A/N: this is one of my favorite DW fanfictions that I've written before, so I hope you enjoy. Oh and please do review! :)

It was somewhere old fashion, before or during the 1800s in rural England, it was all she knew. For the first time, the pair had dressed to blend in; well, it was the first for Bree to dress to match the time period anyway. As they had left the TARDIS, stepping into the bright morning sunshine, and made their way through the field, Bree had complained she felt like Snow White. With her brown hair now extended to the bottom of her shoulder blades, it rested over her blue and red striped puff sleeves. Around her torso was a light blue corset tied tight with white cords, a matching floor-length skirt hung over her equally matching flats. A white stripe extended down the front of the dress; gold stitching and decals decorated the white sleeves and stripes. Overall, it was a beautiful dress the Doctor had thought, and it suited the twenty-first century girl well, but instead he had just laughed. Putting an arm around her, he pulled her close as they walked down a large hill into a bowl like shape land where an old cabin Inn sat at the bottom. As they walked past the bare trees and the wind whispered through the branches, Bree put her arm around the Doctor's waist smiling.

Renting a room with two wooden beds, the Doctor soon afterword's left on a steed, leaving Bree in the care of the old landlord. Only after night had fallen and the moon rose high in the sky, peaking through the heavy clouds, did the Doctor return on the brown horse to the Inn. Remaining on the horse, he tapped on the door with no reply. Next, he tried whistling a tune to the window where finally Bree appeared, tying her hair up into a ponytail. Upon seeing her friend outside she quietly slipped out the door to stand next to the horse.

In the moonlight, Bree could see what the Doctor had chosen as his wardrobe of choice when they had originally arrived. He had on his mop of brown hair what he had called a "French cocked hat", and the white lace from the shirt he wore under his red velvet coat could be seen in the ghostly moonlight. His trousers were made of brown doe skin and the boots he wore reached his thighs. Instead of a pistol in the holster on his left, the Doctor had kept his Sonic Screwdriver stored there while a rapier was sheathed on his right, upon Bree's request. Privately, Bree thought the Time Lord looked very dashing.

"Well sorry, but I'm off again. Something's happening in the village and…" the Doctor started.

"It's not sitting right with you." Bree finished. The Doctor nodded.

Don't worry, I'll bring you back something!" he promised jokingly. Bree laughed, her teeth shining in the darkness.

"Just bring yourself back, that's all I need." She retorted, "Who else is supposed to chauffeur me back home?" The pair laughed for a moment before all traces of joking disappeared from the Doctor, who looked at the teenager in seriousness.

"Just… stay here and out of trouble. We don't want Hell to break loose." He cried. Bree just smiled widely at him.

"You mean keep away from the usual?" the entire time, Bree had for once actually kept her natural North American accent instead of adopting her UK accent that she usually did whenever in the United Kingdom. Although she did consider her adopted accent was rubbish and unpredictable.

"Keep here and out of trouble okay?" he asked, completely serious yet basically begging. Bree nodded. Bending and reaching down, the Doctor put a hand behind Bree's head and kissed her on the forehead while keeping the other hand on the reins. Bree just stood there, keeping in the moment, breathing in the Doctors' scent. Finally the Doctor straightened up in the saddle and nudged his horse forward. "I'll be back before dawn!" he promised before galloping off west, over the hill and off into the distance. As the distance between the friends grew greater, both individuals had a sinking feeling in their stomachs that something foreboding would soon occur. Once her friend was over and out of sight, Bree went back into the Inn. She slid into one of the wooden booths and putting her elbows on the tabletop, she rested her chin on her hands. Closing her eyes, she listened to the landlord play a familiar tune on his violin.

Dawn came, but the Doctor did not.

Noon had passed, and the Doctor had still not returned.

Night had fallen once again over the moor, clothing it in purple. All day Bree had been pacing the main room floor in worry; constantly looking out the window to the west. Not once did the landlord say a word, leaving the poor girl alone to her paranoid thoughts. When the moon was once again high in the cloudy sky above the moor, a sound echoed in the west at the top of the hill. A spark of hope ignited in Bree, and in a whirl of flying skirts she turned and ran to the window. Instead of the Doctor, she saw instead a company dressed in red marching down the hill towards the old Inn.

A shiver of fear ran down Bree's spine as she recognized the jackets she had seen depicted in museums and history textbooks. "King George's men." She mumbled to herself. That wrong feeling was back again, and a moment to spare before the soldiers entered the Inn, Bree ran to her room and closed the door behind her. Kneeling on the floor at the keyhole in the door, she watched as the soldiers marched in as if they owned the place, not once saying a word to the landlord. The red coats took the bar tankards and ale, drinking and spilling it all over the place until it was all gone. She silently watched the entire time in disgust but kept her presence unknown. When all the ale was gone though, the soldiers drunkenly made their way across the floor and towards Bree's bedroom door.

Heart beating wildly, Bree skittered away from the door in panic, too shaky to get up off the floor. The door was tossed with a bang, and there the drunken men stood, with stupid but purposeful smiles on their faces. They advanced forward on to the girl trapped against the foot of the bed. Grabbing her they tied her to the foot of her bed, gagging her as well. Bree choked out a cry of fear through the gag as she was tied to the short wooden posts of the beds' footboard, her wrists tied around and behind the leg of the board, while her ankles were tied together in front of her as she sat on the floorboards. Through the trauma, Bree took note that the men had tied a musket next to her; its barrel resting under her breast. The whole ordeal was scaring Bree beyond wits end, especially since the Doctor was not with her. She cried, sweat, and whimpered like mad as the soldiers drunkenly kissed her on the cheeks before leaving her there to wait outside in front of the old Inn door. To her left, she could see out the window a little to the west where the highway winding down the hill lie, the very highway the Doctor would hopefully soon come riding on home to her.

Nonetheless, Bree tried to free herself, the Doctor's last words echoing in her mind:

"I'll be back before dawn!"

She wriggled her fingers to try and loosen something, but the knots held good upon her skinny wrists, cutting into them with each movement. The hours crawled by and she kept trying to wiggle free from her bindings to the point where her fingers were soaked. Soaked in blood or sweat she did not know. Then finally, her fingers managed to move an inch, where they found a cool piece of metal; her fingers had found the trigger of the musket. At least she herself had control of the trigger.

Clattering could be heard on the highway above on the hilltop, horse hooves clattering upon the cobblestone and dirt road. Appearing above the moor on horseback was the Doctor. Bree began to whimper in relief, before beginning to whimper in fear for the Time Lord. Outside she could hear the Captain of the company outside giving orders; they were going to kill the Doctor, and she could not warn him of the danger.

Or could she?

Out the window and in the moonlight she could see the Doctor riding the steed down the ribbon road; it was a beautiful sight to her, seeing the Doctor riding a horse. Sitting up straight and still, she turned her head away from the highway and the window to face the door ahead of her. A single tear slid down her cheek as she took one last breath.

A musket shot shattered the midnight silence. The Doctor stopped at the sound of it, looking down to the Inn. Gathered at the front of the door he saw red clad men with muskets at their sides, a dying light could be seen in the main room windows. Bree was nowhere to be seen, the only humans visible in the night were the intoxicated red coats. His insides churned, if Bree could not be seen, and only a group of drunks were visible, something must be wrong. She must have been unable to warn him.

But she did warn him.

The gun shot.

Bree was dead, he realized.

She had waited in the moonlight for him, and died there too.

And he was too late to save her.

"NO!" the Doctor half screamed, half cried out to the sky. Forcing his horse forward, he made his way uselessly back to the old Inn, past the old bare trees. The Doctor heard one of the men shout commands to his companions.

"Ready." Muskets were raised. King George's men he realized.

"Aim." Muskets were pointed towards the fast approaching Doctor. They were going to kill him, he pressed on regardless. He had failed Bree.


Several gunshots rang out in the night, bullets flying over the moonlit moor to meet the Doctor. At impact the Doctor was sent flying back and off the startled horse, both hearts were stopped. Regeneration was no longer possible, it didn't matter now. As he lay on his back, his green eyes started to fade, closing for the last time. His blood started to seep out from his body and on to the highway.

Bree jolted awake in bed, sitting up gasping for air. She looked down to see what she was wearing; her white camisole lined with lace and her black winter sports tights, her usual white socks covering her feet. Not the dress she had been wearing in the dream. Running a hand through her hair, she thought about the dream she had just had. So familiar and so vivid. Never had she ever in her life have a dream like that, what in the world had brought that on? They said dreams were made from residue of memories from the day, but nothing in that dream aside from the Doctor corresponded from her day. And wasn't it also said that you never saw yourself die in your dreams?

The Doctor poked his head into the dark room curiously. "Are you okay?" he asked, stepping into the doorway, blocking the warm yellow glow from the hall. In the faint light Bree could see the Doctor was in his usual tweed jacket, black trousers, dress shirt and blue bowtie; not the rich old fashion gear from the dream.

The nerve wreaked teen took in a large gulp of air trying to calm herself. "Just a dream." She mumbled, no trace of her accents' disguise. The Doctor shuffled uneasily in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

"You want me to stay for a bit?" he offered, hands in his trouser pockets. Bree nodded, scooting over on the mattress to make room on the right side. The Doctor walked into the bedroom and around the bed, lying down next to the quivering girl, folding his hands on top of his stomach. Bree too lay down after the Doctor got comfortable, moving close to the Time Lord. She wrapped her arms around him, and rested her head on his tweed clad shoulder. The Doctor could still feel Bree shaking violently, so he moved the arm she lay on so he could wrap it around her in comfort; his hand combing through her soft brown hair. Whatever the dream had been, it had certainly done a thorough job in terrifying her.

On the nightstand next to Bree's side of the bed, her iPod on its dock started quietly replaying Loreena Mckennit's "The Highway Man".

A/N: This story is a Doctor Who version of the poem "The Highway Man" by Alfred Noyes. The song mentioned at the end is Noyes poem put to music by the lovely Loreena Mckennit. The storyline does not entirely match the poem.

To see the poem, go here: . /prmMID/16431

To see the song, go here: watch?v=teq2m0BN-Wo