The Rebels of the Fallen

The Fallen

It was a terrible cold day in London. Not cold enough for snow, unfortunately. Cold enough for cloudy days, and each breath came out foggy.

The streets of London were packed people. Tourists enjoying the city, taking advantage of the holiday. Natives rushing about for last minute gifts or food stuffs. Every now or again, somebody would rush through for a real emergency.

Yet in this one distant park in London...it was calm. Few braved the cold to sit in the park. Many couples were walking through, holding hands and being generally cute. Some parents brought their kids just to get them out of the house for a while. In all of that, one brave soul sat on a park bench beneath a tree.

She was lying down on the bench, her back pressed against the arm rail. Her knees were bent up, allowing her to use her legs as a brace for the notebook.

Now if asked, nobody would remember enough to describe the figure. She wore a dark blue hoodie, with long sleeves and a large hoodie. It blocked off people from seeing her hair. Some had called it blonde though, others black. They would all agree that it was short hair.

They were wrong.

Which is why none of them were asked about this figure, only so close to the winter hols.

She was wearing black leggings with a pair of dark pink boots, which was a lot more sensible in this cold.

As she scribbled multiple things in her notebook, filling up page after page with what looked like something probably made up, another figure joined her.

Now this one was a lot less secretive looking. He wore a black shirt and jacket, showing off his young looking face (with some lovely cheekbones), bright blue eyes, and short wavy black hair. He smiled at the figure on the bench.

Those weaker souls that caught sight of the smile were known to swoon. It was dazzling.

"So." He spoke with an American accent. Deep voiced enough to prove his age as an adult, other than that it was slightly towards high tenor. "Whatcha up to?"

The girl didn't reply.

The man put his hand between her face and the notebook. He clicked his fingers. The girl shook her head out of a daze.

"Welcome to the land of the living." He greeted. He stood at her side, beaming that killer smile again. "Whatcha up to?"

"Oh. It's just you." The girl brushed him off, going back to her notebook.

"Yep. Just me. Wondering where you'd run off to for the past two hours." The young man replied.

The girl hummed in disinterest. "Two hours? You're getting better at tracking me."

The man shrugged. He slipped his hands into the jacket pockets. "It's cold. Can we go?"

"No." The girl replied.

"Ugh." The man groaned. The girl giggled. "You hate me."

She giggled more.

At this point in the conversation, anyone who happened to be listening in collectively stopped. Many had realized they had forgotten something at home, or that it had gotten too cold to stay. The kids playing were tuckered out now- time to go home. Everyone else simply had something better to do with their time.

The man and the girl were truly alone now.

The man sat beside her on the bench. He put on an air of nonchalance. It failed, horribly, only making him look like he'd sat on a pinecone.

"It took me two hours. It probably took him less time." The man cautioned.

The girl hummed a Christmas tune under her breath. An effective method for tuning someone out, any point of the year.

"This is serious-"

"He won't find me." The girl replied airily. "He has bigger worries this week."

"The Master is still the Master." The man argued.

"The Master is still Harry Saxon. He cannot come to the phone due to urgent business. Please leave a message after the tone. Beep." The girl replied- as monotone as the actual voicemail machine.

The man blinked at her. Her expression was hidden by the hoodie. Most of her was cleverly hidden away by something or other. He had only known it was her by instinct.

"Don't deny it- you're impressed by that." The girl remarked.

"If he sees you- if he thinks-"

"Do you know what happens tomorrow afternoon?" The girl interrupted.

The man huffed. "Besides my death by stress?"

"A bride will be transported." The girl replied, in that same airy tone. The man tensed. "Oh, it will be the first of many things transported. The hospital will go next- a lot goes wrong for Miss Sarah Jane- Torchwood Three has some major staff changes- good for it, those were overdue."

The man opened his mouth to speak. More warnings for her, more concern, worries about the months ahead, worries about the months behind.

The girl sat up, knocking her notebook to the ground. Her arm came up, the hand covering his mouth. She had done all of this without showing off her face, hidden behind the hoodie.

The man allowed himself to be silenced.

"Things will start. Things will end." The girl warned him. "The beats of a butterfly couldn't change them now."

She lowered her hand, now kneeling on the bench. The man stared at her, patiently waiting for her to finish her dramatic foreboding warning.

"Nor will be the crushing of one." She finished.

Satisfied that she was done, the man took a deep breath. "So we can go?"

The girl paused.

The man grabbed her notebook for her, ticking it closed. He shook off the bits of grass, and tried wiping out the splashes of stubborn dew from the London winter weather.

"We still have work to do here." The girl reminded.

"I know. Why do you think I came looking for you?" He asked, giving off the grin that made many people swoon. 

The girl was unaffected. Not just because her face was hidden under the hood.

"Saepe ne utile quidem est scire quid futurum sit." The girl spoke, cryptically cryptic like she was a seer in a b-rated horror film.

The man sighed- knowing that that's probably why she said it. "I'll pretend that I understood what you were saying." He stood up on his feet. He brushed his arms, trying to shake off the cold. "And I translate that to, 'let's go'."

"That's abeamus." The girl corrected.

"Okay now I hate you." The man snarked.

The girl made no reply.

The man held out his hand.

She took it.

They left the park soon after.

Later that night, a Time Lord hiding as a man would sense something. Something like a blip on the radar. There one second, home the next. Too quick for him to do anything about it. He would write it off as the plans for his upcoming invasion.

Over in Torchwood Three...someone else would sense something. They did nothing about it either. There were more important things to worry about tonight.

==ROTF==

AN: Here we go folks! Get ready for a wild ride! This is the third part in a DW/OC series! Huzzah!

(If you're new, go read my Child of Nowhere first. It has context!)

Hello returning people! I love reading comments. The next chapter should be up soon- get ready! It's gonna be terrific!