CHAPTER 1

Roxanne Tylor, the daughter of Jack Tylor - engineer and part time writer of bad horror novels - and Petronella Tylor, was lying amongst the rubble of an exploded clothing factory, sobbing quietly, but not too enthusiasticaly, as she was becoming dehydryted. Her left leg was stuck straight out in front of her, the foot twisted at a sharp and sickening angle. Roxanne had been lucky in that she'd been thrown clear of the explosion, but had badly turned her ankle on the when she fell among the ruins of the factory. She was afraid she might even have broken it.

Roxanne was crying because she was in shock and had the paranoid fear that if she started to shout for help, her injury would hurt even more than it already did, and the agony was only just bearable now, but she was also crying because she believed she had just witnessed someone's death. The man - leather jacket, mancunian, buzz cut - had pushed her out of the door just before the explosion threw her roughly into the air. Roxanne figured out it must have been him who set off the bomb.

She leaned her head against a huge piece of wall (?) behind her, tried to keep her breathing steady and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now. Her phone was a clump of mangled and crushed plastic on the ground beside her. No phoning home. Roxanne was stuck where she was, unless someone found her and could help her.

She became aware of a deep, northern voice calling to her, somewhere in front of where she lay, behind a pile of rubble. The man with the bomb, she realised a few seconds later. He was alive! "Hello? Where are you? Talk to me so I can find you!" He called.

The voice was closer now, and Roxanne felt her body instinctivly tensing up in case she had to fight. Awful thoughts flashed through her mind, clips form her worst nightmares - rape, murder (she reminded herself that she was a witness to his bombing of the factory), being found months later as a dismembered corpse buried in the middle of a field...

But rapist or not, murderor or not, whatever he was, Roxanne needed help, and at the moment, this man was the only person around who could offer her that help, so she called out. "I'm here! Help me. I need help. Help!" She was surprised at the weak quality of her voice.

"Hold on!"

In spite of her fear, Roxanne was reassured as soon as she saw him, a dusty and disheveled man in a ancient leather jacket and a kind but concerned grin on his angular face. He jogged up to her and crouched down in front of her, close to her injured ankle. She looked up at him, eyes wide with terror and pain. He streatched out a hand and she took it almost without thinking. "It's alright, Rose. I'm here to help. I'm the Doctor, remember?"

She nodded, giggling slightly thorugh the whimpers of pain, and wondered if she was becoming delirious. "I remember - I think I need a Doctor." She giggled again, a tear of relief dribbling down her face. "And it's Roxanne. I can't stand 'Rose'."

The grin broadened slightly. "Roxanne. Is it just the ankle? Nothing else hurting really badly?"

"No. How'd you know it was my ankle?"

"It's pretty obvious." He moved a little so his hands were gently pressing on her foot. He looked her straight in the eyes, and she noticed how startlingly blue his were - the colour of oceans, of calm skies, of iceburgs. "Right. I want you to take a deep breath for me."

"Why? What you gonna do to me?" Roxanne tried to back off but found her way blocked by the huge slab of concrete behind her.

The Doctor gripped her hand and squeezed. "If I told you, you wouldn't do it. You're going to have to trust me on this one. Can you trust me?"

Roxanne peered into the man's eyes and steadied his face carefully. After a pause she said. "No. No, I don't"

"Well, I'm afraid you're gonna have to if you want to walk on that in the next month. How about you give it a try, yeah?"

She squeezed his hand back, in need of some kind of human contact. She was cold and she needed reassurance. "Just make it quick, whatever you're going to do." Roxanne covered her face with a hand that was trembling badly.

"Deep breaths then, eh?" The Doctor said warningly. She closed her eyes, breathed in like she'd been ordered to. Seconds later she felt her ankle yanked back round to its rightful position. The pain didn't come for about half a second, and when it did, it was a white hot shrieking pain, and she let out a shrill squeal. It was the purest pain she's ever felt in her life, and the sharpest, btut it felt right. Something was clicking back into place. Instinctivly, Roxanne lashed out and her slim, bony wrist connected with the side of the Doctor's head with a hard 'twack', and then she went back to gasping over the pain, gripping her ankle as hard as she could and trying to squeeze the hurt away somehow.

Eventually, the pain slowly ebbed away to a bearable ache. She moved the foot experimentally and was rewarded by a sharp pain that shot up her leg like white flame, but at least she could stand to move it a little.

"Better?" asked the Doctor, rubbing the side of his head and grinning ruefully.

"I don't know what you're a Doctor of, but that worked. Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"Can you stand?"

"I don't know." She took hold of his outstretched hands and gingerly heaved herself up onto her right foot, reluctant to put weight on the left. She bit her lip hard to distract from the agony that resulted in placing her left foot on the ground and felt her long nails sinking into the man's flesh. Roxanne heard him whistle between his teeth as he gasped, but otherwise he gave no complaint.

"You need to try and put weight on it - you won't get far like that."

"It hurts..." It was half a whine, half a sob of pain.

"Try..." She did try, all the while clinging on the Doctor for support, but her ankle felt like it had swollen to the size of a basketball, bursting out with pain, and tears stung at her eyes.

"I can't." Roxanne wanted nothing more than to just sink back to the ground and go to sleep for a couple of days - that would be nice, so nice - but the Doctor was determined to hold her up and she leaned into his chest instead. "Take me home, Doctor." She whispered, half unconsious by now, salty face pressed against leather.

The Doctor patted her dark aubern hair, and then lifted her off the eground, so she fell gratefully into his arms. She lifted her head slightly in alarm as he started to walk away from the site of the explosion. "Where are you taking me?"

"Away. Just relax and don't move. I don't wanna jog that ankle of yours." Roxanne leaned her head back so it rested on the Doctor's shoulder and tried not to think those thoughts about rape again.