Could not have chapter 5 without 6

Part of chapter 4 was cut and then added here instead.

Chapter 6

S.O.S. please someone help me
It's not healthy... for me to feel this way
Y.O.U. are making this hard
You got me tossin' and turnin' and can't sleep at night

S.O.S. (Rescue Me)

- Rihanna

Rose woke up exhausted. Her dreams plagued by images of daleks swooping down from the blazing skies. Of people burning, of people hoping and expecting her to save them.

Rose woke up tear faced and horrified, and clutched her mass of dirty, stringy hair.

"I have to get back" she declared to herself.

She had to get back and save them. She could do it; she'd lost count of how many days she had spent crying, and whining about the issue instead of doing something about it. At the back of her mind, she knew that if she looked into the mirror she'd still be able to find traces of mascara on her face.

She suddenly felt angry with herself – she had allowed herself to wallow in sorrow, had not even bathed in god knows how long.

She could get back, she knew she could. She only needed to get back to her Torchwood base, grab the disintegrator and blast the Daleks out of the sky. She could then lead a small legion of men and women and force them off. At worst, she had forged many alliances with the neighboring systems and could obtain admittance - send as many humans there and repopulate in a different quadrant if need be. She was Rose Tyler, and she would be damned if she could not save the people she loved.

She threw the covers off her flushed body and swung her legs over and off the bed, ripping out the IV drip attached to her arm. She suddenly felt unbearably hot, and disjointed. Her legs shook under her and she went towards the bathroom first to splash water into her face. The tap water was slightly yellowed and less than cold, but refreshing none the less.

She considered taking a shower but realized she did not have the leisure to do so – time was not on her hand.

Determined, she stalked over towards the door out.

Maybe, she thought, maybe I can find the way out.

She ventured out, eyes searching down the winding halls for any sign of an exit.

Just my luck, she groaned; doors lined the walls on both side, and the corridor stretched and curved on either side, falling into darkness.

She popped her finger into her mouth and struck it into the air, closing her eyes, waiting for a breeze of air to lead her out. Nothing. Of course there was nothing – she laughed harshly at herself – everything was against her.

She glanced towards the "welcome" sign to Mickey's and his wife – his wife's- home and crept quietly towards the left and away from their door.

She knew she should not feel jealous of Mickey's happiness, but she felt her heart clench at the idea that he had found happiness, while she had not. But he had always been her's. In a way. He'd always been there to help her, and he was always there in case – in case she couldn't... but .. then... that was not right – she couldn't do that to him – and maybe that was why he had decided not to come back with her to the parallel world.

She felt angry with a man she once knew, a man who had allowed Mickey to remain on earth, on their earth, but had forced her into a parallel world through a misguided assumption that she would fall in love and have her happily ever after. Rubbish. Pure and utter rubbish.

With one look back at Mickey's home, she stalked away, hand on the wall and her heart squeezing in an uncomfortable way. She vaguely remembered him checking up on her while she was ... sick, and she tried in vain to bring his face up again so that she could memorize every line on his face, the dip of his nose and his intense eyes. Eyes that now looked more like Rickey's and less like her ex boyfriend's.

She manoeuvred around the dank halls with silent steps, years of Torchwood training leading her forewords in a near inaudible run.

She sucked her finger again and raised it in the air, but again, the current of musty air swirled lifelessly around her finger.

She suddenly stopped and fell to the ground on her chest: a thought striking her. She inhaled deeply – the air was much cooler near the floor, but covered in a layer of grimy dirt. Again, she darted her mouth around her digit, unmindful of the tastes in her mouth, held her finger out, and crawled forwards.

There. She let a grin form over her face, jumped up and ran a few paces before falling back down to her chest and repeating the procedure.

She scowled. She had no idea how Mickey or Martha made their way around this underground labyrinth, but she was a field agent, top of her line, she was a problem solver. A quick thinker. A witty fighter. She was not going to let these walls confine her any longer. She would get out of here and get back to Jackie and Ben. She would save them all.

Ahead of her, the lights appeared brighter and she could dimly make out gleaming metal.

A thick metal ladder led upwards towards a second level.

How the hell did they get me down here?

She stared in amazement at the small ladder before deciding there must be multiple entrances.

She reached out, grabbed the cold bars, and hoisted herself up one-step at a time.

Sweat dripped down her sides – she had forgone deodorant, and her breath was coming out in laboured huffs. Her vision was starting to blur and black spots kept appearing in the corner of her eyes.

Just a little more

She lifted herself over, and onto, the cold cement of the second floor exhausted. She could not remember ever feeling so tired. Maybe in another life she had, in that old life of mystery and running, but not since she had become a field agent.

She burrowed her teeth into her tongue and squeezed her eyes closed. She did not have time to faint, no time to wait – she had spent too much time on this side already – she did not even know how much time. It could be too late – everyone gone.

She grinded her teeth and pushed herself away from the floor, and away from her thoughts.

She grimaced, seeing the hall fork into two different directions and sunk back to her chest, but she realized quickly, to her relief, that this floor had fresh boot prints. Finally, someone was giving her a break. She took off at a run down the hall, making sure not to make noise.

The farther she ran, the clearer the air got, and she felt like the fog that had been building up behind her eyes, was thinning. She felt her racing heart slow, and her breath evened out as she came up in front of a door.

The door was impossibly imposing with a large crank wheel door handle. Its gleaming metal surface reflected her image back at her – a sickly image that she could not take her eyes away from for long minutes.

She trailed her fingers along the seams, looking for a weak point, but the door was too large and flush with the frame. The thick bolts where done in such a way that, even if she had had her screwdriver kit, she would be unable to unscrew.

She clucked and allowed her mind to come back on her Torchwood training. She eyed the door slowly from top to bottom, then the ceiling and ah-ha. A small, almost concealed, wire ran along the ceiling and down the wall to a small alcove she had not noticed.

In her youth, she might have tried to rip out the wiring, but she had spent years with Gary, an American expert in wiring – and a bomb technician – and knew not to touch it before deactivating the system. He had been a perfect and model employee and he had taught her how to deactivate almost any mechanism. It had come in handy on more than one occasion when dealing with dangerous alien technology. The man had been, no he WAS, she corrected herself, a genius, and he had taught her to the best of his abilities.

"Don't let me down Tyler" He had growled at her through the cigarette in his mouth.

She bent over and studied the alcove with its blinking lights and keypad.

"I am so sorry Mickey", she muttered as she began the process of removing, deactivating, and destroying what must have been Mickey's masterpiece.