A/N: I really, really shouldn't be starting another story right now. I've got another to finish in a different fandom, and this is my first time writing for Doctor Who, so there's a chance that this might be rubbish anyway. But the plotbunnies for this would not stop bombarding me, so I had to write it. I'd like it to be a series, but we'll see where it goes.

The first chapter or so will be sort of slow; I've got to get through over a hundred years of history to get into the good stuff, so please just bear with me here.

Just a quick trigger warning: there's attempted rape, as well as character death and some other adult themes (though I don't think it's enough to rate this story M). It's probably going to be a reasonably dark fic overall, but who knows. I will follow my Muse wherever it goes.

Enjoy!

0000

"What are we going to do, Pete?" Jackie questioned, nearly yelling in a tone that nearly masked her fear. "You saw, that thing she did with her eyes! Our kid's a freak!"

"I know, Jacks, I know," Pete sighed, running a hand through a crop of strawberry blonde hair that he felt was getting thinner by the day. "We haven't registered her with the Crown yet; I'll drop her off down at Powell House."

"But you hear about how cruel the children are there!" Jackie protested. "Even if she's… different, I don't want her to grow up in that sort of environment! I want my daughter to get the best of everything, and she won't get it there!"

As if the infant knew that she was being talked about, she began to wail in the next room. Pete and Jackie ignored it, and the discussion continued. "Well, it's either that, or we leave her in a dumpster to die. Or we keep her, but neither of us seem keen on that ever since…"

He trailed off, as if he couldn't bear mention what had occurred earlier that day. Then with a huff, her turned to stare angrily out the window. Nearly growling, he exclaimed, "Goddammit, Jackie! You saw! Not just her eyes, but the action! You… you saw her turn that spider on her hand to dust!"

"It's witchcraft, Pete," Jackie said quietly, curling her hands in her lap. "It has to be. And I do not want a child that is marked by the Devil himself!"

The girl's crying escalated, and still neither parent seemed to want to do anything about it. Silence reigned between them until Pete let out a long‐suffering sigh. "I'll take her to Powell House in the morning. I pray to God that it's the right decision."

0000

It was an ordinary morning‐‐ birds tweeted in the bud‐laden trees of springtime, the morning sky was dreary and gray, people walked about on cobblestone streets to mills or the market. Friends chattered on about nondescript subjects and ladies laughed at the dry jokes of their suitors. Nothing about this day marked it as special, and many would be surprised to know that what was occurring on the outskirts of London turned an ordinary day into a fixed point in time, never to be trifled with.

Madame Desmond had come to the front steps of her workplace, drying her calloused hands with a ratty cloth. All of the caretakers in the orphanage had a day of the week to check the front stoop for new arrivals, as most unwilling parents took the coward's way out and just left their unwanted neonates outside of the front door in the dead of night, not wanting to see the women looking upon them with shame.

Almost unsurprisingly, there was a young child on the front steps of the shabby establishment that April morning. She was in a wicker basket, wrapped in a thin, coarse woolen blanket that scratched her sensitive skin. On top of the precious bundle was a blood red rose, clipped from the Tyler's own bushes, to watch over the eight month old and hopefully protect her from any harm in the night. Though the flower didn't actually have any mystical powers, there was an old legend in Tyler family lore about a maiden and a rose that had saved her from wolves while she was lost in the woods. Maybe, Pete and Jackie hoped, there was a backbone behind the fairy tale, and their little girl would be protected.

Reaching down, the caretaker picked up the basket, careful to not awake the sleeping little girl, and checked for a note. As there was none, certain things had to be decided by Madame Desmond herself.

"Rose," she decided as she picked up the scarlet flower that was on top of the girl, talking to herself more than to the child. "Your name will be Rose. Now come with me, and I'll get you settled."

As she put the flower back in the basket, a sharp pain pierced her thumb, and she dropped it and flinched before moving to look at her finger. A single drop of blood oozed from a small puncture wound, forced upon her skin from not being careful enough with the flower. Its thorns were sharp, which Madame Desmond had nearly forgotten.

The caretaker watched the blood with an uneasy eye, following its trail down the pad of her thumb and down into her palm. An ominous air settled over the woman, and she reached down to hastily wipe the blood on her apron before taking the child into the infant ward.

Maybe Madame Desmond could get someone else to care for the baby; there was something about the innocent little girl that oozed malevolence.

0000

A force slammed into the girl's back, sending her stumbling and flying into the mud. Her arms flew out to catch herself, but even though her face did not go into the puddle, the dirty water splashed onto her face anyway. Tears burned in the backs of her eyes as the laughter of the other orphans hit her ears, the jovial sound laced with an innocent viciousness that only children could possess.

"Freak!" a boy named Jimmy yelled, and everyone seemed to giggle even harder. Rose began to tremble with both humiliation and rage as she got up, wiping her small hands on an already dirtied dress. She glared at the group of five or six children that were in her age group as balefully as she could manage, and a large girl called Shareen spit at her feet.

Suddenly, the seven‐year‐old realized that she had enough. Clenching her pudgy fists, she stomped her foot and screamed. This only caused the group to laugh harder.

Rage built within Rose, starting in the pit of her stomach and encasing her until it was as if a flaming presence hovered over her skin. She wanted them humiliated, she wanted them in agony, she wanted them dead!

The pent up mental energy released itself. Rose's eyes glowed gold in a way that hadn't occurred since the night before her parents had given her up, and suddenly the other children were on their knees in the dirt, screaming with their hands over their ears as unbearable pain shot through their heads.

I can crush them! Rose thought savagely, baring her teeth like a rabid wolf. I can crush them like they've been trying to crush me!

Then, she severity of her actions caught up with her, and she forcibly yanked herself out of her fury‐induced trance. Stumbling, she fell back into the mud, terrified of herself. Around her, the other children ran away from her, sobbing.

Rose sat there until the sun went down, keeping her mind carefully blank. The power that had coursed through her was a complete mystery, and a terrifying one at that.

Finally, the girl got up and trotted back into Powell House. She arrived in the middle of dinner, and Madame Smith chastised her and sent her to wash up and go to bed without a meal.

Even in her dejected state, she couldn't help the swell of satisfaction that occurred when her age group cowered as she passed by their table. Smirking, she trotted out to the well in the back to wash.

0000

Rose's eyes darted across the dining room to look at the new boy. He looked to be a few years older than her, and he was sitting by himself, as she was, nibbling on a stale piece of bread. His dark eyes flitted around the room as if he were afraid someone was going to go over there and bully him, which was a justifiable worry‐‐ his dark skin marked him as an outsider, different from the rest of them.

The girl felt a bit sorry for him; she knew what it felt like to be ostracized, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. She'd overheard from the others that his grandmother had passed, leaving him with nowhere to go but here.

She knew what she had to do; no one should have to be lonely.

Steeling herself, Rose got up and strode across the room. Even though it had been three years since the Incident, the group of children that she had affected tensed as she walked by, as if one day the girl would once again crack and their minds would be harmed yet again. Rose rolled her warm brown eyes at their antics and settled down next to the new boy.

His eyes moved to her nervously, as if she was going to strike him or berate him. Rose felt yet another pang of pity of the boy, and scooted a bit closer on the bench. "Hello," she greeted with a gap‐toothed smile, showing him that she meant no harm. "My name's Rose. What's yours?"

The boy's eyes darted downward to the table, and he shifted a bit, feeling uncomfortable. He mumbled something too quietly for Rose to hear, so she politely asked for him to repeat it. "M' name's Mickey."

"Mickey," she tested the name out on her tongue, liking the way it sounded. "I like that."

He gave Rose a small, timid smile before going back to eat his bread. In that moment, an alliance was formed between two people who had never before felt the comfort of friendship.

0000

"‐and then she screeched at him and accused him of calling on another woman in his spare time, and though the git tried to deny it, she tossed her drink on him and stormed out of the tavern. So then, Boris turns to me and says, 'And she thinks I'm the animal!'"

Rose laughs and clutches onto Mickey's arm as he walks her back to Powell House. They've both been out drinking to celebrate Mickey's release from House custody, as well as for his sixteenth birthday, seeing as they were both on the same day. Rose would sadly have to wait another two and a half years for her release, and she was dreading them; without Mickey the beside her, she felt that facing the rest of the people there would be much harder. At least with her friend, she'd had companionship.

And within minutes, that would be gone.

Of course, he'd still visit regularly and they'd go out. Madame Desmond insisted that the older boy was courting her, though Rose couldn't imagine that anyone would want to marry an orphaned freak from Powell House. She had to admit, though, that Mickey was her best bet.

And he was nice‐‐ he stood beside her firmly when they were taunted, even when Jimmy and the others tried to convince him that she was a witch (which was somewhat understandable for the time period, it being 1902 and all), and he helped her up when she scrapped her knees or fell out of a tree.

But he was leaving here to face the demons of Powell House alone, and part of her would never forgive him for it.

She was about to make a remark about how the crazy woman from the tavern probably had grown up with apes when the girl was yanked aside, away from Mickey and into a side alley. "Hey!" she yelled, trying to fight her way out of the stranger's firm grasp. "Let go of me this instant!"

"Rose!" Mickey called as another pair of hands pulled him back into the shadows as well, though in the opposite direction.

The girl was forced back into the stone walls of a closed bakery, smacking her head into the rocks with a crack. Strong hands held her wrists above her head, and a familiar face leered down at her.

"What the hell do you want, Jimmy?" Rose snapped, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. She made no headway, so she stopped moving in an attempt to conserve her energy.

"Language like that shouldn't come from a lady's mouth," Jimmy tutted, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in her. "Not that you're a lady. But you are female, so that counts for something."

His tone of voice made Rose's blood run cold. She tried to break free once again, this time a bit more desperately, and Jimmy just laughed as she struggled in his grasp.

Struck with new determination, Rose lashed out, kicking him in the stomach. Air rushed out of his lungs with a whoosh, and he dropped the girl's arms in surprise. She lunged out from under his body and made a break for it, hurrying to the opposite alleyway where two other boys had Mickey trapped as well. His eyes widened as she came towards him, trying to warn her of what was behind her.

And then she was tackled, forced down onto the cobblestones of the street. Her head smacked the ground, and Rose saw stars that weren't in the sky. Blinking rapidly, she tried to get her bearings.

Jimmy flipped her over and straddled her, pushing her wrists down yet again and lying down on top her stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh, heart to heart. The young man smirked at her as if she were an animal that he had caged before kissing her brutally, using a knee to pull up her dress simultaneously, as if it were a common practice for him.

Rose fought back, twisting as hard as she could while biting down hard on his lower lip. The boy pulled back with a grunt, sucking the blood off his lip in an almost sensual way before telling her calmingly, "You might want to settle down; you don't want to run out of energy before we all have a go."

"You hate me," Rose ground out as she continued to struggle, lashing out as Jimmy managed to get her dress off. She was left in a thin linen chemise and drawers, and she had never felt so exposed in her entire life. "You are disgusted by me. So why rape me?"

A feral glint entered Jimmy's eyes, and he brought down a hand to caress her face in a faux‐loving manner. "Because, doll, I want revenge." His words slid over her skin like silk, and if there weren't such a threat behind them, they would've sounded sensual. "All of these years, we've been intimidated by you for absolutely no reason! You're all bark and no bite. Sure, you supposedly did that… little trick in the mud that one time, but we were young and it was probably all in our heads. So, me an' the boys were out walking tonight and we saw you with that pickaninny over there, so I thought 'Hey, why not put the bitch in her place?'"

Rose made a noise that sounded almost like a growl, and Jimmy chuckled for the last time before diving back in, kissing her and jamming his tongue down her throat and grinding against her. She tried in vain to push him off, and his hands wandered down, one fondling a still‐forming breast and the other going into her drawers.

Then one of his fingers was inside of her, and Rose bucked, more out of revulsion than desire. It was sharp and dirty and anything but pleasant.

I've had enough of this! she screamed mentally, gritting her teeth to force Jimmy out of her mouth. Letting her rage consume her for the first time in years, the floodgates broke and she unleashed Hell on him.

Suddenly, he was flying back and hitting the far wall, sliding down to hit the ground. Dazed, he pushed himself up laboriously while Rose stood gracefully, eyes flashing. She moved faster than humanly possible, standing over a bewildered Jimmy who seemed stunned to see her there.

"But‐ I‐ You‐" he stammered, trying to inch backwards. His back pressed against the wall, his chest heaving as looked into alien, glowing eyes. "Please."

And then there was no Jimmy Stone.

The boy had been pulled apart at the seams, his atoms permeating into the air around them. There would be no evidence, no body to find‐‐just the accounts of two terrified young men that claimed that Rose Without A Last Name was a freak, an abomination.

Eventually, they would be declared insane and carted off to an asylum in Wales. But this is not their story, so their fates shall not be dwelled on.

After they scampered off, Rose breathed deeply, releasing the power gradually and fading back to her normal self. Crossing the alley, she picked up her dress and slid it back over her head, brushing some of the dirt off once she was properly covered. Then, she allowed herself to look at Mickey.

He too was cowering, as the others had been. Rose made a move to come closer to him, but he crawled back, falling onto his bum and looking up at her with wide, scared eyes. "What are you?" he whispered, unable to see anything but her turning their old bully to dust.

"I don't know," Rose told him, voice shaking as the night's events began to hit her full force. She held back a sob and put a hand against her mouth, covering it to attempt to hold back the deluge that was sure to come. "Oh God, Mickey, I don't know."

"Stay away from me!" he exclaimed, leaping unsteadily to his feet. As soon as he was sure that Rose wasn't going to hurt him, he darted away, moving quickly past her and leaving a breeze in his wake.

Completely drained, Rose fell to her knees against the wall and sobbed.

0000

A/N II: Oh, and also, I really suck at updating. I already have the second chapter of this written, but I may wait a bit to post it; it all depends on how long it takes for me to write each chapter. Anyone who's familiar with my Rose x Scorpius story in the Harry Potter fandom will tell you that I am a horrible updater, but maybe that's just because I've lost some of my fervor for the fic itself. Anyway, thanks for reading and please review!

(Plus, if anyone has an idea for a better title, I'm all ears.)