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Description
Chapter 9

Heathrow was the usual mix of bored people waiting and stressed people running. The Doctor's psychic paper had been an excellent stand-in for a passport, and for whatever reason, nothing in his jacket had caused issues in the checkpoints. Even the Doctor himself seemed to have, for a time, accepted his fate to travel in basic human vehicles.
The ginger still loomed, though.

Using every visible reflective surface, and her pocket mirror, Rose had spent a good part of the wait trying to find the illusive redhead that had the Doctor so worried. Finally, she caught a definite glimpse of a redhead, that the Doctor could confirm was the one apparently stalking them. He looked in his mid-twenties, slightly awkward and all in all very unthreatening. "That's what's so dangerous," the Doctor had responded at the time. Rose had chosen, probably wisely so, not to ask him what that was supposed to mean.

-

On the plane, the Doctor's restless unease quickly began to show again. At first, he simply seemed a bit excited, maybe impatient about the plane boarding, but even as they taxied unto the runway, his legs started getting a bit too active and he couldn't stay in his seat. The staff had to sit him down twice, and ended up physically making sure his safety belt was locked and tightened.

It wasn't that he was nervous about flying. They had already discussed that at the airport. He had his reservations about humanity's willingness to carelessly hurl metal boxes over the Atlantic, refusing any similarity to the TARDIS on the basis that there was no down for it to fall, should something break along the trip. Its current condition, having actually just crashed and all, was staunchly defended as a freak occurence, once in several millenia.

And now they were sitting in a metal box, being hurled across the Atlantic. Rose was spending her time flipping through one of the glossy magazines, while the Doctor was pressing every button available on or near the screen in the back of the seat in front of him, at times hard enough that whoever sat in the seat could be heard grumbling.

"You need new movies," he said quite casually, almost as if he had done the research and was simply passing on the interesting conclusion. Rose simply replied with a "hm hm," hoping not to give him cause for a major debate on the topic. When he finally gave up on the screen and took out the small brass cylinder holding his broken sonic screwdriver, Rose flinched quite visibly and told him to put it away. He clearly did not understand her worries, but did as she said.

Then, he unbuckled and got up. Before she could protest at whatever he had in mind to do, just out of the principle of it, he was already wandering down the aisle. When she heard him ask a random passenger if there was a ginger aboard, she nearly ripped the safety belt off, before she hurried after him.

"He's about this tall, looks very uncomfortable and sulky, and he..."

"I'm sorry, he mistook you for someone else," Rose said with a smile at the passenger, dragging the Doctor away with a firm hand.

"Oh, I see him now, thank you very much, Rose!" The Doctor took the aisle in long, energetic strides, Rose close to jogging just to keep up. Even at a distance, she saw the expression of utter panic on the face of the redhaired young man sitting several seats behind theirs on the big plane.

"Doctor, you can not simply..." She never had time to finish the sentence, as the Doctor had already reached his target.

"Hello," he said with a grin. Rose half expected him to do his usual "I'm the Doctor" introduction, but he never followed up on the greeting. The young man was clearly holding back a panic attack, breathing fast and looking desperately for help or a quick exit.

"Well," the Doctor finally continued, "here I am. And this, by the way, is Rose," he said cheerfully, putting his arm behind Rose and presenting her to whomever this poor fellow was.

"Sir, you're disturbing the other passengers. I'll have to ask you to find your seat again." The stewardess that had turned up quite quickly was now giving the Doctor a polite, but very telling smile. Rose suddenly sympathized with the young, redhaired man in the seat, feeling like she might go into a panic at any moment. Images of being transported off the plane in handcuffs at the airport in New York kept popping up inside of her mind.

"No, it's, it's okay, he's with me," said the man. Rose forgot all her premonitions of a future in American prisons and simply looked at him, completely surprised. The Doctor seemed less astounded, simply smiling his usual smile at the stewardess until she backed away.

"So, my new friend, what makes you tag along with us so shyly, if you don't mind my asking?" the Doctor asked in a chummy voice. The man was about to speak when the stewardess suddenly appeared again, this time with two men at her side, one of them in a uniform like her. The other one had a suit on. Rose did not feel that he was a business man, or just a snappy dresser.

"Sir, I'll have to ask you to..." The Doctor cut her off by flipping out the psychic paper and showing it to her in one quick motion, making the uniformed man instinctively back away and duck slightly, and sending the suited man reaching for something inside his suit. Luckily for all, he never finished the move.

"Right, sir. But I'll still have to ask you to keep it down, so as to not bother the other passengers," said the stewardess. As they left quietly, Rose sent the Doctor a questioning glance. "U.S. Marshall. I guess I look the type," he said with a smile.

"Seriously, don't do that," said the young man, startling the two. The Doctor looked first at the psychic paper, then Rose, then back at the man. "Do what?" he asked, in an honestly surprised voice.

The man nudged the two and got out of his seat, looking nervously down both directions of the aisle before gesturing them to follow him. Reaching one of the middle exits of the plane, where they were not immediately surrounded by other passengers, he leaned in closely to the Doctor, causing Rose to lean in, as well.

"You cannot just wave those things around like that, people will notice and you'll cause problems," said the man, clearly expecting the Doctor and Rose to understand what he was going on about. "I saw you all the way back at the train station, waving the wand around. I don't know who you are, but you'll need to cut that out before you attract attention for it."

There was a silence between the three, as both the Doctor and Rose tried to digest what he was saying.

"Wand?" asked the Doctor, clearly believing this to somehow be a joke, of the less impressive variety. The man simply nodded. Rose looked at the Doctor, then at his jacket.
"Doctor, didn't you call..." She hesitated, then pointed at his jacket. "Didn't you call it a magic wand back at King's Cross?"

The Doctor reached in and pulled out the brass cylinder containing the sonic screwdriver, causing the young man to have yet another minor fit, looking around terrified for anyone that might be observing them at that moment.

"Are you completely barmy, put that aw..." He stopped, mid-word, and looked at the cylinder. "That's an odd one. Where'd you buy that one?" Suddenly less worried and a lot more confused, he was pointing at the cylinder, almost poking it with his index finger. "Is it even a wand?" he asked, voice full of disbelief.

"Don't you feel foolish now," Rose muttered with a relieved smile on her face. She then thought of something. "Wait, do you mean to tell us that you followed us, all the way from King's Cross, because he called that thing a magic wand?" She looked at the man with stern eyes, folding her arms over her chest like a schoolteacher ready to dispense hard but fair discipline.

"Of course not," the man responded, "it just got my attention, like it might get the attention of any wizard with half an ear and one quarter of a mind to spare." He reached into the pocket inside his own jacket and pulled out a small stone, displaying it to the two with a look of "gotcha" on his face. The Doctor and Rose simply watched the stone, expecting it to start singing and dancing or something equally exciting. Nothing happened.

"You," the man pointed at the Doctor, "reek of weird magics. The moment I spotted you, waving that brass wand about, I had the spell cast. I don't know what you're up to, but I now Aurors personally, who..." He stopped talking. The Doctor was smiling wide and had turned to gently poking the man with his finger, as if he expected him to be a hologram or pop like a balloon.

"Stop that," the man said, quite annoyed. The Doctor promtly stopped poking, but not smiling.

"Did you hear him, Rose?" he asked, never turning to look at her or wait for a response, "he distinctly said wizards. And spell! He talked about casting spells, isn't that marvelous?!"

Rose looked the man over. He looked nothing out of the ordinary, in fact he could have just stepped out of any office job in any part of London. His accent was clearly British, and not very posh. A typical working class Englishman, she would have guessed at a glance. Not one to talk about sorcery and spells, not even if he was just a crazy person.

"So I'm guessing you have your wand somewhere safe, then," she asked, hoping he would not be quick to realize that neither she nor the Doctor had no idea what he was talking about. The Doctor's continued fascination with the man made her worry that might be too late, but after looking carefully down both paths of the aisle, the man nervously opened his jacket a bit, showing what looked like the small branch from a typical elm.

"Well, I guess it's..." Rose had a lot of experience trying to find positive things to say when guys tried to impress her, but she was coming up a bit short in this case. "It's a nice... stick. Right, Doctor?" She looked up at the Doctor, startled to find him giving the stick a very serious eye.

"What can that thing do?" he asked.

Description
Chapter 9

Heathrow was the usual mix of bored people waiting and stressed people running. The Doctor's psychic paper had been an excellent stand-in for a passport, and for whatever reason, nothing in his jacket had caused issues in the checkpoints. Even the Doctor himself seemed to have, for a time, accepted his fate to travel in basic human vehicles.
The ginger still loomed, though.

Using every visible reflective surface, and her pocket mirror, Rose had spent a good part of the wait trying to find the illusive redhead that had the Doctor so worried. Finally, she caught a definite glimpse of a redhead, that the Doctor could confirm was the one apparently stalking them. He looked in his mid-twenties, slightly awkward and all in all very unthreatening. "That's what's so dangerous," the Doctor had responded at the time. Rose had chosen, probably wisely so, not to ask him what that was supposed to mean.

-

On the plane, the Doctor's restless unease quickly began to show again. At first, he simply seemed a bit excited, maybe impatient about the plane boarding, but even as they taxied unto the runway, his legs started getting a bit too active and he couldn't stay in his seat. The staff had to sit him down twice, and ended up physically making sure his safety belt was locked and tightened.

It wasn't that he was nervous about flying. They had already discussed that at the airport. He had his reservations about humanity's willingness to carelessly hurl metal boxes over the Atlantic, refusing any similarity to the TARDIS on the basis that there was no down for it to fall, should something break along the trip. Its current condition, having actually just crashed and all, was staunchly defended as a freak occurence, once in several millenia.

And now they were sitting in a metal box, being hurled across the Atlantic. Rose was spending her time flipping through one of the glossy magazines, while the Doctor was pressing every button available on or near the screen in the back of the seat in front of him, at times hard enough that whoever sat in the seat could be heard grumbling.

"You need new movies," he said quite casually, almost as if he had done the research and was simply passing on the interesting conclusion. Rose simply replied with a "hm hm," hoping not to give him cause for a major debate on the topic. When he finally gave up on the screen and took out the small brass cylinder holding his broken sonic screwdriver, Rose flinched quite visibly and told him to put it away. He clearly did not understand her worries, but did as she said.

Then, he unbuckled and got up. Before she could protest at whatever he had in mind to do, just out of the principle of it, he was already wandering down the aisle. When she heard him ask a random passenger if there was a ginger aboard, she nearly ripped the safety belt off, before she hurried after him.

"He's about this tall, looks very uncomfortable and sulky, and he..."

"I'm sorry, he mistook you for someone else," Rose said with a smile at the passenger, dragging the Doctor away with a firm hand.

"Oh, I see him now, thank you very much, Rose!" The Doctor took the aisle in long, energetic strides, Rose close to jogging just to keep up. Even at a distance, she saw the expression of utter panic on the face of the redhaired young man sitting several seats behind theirs on the big plane.

"Doctor, you can not simply..." She never had time to finish the sentence, as the Doctor had already reached his target.

"Hello," he said with a grin. Rose half expected him to do his usual "I'm the Doctor" introduction, but he never followed up on the greeting. The young man was clearly holding back a panic attack, breathing fast and looking desperately for help or a quick exit.

"Well," the Doctor finally continued, "here I am. And this, by the way, is Rose," he said cheerfully, putting his arm behind Rose and presenting her to whomever this poor fellow was.

"Sir, you're disturbing the other passengers. I'll have to ask you to find your seat again." The stewardess that had turned up quite quickly was now giving the Doctor a polite, but very telling smile. Rose suddenly sympathized with the young, redhaired man in the seat, feeling like she might go into a panic at any moment. Images of being transported off the plane in handcuffs at the airport in New York kept popping up inside of her mind.

"No, it's, it's okay, he's with me," said the man. Rose forgot all her premonitions of a future in American prisons and simply looked at him, completely surprised. The Doctor seemed less astounded, simply smiling his usual smile at the stewardess until she backed away.

"So, my new friend, what makes you tag along with us so shyly, if you don't mind my asking?" the Doctor asked in a chummy voice. The man was about to speak when the stewardess suddenly appeared again, this time with two men at her side, one of them in a uniform like her. The other one had a suit on. Rose did not feel that he was a business man, or just a snappy dresser.

"Sir, I'll have to ask you to..." The Doctor cut her off by flipping out the psychic paper and showing it to her in one quick motion, making the uniformed man instinctively back away and duck slightly, and sending the suited man reaching for something inside his suit. Luckily for all, he never finished the move.

"Right, sir. But I'll still have to ask you to keep it down, so as to not bother the other passengers," said the stewardess. As they left quietly, Rose sent the Doctor a questioning glance. "U.S. Marshall. I guess I look the type," he said with a smile.

"Seriously, don't do that," said the young man, startling the two. The Doctor looked first at the psychic paper, then Rose, then back at the man. "Do what?" he asked, in an honestly surprised voice.

The man nudged the two and got out of his seat, looking nervously down both directions of the aisle before gesturing them to follow him. Reaching one of the middle exits of the plane, where they were not immediately surrounded by other passengers, he leaned in closely to the Doctor, causing Rose to lean in, as well.

"You cannot just wave those things around like that, people will notice and you'll cause problems," said the man, clearly expecting the Doctor and Rose to understand what he was going on about. "I saw you all the way back at the train station, waving the wand around. I don't know who you are, but you'll need to cut that out before you attract attention for it."

There was a silence between the three, as both the Doctor and Rose tried to digest what he was saying.

"Wand?" asked the Doctor, clearly believing this to somehow be a joke, of the less impressive variety. The man simply nodded. Rose looked at the Doctor, then at his jacket.
"Doctor, didn't you call..." She hesitated, then pointed at his jacket. "Didn't you call it a magic wand back at King's Cross?"

The Doctor reached in and pulled out the brass cylinder containing the sonic screwdriver, causing the young man to have yet another minor fit, looking around terrified for anyone that might be observing them at that moment.

"Are you completely barmy, put that aw..." He stopped, mid-word, and looked at the cylinder. "That's an odd one. Where'd you buy that one?" Suddenly less worried and a lot more confused, he was pointing at the cylinder, almost poking it with his index finger. "Is it even a wand?" he asked, voice full of disbelief.

"Don't you feel foolish now," Rose muttered with a relieved smile on her face. She then thought of something. "Wait, do you mean to tell us that you followed us, all the way from King's Cross, because he called that thing a magic wand?" She looked at the man with stern eyes, folding her arms over her chest like a schoolteacher ready to dispense hard but fair discipline.

"Of course not," the man responded, "it just got my attention, like it might get the attention of any wizard with half an ear and one quarter of a mind to spare." He reached into the pocket inside his own jacket and pulled out a small stone, displaying it to the two with a look of "gotcha" on his face. The Doctor and Rose simply watched the stone, expecting it to start singing and dancing or something equally exciting. Nothing happened.

"You," the man pointed at the Doctor, "reek of weird magics. The moment I spotted you, waving that brass wand about, I had the spell cast. I don't know what you're up to, but I now Aurors personally, who..." He stopped talking. The Doctor was smiling wide and had turned to gently poking the man with his finger, as if he expected him to be a hologram or pop like a balloon.

"Stop that," the man said, quite annoyed. The Doctor promtly stopped poking, but not smiling.

"Did you hear him, Rose?" he asked, never turning to look at her or wait for a response, "he distinctly said wizards. And spell! He talked about casting spells, isn't that marvelous?!"

Rose looked the man over. He looked nothing out of the ordinary, in fact he could have just stepped out of any office job in any part of London. His accent was clearly British, and not very posh. A typical working class Englishman, she would have guessed at a glance. Not one to talk about sorcery and spells, not even if he was just a crazy person.

"So I'm guessing you have your wand somewhere safe, then," she asked, hoping he would not be quick to realize that neither she nor the Doctor had no idea what he was talking about. The Doctor's continued fascination with the man made her worry that might be too late, but after looking carefully down both paths of the aisle, the man nervously opened his jacket a bit, showing what looked like the small branch from a typical elm.

"Well, I guess it's..." Rose had a lot of experience trying to find positive things to say when guys tried to impress her, but she was coming up a bit short in this case. "It's a nice... stick. Right, Doctor?" She looked up at the Doctor, startled to find him giving the stick a very serious eye.

"What can that thing do?" he asked.