to the back of her mind.

4.  http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/38809.html 

Comments

[wiggiemomsi.livejournal.com]

This is a reallyreallyreally good story! Rose is so resourceful & a darn good seamstress (ouch!) I'm liking it a lot.

But ... are you bored with Hunger Moon???

[maniacalshen.livejournal.com]

Oh my. Rose is losing it, and the poor TARDIS! Ever-faithful but limited without her bonded Time Lord. And without pit-stops. :( Rose is still pretty hardcore, though, as needs must.

[slvrcrystalc.livejournal.com]

The only thing that pushes me to read this is a vague sort of horror. Congratz, not many fics make me feel this way, but if you don't complete this, I'll message you for all of eternity to find out the ending.

*Still feeling vaguely horrified*

[amberfocus.livejournal.com]

Never! Never bored of alt!Nine/Rose. Never, ever. No my computer ate chapter 8 and I'm reconstructing it based on memory.

[amberfocus.livejournal.com]

Yeah, a little bit. Gets worse before it gets better, though, I have to warn you. But it does get better, I'm a sap for happy endings.

[amberfocus.livejournal.com]

It is horrific for the first several chapter but it does get better, promise! And this story is finished. I wrote it back in November. So no worries about it not getting put up. In fact I'll probably be posting 2 chapters at a time, since most of the chapters are around 1000 words and that's kind of short.

[bippy24.livejournal.com]

Wow, poor Rose! Good for her, though, that she is being resourceful and thinking ahead.

[amberfocus.livejournal.com]

She really does want to live even in the most hopeless of situations. And she's clever.

[bluevolvic.livejournal.com]

Started to read this fic , It's really good , very angsty, you killed off Poor Mickey :S.Is Rose going Mad?

[amberfocus.livejournal.com]

Thanks. And yeah, a little bit away from sanity.

[thette.livejournal.com]

Shock full of angst, but I like it so far. (And I waited until it was done to start reading.)

One Brit pick, though, from a Swede. Hunting is a rather upper class thing (with a side dish of rural) in Britain, so a poor city boy is not exactly likely to have taken his girlfriend hunting.

[amberfocus.livejournal.com]

Thanks. Well, maybe he can have a rich great uncle somewhere who invited them along. It's a very common activity here and has been for a couple of centuries. One of those differences in cultures, I guess.