The Affair of the Necklace

Authors note: This is not my first Doctor Who fan fiction story. I wrote my first way back in the early 1980’s. It starred the fourth incarnation of The Doctor, Sarah Jane Smith and Harry Sullivan. It was horrible! This is my first published work in this fandom. Being American, I’ve only seen Doctor Number 9, so this story features him. Thus it is AU, but not really seeing as Rose will be departing the series.

The Affair of the Necklace

Chapter One


Elizabeth Tudor sighed as she reached across her desk and flicked her computer monitor off. It was the end of a long week, one that saw the stock market plummet to new lows. Staring at the black screen, she wondered why she kept coming to work, and fully empathized with the poor souls who hurled themselves to their deaths during the crash of 1929; but this was 2012 and the windows of her building were shatter-proof; a necessity given the present state of the war.

“Lousy week, eh Lizzy?”

Hiding a frown, she looked up at the man whose lazy drawl had interrupted her reverie.

“The name is Elizabeth, Joss. Not Beth, or Liz, or Lizzie. It’s Elizabeth,” she said in a firm voice. She stood and grabbed her purse from her desk. “And, yes. It’s been a horrible week.”

“Well,” Joss replied with a wink. “How’s about I take you ‘round to The Flying Saucer for a drink?”

Elizabeth kept her face blank, but for a slight smile that hid her thoughts. As if he’d actually thought she’d darken the doors of that infamous place.

” No thanks, Joss,” she said aloud, “I have other plans for tonight.”

She turned and walked out of her little cubicle making her way past the man. She wanted to put herself as far away from him as she possibly could, and as fast as she could. Other women thought that Joss Livingstone was handsome, but he turned her stomach. The fact that he insisted on calling her Lizzie rather than by her preferred name was the least of his offences. To her he was the most repugnant sort of man; so full of himself, thinking he was God’s gift to all womankind. Not to mention his choice of attire, Elizabeth thought with a smirk. He dressed like the character J.R. from the old T.V. show “Dallas”, but he wasn’t any more of a cowboy then she was a native Texan. He thought that he was so irresistible, but he was all hat and no cattle. She wanted to retch. What was it with the weirdo’s she seemed to be attracting lately?

“Awww, come on, little Lizzie!” he begged, as he followed after her. “Just one little drink?”

“Sorry, but I can’t,” she said, as they crossed through the reception area. She paused and turned to the receptionist. Ignoring Joss’ pleas she bid, “Good night Megan, have a great weekend.”

“Night, Miss Tudor,” the girl replied. “You too!”


Elizabeth turned away and stumbled into Joss. Elizabeth heard Megan’s gasp, as she felt Joss’ arms snake around her waist to steady her. Startled, she looked up at him to see a wide smile on his face. Her face paled at the predatory gleam in his eyes. The smell of his cologne engulfed her, making her feel faintly nauseous, and the feel of his hands on her waist made her shiver in revulsion.

“Hands off, Joss!” she hissed, giving him a push. She strode to the door and pushed it open. “And stay away from me,” she said over her shoulder. “Or I’ll lodge a harassment complaint against you!”

Elizabeth stepped into the elevator as soon as the doors slid open. Stepping into the corner nearest the control panel, she ignored the other passengers and pressed the already lit button for the ground floor. With an annoyed shake of her head, she slapped at the door close button until they slid shut again. Once the elevator started its descent, she began to tremble. Not in fear, but with rage.

“Bastard!” she muttered. A man standing at the back of the car chuckled. She looked at him and blushed. “Sorry! I just had a run in with the office letch.”

The drive home wasn’t any better that the workday. Cars clogged the highway for as far as the eye could see, the passengers all intent on getting home so that they could live their lives; lives that didn’t revolve around work. She pictured them returning home to loving families and welcoming homes. Lives that were lived to the fullest with the knowledge that tomorrow could bring death and grief. Children and spouses, lovers and friends; all had them. Save for her.

The talk radio station she normally listened to was switched off for the rich voice of Josh Groban singing “Oceanio” It was an old song, but one of her favorites. In the darkest part of the night, when her nightmares woke her from her slumber, she would play the song and imagine a man sailing across the tempestuous waves of the ocean. She imagined that he was looking for her, seeking her, so that he could take her away from the war and her empty life. She looked for him, everyday, in the faces of people on the street. She prayed for him every Sunday at church. She hoped, and dreamed of him occasionally, but the days had passed and then the years. He never came. Then one day, she dreamt of him no more.

Today, the music, the lyrics and the cry of the violin moved her to tears, as they boomed from the speakers. She wondered where the dream of her savior had gone. She closed her eyes for a moment to keep them at bay, but they slid down her cheeks as she sang with him:

“Onde sull'oceano
Onde sull’oceano
Che dolcemente si placherà
Le mie mani stringono
Sogni lontanissimi
E il tuo respiro soffia su me”

Eventually, the traffic lightened and she arrived home. Unlocking the front door, she flicked the light switch on and walked straight to her entertainment center. With the flip of a switch, the television lit up as the voice of the news anchor read off the bad news of the day. She vaguely heard news of a bombing in Los Angeles as she kicked off her heels and flipped through her mail. The news caster’s mention of Houston drew her attention. ‘What now?’ she thought, only to find herself feeling relief as the voice spoke of another thwarted attack. Just another day living in the middle of a war. With a sigh, she walked to the trash bin, dropped the junk mail into it, then reached up to the wine rack and pulled a glass down.

Wine in hand she made her way to her bedroom, where she stood in the doorway, surveying the gown that she had left spread out on the bed that morning. Tonight was the museum gala, and she had promised her attendance. She was bone tired, weary and sad, but she had promised him that she would meet him at eight o’clock sharp; by the bar. Why she had actually accepted her friend’s advice and signed on with a dating service, still remained a mystery to Elizabeth. She had been lonely at the time and Grace’s advice had made sense. At least it had then, now, Elizabeth wasn’t so sure. Still, she had made a commitment to the nice fellow she had been corresponding with these last few weeks.

A commitment that she couldn’t back out of.

Her eyes traveled over the silk material gleaming in the light cast from above. Red was a bold color, but she had been feeling bold when she bought it. ‘Bold it is then,’ she thought.

With a deep breath, she walked into the bathroom to start her ablutions.



Far away, both in time and space, The Doctor stood bent over the console of the TARDIS. He was bored. Life had been decidedly adversary free for too long of a time to suit his needs, and he needed a diversion from his ennui. The only question was where to go.

Alpha Centauri to see the sunset and the moonrise? Barcelona? Where he could walk about his favorite village and visit old friends? Mantibia? Where he could lie on the sand and soak in the sunlight? All seemed poor choices, un-exotic and dull.

Earth, then, he thought. He’d never really spent enough time in America.. It was such a new and raw country, full of its self, yet contradictory at the same time. She had so much potential, so much history to make.

Yes, he thought, Earth. America. Not San Francisco, he thought. Somewhere different, though. Somewhere warmer. Yes, that would do nicely, he thought as he set the coordinates to the planet that he felt most at home on, to a country that was still new, at least to him.

He pressed a green lit button and, the TARDIS’ center column obeyed his direction tumbling through the space time vortex, going backwards toward America and the year 2012.

The computer told him that the Americans were at war with radical factions from abroad, and that life, while lived tenuously, was still lived. The people were vibrant and unique, fractious yet united. Hurting but persevering, like their forefathers. He smiled a wide smile and cling to the console as the TARDIS lurched about. He needed a touch of that humanity, it had been too long.

When the lurching stilled, and the TARDIS came to a stop, The Doctor opened the doors and stepped into the brightly lit night. The lights surrounded him, their brightness drowning out the stars that shone above. A stiff breeze blew about, buffeting him and causing the tails of his leather coat to dance about. A nearby group of ventilation ducts told him that he had landed on the roof of a building. A few quick strides to the edge told him that he was on top of a high-rise. He looked out into the dusk and felt exhilarated. It was good to be, well, home.

‘Now, I wonder where the lift is?’ he thought. A few loping strides and a whirl of his sonic screw driver later, saw him descending toward the ground floor and out into the dusk.

The streets were teeming with life. People walking too and fro, dressed in casual clothes, punctuated by men and women in fineries. Ahead of him walked a woman in red silk, her dark hair piled atop her head in a haphazard fashion that contradicted the lines of the gown that clung to her form. She was looking down at a piece of paper and muttering to herself as she glanced up at the building she stood next to.

“Well, I guess this is the place.. He’d better be good looking,” he heard her say.

He watched her as she lifted her gaze up the lines of the crystalline building, her eyebrows lifting at the height of it. It was all glass, or seemingly so, rising high above the surrounding buildings in an autocratic manner. Metal and glass, melded together into a sculpture that kissed the horizon. The woman in red stood before it awed and fearful of its size.

She took a deep breath, threw her shoulders back, then set off in a determined stride toward the doors. He followed her.

The marble lobby was crowed with people, all dressed for an evening’s entertainment, in silks and satins. The women all smelled of flowers, their faces glowing with anticipation, their hair piled elegantly atop their heads. The men were all dressed in black, bow ties adorning their necks. Some were escorting women by the crooks of their arms, others were chatting with other black suited men. The woman in red was making her way through the crowd to the bank of elevators that stood like a sentential in the middle of the crush. He maneuvered his way through the throng with polite smiles and excuses, but the doors of the car slid shut before he could step aboard. His eyebrows furrowed in consternation, relieved only by the chime of the bell announcing the arrival of a new and empty lift. He stepped aboard, pressed to the back by the crush of humanity that swarmed in behind him.

The ride up was fast, and soon he found himself emptied into a throng of people and a cacophony of noise. He was surrounded by finely dressed humans, all in clusters, chatting and laughing. The walls around him were made of glass, opening to the horizon, the roof opening to the stars.

It was a glorious sight to behold.

A string orchestra was playing a light waltz that was nearly lost in the noise. Before him, couples swirled past, spinning with the music, smiles lighting their faces. . He glanced about the room, looking for the woman in red. He spotted her by the bar, drink in hand, her eyes searching the room, before meeting his. She smiled and he found his feet moving in her direction, as if of their own accord.

“”Hi,” he said with a wide smile. “Lovely party.”

The woman looked at him, her eyes traveling over the length of his coat, down to his black jeans and Doc Marten boots
“Yes, it is,” she answered. “I’m glad you could make it.”

He raised his brows, his eyes temporarily drawn from their perusal of her form.

“Me too.”

She smiled at him, her face glowing, her eyes dancing with delight. “Would you like--I mean, would you think me too forward if I offered you a drink?”

This was new, this forwardness toward him, but he found himself responding in the affirmative.

“What do you drink?”

“Whatever you’re having,” he said his voice distant to his ears.

She smiled then turned to the bar. He allowed his eyes to complete his perusal of her. The red silk dress looked better on her from close up. It clung to a full figure made up a small waist, full hips and a generous bosom, the red silk emphasizing the paleness of her skin. Her shoulders were bare, soft and rounded; her neck bore a choker of black velvet. A charm dangled from the material, capturing his attention.

‘No,’ he thought, his mind suddenly reeling. ‘It couldn’t be.’

A cocktail was suddenly hovering in front of him, attached to a soft hand which was attached to the woman in red. She was smiling at him. Automatically, he took the offered glass and smiled back at her.

“I know that this is all very awkward. I feel as if I know you so well, what with all of the emailing we’ve done, but then the reality of meeting and all—well,. I’m glad you came,” she was saying.

All he could do was stare at the charm on the velvet. He realized that she was expecting him to reply, so he said, “Oh, well, yes. Lovely charm you have there at your neck.”

She smiled at him again, her eyes dancing in the light. “Thanks! You never mentioned that you were from England,” she continued lightly. “I love England! Where do you hail from?”

“The north,” he replied in a distracted tone. His eyes kept drifting to her golden charm. “Such a unique piece, where did you find it?”

“What? This old thing?” she laughed. “In truth, I found it in an antique shop. I fell in love with it and had to have it. Tonight’s the first time I’ve had the chance to wear it.”

“Ah.”

The conversation faded. The Doctor couldn’t help but stare at the charm. Elizabeth’s brow furrowed.

“It’s lovely,” he said in an attempt to fill in the silence.

She smiled at him again. “The double infinity symbol drew me to it. I just had to have it.”

She sipped from her glass, his eyes watching her as she swallowed. She was beginning to feel awkward.

He was handsome enough, she thought. The military style of his hair cut told her that he was most likely a soldier on leave. The straightness of his posture reinforced her thoughts. It was the blueness of his eyes that caught her attention. The leather jackets he wore, the grey sweater, the black jeans, were all background to his piercing eyes. Piercing blue eyes that were drawn to the charm at her neck.

She frowned. Another weirdo, she thought. Best to end the evening now, before it got harder.

“Look—“she began, but was cut off by the sound of gunfire and startled screams piercing the chatter and music that surrounded them. Wide eyed, she made to turn in the direction of the shouting voices, but a hand on her wrist stayed her.

“Don’t move,” the man next to her uttered. Her eyes followed his hand to the bar, and watched him set his glass on the surface. “Be still and do as I say.”

Her eyes flew to his. The blue eyes that had been staring at her neck, were now staring into her eyes with an intensity that sent chills up her spine.

The screams faded into silence, and in spite of her desire to look, she kept her eyes glued to his intense gaze.

“Keep silence!” barked a distant voice. “We seek only one person. She wears the charm of infinity. You know who you are! Reveal yourself and you will not be harmed!”

Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat even as a hand tightened around her wrist. “Don’t move!” a voice cried inside of her head.

She blinked.


Suddenly, everything surrounding her seemed to slow down. She felt a slight tug at her hand and her eyes flew to his.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” he ordered, his voice echoing in her ears. “Whatever you do, don’t let go!”

Then he was pulling her forward, moving past the forms of startled people.
and past the masked men dressed in black, their guns gleaming in the dim light, their clothing blurring as they passed. The air seemed to glitter around her, the silence was palatable, like a dead weight. She looked back as she moved forward, and saw the startled expressions on the faces that seemed to surround her, and the men behind her who seemed to be moving in slow motion, as they turned toward her. Her eyes widened as she watched them raise their guns with agonizing slowness.

‘Come on!” the man shouted. “In you go!”

She found herself bundled into an elevator and pressed against a wall. The doors slid shut as gunfire erupted.

Time sped up again. She looked at the man before her, his eyes once again locked on her neck. A cold chill ran up her spine.

“Take your frock off,” he ordered lightly.