This one's taken forever to write, so I'm satisfied that it's finished. This is another fic inspired by a Dark Ten/Rose AU vid I saw on YouTube set to the song "Cold" by Aqualung. The excerpt at the end is from "Blood Runs Cold" by Def Leppard, a totally different song. Some scenes were inspired by the Def Leppard song "Billy's Got a Gun" from Pyromania. Still not entirely sure about those scenes. If anything needs changing, let me know via a PM or review.

Starts off immediately after Doomsday but skips over Series Three and is before Series Four. Let's pretend that she came through the rift, okay?

Oh, yes, warnings: DarkTen. Rape/Non-Con.


The Doctor's body slammed violently against the console after his hologram on Bad Wolf Bay cut off abruptly. NO! I was in mid-sentence! You can't do this to me! Rose . . . .

Tears, glistening wet and salty, slid down his cheeks as he drew in a rattling breath. This wasn't fair. Why had he prattled on instead of finally saying what he'd needed to say?

"Rose Tyler . . . I love you."

And now he would never be able to say it. The portal between the worlds had closed, and he'd burned up a sun just to say goodbye. Going back would mean destroying both universes.

So? said a tiny, dark voice in the back of his head. I don't care. If it meant getting Rose back . . .

But he did care, and that was the problem. He cared too much. She had made him almost human. For a Time Lord, that was unthinkable.

That hadn't stopped him from falling for her, and falling hard. If any of his people could see him now . . . the lone Time Lord head over heels in love with a human ape . . . He would have been punished for sure.

He didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore, not without Rose there to hold his hand. No, he wanted to do more than hold hands with Rose Tyler. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, taste her, make love to her—and he shouldn't, he really shouldn't.

Then again, when had he ever followed the rules of his people? He'd always been a teenage rebel, and that hadn't stopped or changed. He was just a boy when he'd learned how to run and he hadn't stopped running since.

His motions were automatic as he set the TARDIS in flight. He didn't care where he ended up, so long as it was far from here, the spot where he'd been forced to say goodbye to the one woman he'd ever truly loved.

Looking back, maybe that was when the darkness had taken root in his mind. At first, he hadn't even noticed it was there, but as time went on it grew more apparent. He'd kept traveling—kept running—because that was what he did. He even accidentally ended up picking a new companion—Martha Jones—but she left him of her own accord before he completely destroyed her life like he had Rose's.

Currently he was in Cardiff, Wales, refueling the TARDIS with energy from the rift in space and time. He'd gone out, hoping to stretch his legs, maybe grab something to eat, and had just returned to his timeship when he saw a flash of bright light. His stunned eyes landed on a very familiar pink-and-yellow human.

No. It can't be. That's not possible!

Yet it was. Rose Tyler, the girl he'd lost, was there on a Cardiff street not ten meters away from him.

He wanted to hold her close, take her hard, and never let her go; he wanted to murder anyone who dared look at her or touch her the wrong way. She was his and she'd come back to him.

Even when he'd been human hiding in 1913 with Martha from the Family of Blood, it had been Rose he'd dreamed about—his Bad Wolf, his pink-and-yellow girl. Now, when he looked back on those memories, he wondered if his dreams about Rose had influenced his human self in picking Joan Redfern as a lover—after all, she was blonde like Rose. Not that he hadn't fantasized about Rose when she was traveling with him—he had—but, as a human, his dreams of her had been vivid and left him aching for her kiss, her touch, her body writhing underneath his.

Now that she'd come back to him . . .

Rose was suddenly in the TARDIS, looking up at him with relief, happiness, and hope in her eyes. "You're still you," she said, reaching out to cup the left side of his face.

"I'm still me," he replied, only just stopping himself from leaning into her touch or turning his head to lick at her palm. She meant that his body hadn't changed; for him, it was a lie. Losing her to the parallel world had definitely brought out his dark side—and now he never wanted that side of him to go away.

Then her body was against his as she pulled him into a hug, and it took all his self-control not to bring her down to the metal grating and take her right then and there.

But he would, soon. Until then, he had to keep a close eye on her, maybe restrict them to the Time Vortex for a few days.

Long enough for him to form a plan.

Rose was his. She just didn't know it yet.

Suddenly, on the monitor, he caught sight of yet another familiar figure running towards the TARDIS: Captain Jack Harkness.

Nope! The Doctor pulled hard on a lever, heard the familiar sound of his ship dematerializing, and they were in the Time Vortex.

Yes, he'd deliberately ditched Jack, but he didn't care.

More to the point, he didn't want any other male around his Rose—and there was the whole "Jack is wrong" thing.

Besides, this way he could make sure she didn't go wandering off.


"How're you doing?"

Rose, startled, jumped a little before looking up from the book she was reading. The Doctor was leaning against a bookshelf, legs crossed, hands in pockets, and watching her with such intensity it made her skin crawl. No, it wasn't quite that—it was the look in his brown eyes, one she couldn't name.

It scared her.

"Rose?" the Doctor tried again. He shoved off the shelf, took a step toward her.

"I'm fine, Doctor," she replied, unsure why she didn't want him coming too close to her.

"What are you reading?" he asked, leaning back against the shelf.

She held up the book so he could see the cover. "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire."

He smiled. "Wait till you see the movie."


The smile became a smirk. "I was in it."

"No! Really?"

"Oh, yes." There was definitely a smug look on his face now.

"Who'd you play?"

"Spoilers," he said, the smirk morphing into a roguish grin. "If you want to find out, you're going to have to watch the movie."

A tiny voice in Rose's head said he was trying to distract her—from what, she wasn't sure. She squashed it down, rose from her seat, and followed him.

Time moved differently in the TARDIS, but it seemed to her like they'd been in there for far more than a couple hours.

Or so the Doctor had said, anyway.


Unsurprisingly, there was a room something like a home movie theater. The Doctor popped the DVD in the player and settled back in his seat next to Rose. Since the lights were low, his tiny smirk was barely noticeable. He'd had a lot of fun playing Barty Crouch Jr. After Donna turned down his offer of being a companion but long before meeting Martha Jones, he'd happened to try out for the part. It had been so easy slipping into that character, given how torn up he was over losing Rose—and the fact his own darker side had started taking over.

Besides, he'd also wanted an excuse to jump into the large pile of paperwork. The fact he'd helped kill Edward Cullen made it even more fun: He hated the Twilight Saga.

Maybe he should show the first book to Dracula. Then Stephenie Meyer's dream of meeting a vampire would come true very, very soon.

"You weren't kidding," Rose said, bringing him out of his thoughts. She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest, and he couldn't resist throwing an arm possessively over her shoulder.


On screen, the Weasleys and Harry had just entered their tent, the one that was—

"It's bigger on the inside," said Rose. "You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

He shrugged. "I might have." By now, his focus wasn't on the movie; all his concentration was on Rose. He saw the way her eyes widened in shock and recognition when he made his entrance onscreen to cast the Dark Mark. He'd shown up before then, of course, when Voldemort had ordered Wormtail to kill the Muggle caretaker; but you had to be paying attention it was so brief. The Doctor wasn't sure which scene had been the most fun to play—the trial scene or the scene where the Polyjuice Potion wore off. That had been one messy regeneration. Well, not really, but he was glad he never regenerated like that.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been studying Rose but it must have been for most of the movie, because when he next looked at the screen due to Rose's hand clenching around his, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape had come to Harry's rescue and Dumbledore was pouring Veritaserum down Moody's—his—throat. Then the Polyjuice started wearing off. . . .

"That's one messy regeneration," Rose commented, and he couldn't hold in a snort of laughter. And Dumbledore's reaction was so Back up, Harry, it's a Time Lord! that this time they both started laughing.

He'd improvised the tongue-flicking on the spot, and he noticed—How could he not?—that Rose's gaze was fixed on his mouth, his tongue—the onscreen him, of course.

"They had to give you the most suggestive line in the whole movie, didn't they?" Rose asked.

He shrugged. "Well . . . S'not my fault, is it?"

"Suppose not."

They watched the rest of the movie in silence, though the Doctor smiled slightly at the line "I'll be welcomed back like a hero." How ironic was that? He was the Oncoming Storm, the rebel Time Lord who'd stolen a magic box and run away. He was nobody's hero; death and destruction followed in his wake.

Then he looked to the side and saw Rose, his pink-and-yellow girl, the light who'd pulled him back from eternal darkness. Yeah, that sounded cliché and corny, but it was the truth. She'd made him better.

Did he want to be saved this time?

Even if it was from himself?

For once, he found that was one question he couldn't answer. Or maybe he didn't want to know the answer.

He'd already deceived her. He had told her they'd been in the Vortex for four hours now. It was actually more like a day.

But he would wait before claiming his prize. Patience wasn't his strongest virtue, but he would wait . . . and watch . . . for the right moment.

After all, it was well within his right to take what was his.

And Rose, by every definition, belonged to him.


Rose was starting to become nervous. It was, she thought, a day or two later and the Doctor still hadn't taken them out of the Vortex. He was acting strangely, too. She would be reading or just be relaxing when she would look up and there he'd be, not saying anything, just standing there with hands in his pockets and watching her. Or she would go for a walk through the hallways and he'd materialize out of nowhere, asking her where she thought she was going. Which was ridiculous. It wasn't like the TARDIS had escape pods or anything.

Still, it was weird that he hadn't taken them anywhere yet. The Doctor hated being in one place for too long.

So why were they still in the Vortex?

And why wouldn't he let her out of his sight? The dark intensity in his eyes when he looked at her . . . that scared her more than any other alien she'd faced.

Just who—or what—was she living with?


The Doctor knew Rose suspected something was wrong. He could smell her nervousness and she was starting to act cagey around him. So maybe he'd spooked her with the appearing-silently-out-of-nowhere and the intense staring, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

He'd already messed with her time sense, but it was always hard to judge time in the TARDIS, so what could a little more manipulation hurt?

There had been a time when he would have felt guilty about using his companion like this. Now, he felt nothing.

He didn't want her becoming too suspicious, though. Maybe he could take her somewhere, so long as it was out of the Vortex. There was the beautiful Medusa Cascade. The last time he'd been there he was 90 years old—still just a kid.


Rose's tentative voice had him rolling out from under the console where he'd been trying to fix a few faulty circuits. He rose to his feet, arched a single eyebrow at her. "Yes, Rose?"

Her teeth worked at her lower lip. She was definitely uncomfortable around him, then. "How long have we been here? I mean, really?"

"A few days," he lied. It was actually a week and a half. "Like I've told you. But I was just thinking about taking us somewhere. How do you feel about visiting the Medusa Cascade?"

"Medusa." Her brow furrowed. "Wasn't she—?"

"Yes, she was a gorgon in Greek mythology who turned whoever looked her in the eye to stone. It was a punishment from Athena, who caught her fooling around with Poseidon in Athena's own temple—but that's not the point. The Medusa Cascade is actually very beautiful. I went there myself as a kid once, years ago." An excited half-grin formed. "Whaddya say, Rose?"

She smiled faintly. "Yeah, okay."

He kept the excited mask on as he set the coordinates, took them out of the Vortex and into space. It slipped as soon as Rose was distracted by the sight of the Medusa Cascade, though he doubted she noticed. She was entranced by all the beautiful colors—sort of like those of the Aurora Borealis—and he was fixated on her. He loved seeing that look of wonder on her face.

What did she look like when she came?

He'd find out, hopefully sooner rather than later.


He took her to a couple other planets, sticking close to her the whole time. Today the TARDIS had landed them on a planet that looked suspiciously like Earth in the Middle Ages. Or maybe they were on Earth and it was during the Middle Ages. Or the Dark Ages. Rose could never keep those two straight, and apparently, neither could the Doctor.

The Doctor stepped out of his timeship and paused to check his bearings before turning back to Rose. She was wearing a T-shirt (white, with an image of a green witch throwing fireballs and the words I met the Ghost of Oakhaven . . . and lived!) and jeans, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You step out wearing that, they're going to consider you even more naked than Queen Victoria did." (In all honesty, he couldn't say he was opposed to the idea. And when he finally did take her, he wanted to hear her screams, to make her come so hard she forgot where she was.)

Rose raked a pointed gaze over his own form. "Uh-huh. And you wearing a 21st century suit is perfectly fine, is it?" she said dryly.

He shrugged. "I've worn more questionable clothes than this, and no one ever said anything. Well, mostly. Where'd you even get that shirt? I don't remember stopping in Oakhaven. Where is Oakhaven, anyway?"

She flashed him a small smile. "Massachusetts. And we never stopped there. Haven't you ever seen Scooby-Doo and the Witch's Ghost?"

"Oh, yeah, the one with Sarah and Ben Ravencroft. And the Hex Girls. Loved that band."

"Doctor, the Hex Girls aren't a real band."

He grinned. "Who says they aren't?" As she crossed her arms and glared at him, he cleared his throat and looked away. "Anyway. Let's explore, shall we?" He held out his hand, and, after a second's hesitation, she took it.

He couldn't help thinking that if any locals saw that T-shirt, they would have her tried for witchcraft. That wasn't going to happen, not on his watch. At least there hadn't been trouble on their last two trips. If they kept this up, it was going to be a record.

Of course, he should have known the peaceful trips wouldn't last. With them, nothing ever stayed peaceful for long.


He strode through the village, strides long and angry, trench coat billowing out behind him. When he found who had taken Rose, if they had hurt her in any way . . .

There was a reason his enemies called him the Oncoming Storm, after all.

Oh, he would enjoy making them pay. No one laid hands on his companion except for him. If they touched her, harmed her, tried to burn her for witchcraft . . .

His eyes saw red, but his surroundings still stayed their normal color.

If Rose saw him now, she would never have recognized him as her Doctor. This was the side of him that had fought in the Time War, brought about the destruction of both the Daleks and his own people. The Oncoming Storm, the Destroyer of Worlds . . . the Time Lord Victorious.

Hhhmm, Time Lord Victorious. That had a ring to it. Maybe he'd save it for a later date.

Within moments he was at the entrance to a castle. The Doctor didn't even bother knocking; he just opened the door and stormed inside.

His mind saw streaks of blood on the stone walls, when in reality there was nothing there.

"Oi!" At the sound of the familiar voice, he stiffened. That was Rose's voice. "Let me out of here, you—" She went on to call them several insulting names, some of which the Doctor was sure she made up on the spot. Well, she wasn't a Tyler for nothing and he couldn't help but be impressed with some of her choice swear words. Was some of that in Sycoraxic? Yes, yes it was. Interesting. Still, he couldn't stand here listening to Rose curse at her captors all day. He'd come to—for lack of a better term—rescue her, after all.

He was on the move again, following the sound of her voice. The sound took him below ground until he was in a place he recognized from having been in several similar ones before: a dungeon.

Oh, this was just great. Though, to be honest, he wasn't even sure how Rose had been separated from him or carted off into a bloody dungeon. Rassilon! Did he always have to do everything by himself?

She had saved him on multiple occasions, so maybe not.

Still. That wasn't the point here.

The Doctor stalked forward, eyes flashing with the dark promise of murder. Within minutes he was within sight of Rose's captors—and therefore Rose herself. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and he raised a finger to his lips. The message was clear: Don't give me away.

Rose always had been quick to catch on to his plans, and right now was no exception.

The Doctor, eyes cold and calculating, took in the room, the little cell that was holding Rose—and his companion's condition. Hatred exploded in his hearts when he caught sight of the hematomas on her arms, her neck, the tattered conditions of her jeans and T-shirt. She'd obviously put up a fight, but that didn't reassure him.

Her guards hadn't noticed him. They were too focused on torturing Rose to check to see if they were alone—and the Doctor was grateful for their stupidity. Humans. Stupid blundering apes, he thought savagely. I told her not to wear that, and now they're going to try her for witchcraft. No, not even that—they'll try her in her absence and burn her alive at the stake. Or stone or drown her.

That's not gonna happen.

One of the guards pulled out a dagger, held it close to Rose's skin. From where he was standing, the Doctor couldn't quite see where the dagger was resting. Neck, stomach, breasts, it didn't matter. One good nick into an artery or vein and she would bleed out before they could do anything.

Then the guard pushed Rose forward, out of the cell. She stumbled, caught herself, and let the guards lead her out of the room. The Doctor shrank back into the shadows until they were well past him. Then he followed on silent feet, a shadow on the wall. A few lines from Def Leppard's "Billy's Got a Gun" played in his head: Can you feel it in the air? There's danger in the air. Danger, such a strange emotion. Can you feel it in the air? Oh yeah, oh Billy. Never give him an even break. Gettin' caught is the chance you take. It could be your last mistake. You could be so helpless as a bird with a broken wing, like a sheep in a lion's den. Gonna fall but you won't know when.

It was dusk when they neared the entrance to the castle. The Doctor struck only when he saw the crowd of townspeople gathering round (Gathering to burn Rose, he thought), easily disarming one with a swift kick to the genitals and knocking out the other with a hard punch to the jaw. For good measure he'd retrieved the dagger from the one man, whirled around when the other recovered and came toward him. The blade sank into something soft; and blood spilled over the Doctor's hands, staining the ground with dark crimson.

"Get out of here!" he barked at Rose.

She stared for a couple seconds—because that stony, cold expression belonged to a killer, not her Doctor—then she backed away, a sick look on her face.

Dark clouds had formed earlier, and now a soft rain began to fall, creating a thin layer of mist over the scene. Then a scream rang out like thunder, but the lightning-strike reaction of the others was too late. As the rain came down on the crimson ground, well, it could very well have been the hand of fate.

The crowd gathered 'round, but the Doctor couldn't wait. He caught up with Rose, hands still red with blood, and tried not to be too bothered about the fact that she wouldn't look at him.

On the way back to the TARDIS, he was quivering with so much rage that he refused to say a single word until they were back inside his ship. Once they were—and he made sure the doors were locked—he whirled around so he was facing her.

"Doctor?" Rose's voice was a terrified whisper, and she stepped back, away from him.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed, brown eyes dark with fury. "You could have died, Rose! They were trying to kill you. I can't lose you, not again!"

Her mouth formed a silent "oh" and she took a single hesitant step toward him.

He wasn't done. "But that never occurred to you, did it?" he snarled, voice rising with each word. "Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth. Aside from that, you're not important. Not even remotely important!"

Really, he should have expected it. Her mother was Jackie Tyler, after all. The sting still hurt enough to make him wince and rub his jaw. "Ow!"

"Don't you dare say something like that to me again!" Rose snapped, whiskey-brown eyes flaring with her own inner fire.

"Sorry, that was more than a bit rude of me, wasn't it?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "Go to hell," Rose spat, turning on her heel and heading off toward her room.

The Doctor stared after her, the Oncoming Storm smoldering in his eyes.

He'd give her a few hours to cool off. Tonight, he would take what was his.

As for going to hell?

He was already there.


Rose, several hours later, was sleeping in her room. She was lost in dreams of the Doctor—well, more like fantasies. This one was particularly vivid. She could almost feel his weight pressing her down . . .

Wait a minute. She could feel him pressing her into the mattress.

What the—?

Rose opened her eyes, which widened when they made out the familiar form above her.

It was the Doctor. A very naked Doctor.

"What're you doing?" she yelped as he pulled down her pajama bottoms. Rose began to struggle, but the Doctor easily held her in place. (He was stronger than she'd thought.) "Let me go!"

He crawled his way up her body, brown eyes black. "No." His voice was low, rough.

Rose was more scared now than she'd ever been in her life. This wasn't the Doctor. The monster that wore his skin had crept in to replace him.

Oh, God . . .

A whimper left her throat as he tore her shirt off, kissed her roughly on the mouth. His hands dug into her sides, her back, as he folded her to him. He took the opportunity of her lips parting—to tell him to stop, not that he would have listened—to dart that talented tongue of his inside.

No . . . She didn't want him, not like this—not without her consent. Rose might have whimpered a protest; if she did, the Doctor either didn't hear it or didn't care.

She wanted it to be the former, not the latter.

His mouth left hers as he raised his head, raked his gaze over her body. That dark intensity she'd caught glimpses of was there in full force; and, to her horror, she felt herself responding.

Bile rose in her throat as he nipped at the soft skin of her neck, moved down to her breasts. His hands moved, fingertips digging into her skin, but she was hardly aware of where he placed them.

Her brain wanted him to stop, but her body . . . This was turning her on.

And that was wrong, so, so wrong. On so many levels.

Help me . . .

One of his hands was between her legs, spreading them so he could . . . Rose couldn't finish the thought. Her entire brain just shut down. This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening, wasn't happening. She was still dreaming. . . . She had to be. It wasn't, couldn't, be real.

Please . . .

Without warning, the Doctor plunged two of his fingers inside her. Rose gasped and her hips jerked reflexively, met the cool skin of his own form. Oh, God, she could feel him, and he was more than ready to carry this further.

"Doctor, please . . ." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak.

"What, Rose?" he growled.

"Stop . . ."

His mouth closed around her right breast, all teeth and tongue, and he curled the fingers inside her. Rose threw her head back, involuntarily arched against him. Her body did not belong to her tonight.

The Doctor suddenly abandoned her mammary gland, flicked his eyes up to hers. "You're sure you want me to? Cos your body is saying yes." He pulled his fingers out, licked them clean. "You're so wet for me, Rose," he rasped.

Damn him. She wasn't in control. Rose was locked away in a corner of her mind. He wasn't going to stop, not now. He'd made that clear early on.

She gasped with pain as he pushed into her. It had been far too long, those muscles were sore, and she hadn't wanted this.

His breath was hot on her ear as he growled, "It's been so long, Rose. So long." She shuddered when she felt him beginning to move inside her; her skin crawled with revulsion as his nails dug into her hips. "Thought I'd lost you." His teeth tugged at her earlobe, nearly drew blood. "Never gonna let you go."

At that, her blood chilled to ice. The horrifying thing was that he meant it; she could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, feel it in the way he was taking her right now. He would never let her leave. Not again.

. . . But this wasn't the Doctor. It couldn't be. The Doctor would never do this to her.

"Let me go." Her voice was a hiss of air escaping from her lungs, she was that terrified.

"No. Never." His thrusts became harder, more urgent, and pain lanced through her with each one. He was close.

To her utmost horror, so was she.

She hadn't asked for this . . .

Somehow she knew the moment he lost control and spilled himself inside her. Tremors racked her, and her eyes squeezed shut. How could she ever look at him now?

After what seemed like hours, he left her. Once she was sure he was gone, Rose curled up in the fetal position and let the tears stream silently down her face.

I thought I knew him . . .

And her time was running out.

Blood runs cold.
I feel it in my bones.
But you don't know your time is up,
And blood runs cold.
Blood runs cold.
Blood runs cold.