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With beautiful homes, fulfilling careers, and two adoring husbands, their joy could not be greater, their worlds could not be richer.
It had haunted her dreams, the good as well as the bad. It had replayed in her memories over and over; repeated so often on purpose, lest it be forgotten. And she knew it would be hidden beneath a half-bowed head stacked upon slumped shoulders. Her mind filled in a brown pinstriped suit and a long tan coat swaying in the ocean breeze, even though she knew neither were part of his current wardrobe.
Some things were just too ingrained in memory to be eliminated. Lowering herself to the pockmarked crown of one of the more comfortable appearing rocks, she pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms about her legs. It was cold here out on the bay. She remembered that from her last visit, and she slipped her fingers underneath the cuff of their opposite sleeves to keep them from freezing off. He came to a halt in front of her and she looked up, confirming her mental impression of him, minus the coat and suit combo.
She wondered if he would break the silence. Words that had sent burning, golden tendrils straight into her chest. Words that she would have given anything, gone any distance, paid any price, to hear the Doctor say.
Settling himself next to her on the rock, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands before him, not breaking his gaze with her through any of this. He was waiting for her, she knew. She had led with her mother and he was looking for her to take the lead in this relationship as well. Not from him, anyway.
She wondered if it was a half-human thing or just regular old fish-out-of-water nervousness. Then realized it had to be the former. The Doctor had never been nervous, even when he was playing the proverbial carp on the sandbank. He nodded, then broke his gaze with her to stare out at the inrushing sea; at a spot on the damp sand where just a few minutes previously the most marvelous, most innocuous phone box in two universes had stood.
She followed his gaze. The wind howled through the rocks, whistling against their jagged corners. Easier than what, exactly? His confidence grated her, especially after his reticence of just moments before. He forced her to be the first to speak, but then came back with self-assured assurances that, surely, it couldn't be that bad. It was that bad. But if he was going to challenge then he was going to have to know how it was. That had hurt.
She could see it in his eyes. His face might not have twitched a muscle in response, but the eyes told the story. She remembered that look from before. Can you change back? Do you want me to? And for the briefest of moments she felt vindicated. She felt right causing him this pain because she was sure as hell going to go through enough of it herself. Felt that this face deserves to look like this, with the eyes gone all dark from a special kind of despair.
Felt her cheeks grow warm against the icy air in justified resentment. And immediately she regretted her actions, because it was true. He wasn't him. Her mother saves them from any more uncomfortable conversation by striding up, flipping her cell phone closed with an audible snap. With a put upon sigh, Jackie turned on her heel and stalked away from the two sulking teenagers. Silence reigned a moment longer on the rocks after her departure.
He unclasped his hands and, with a heavy sigh, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Rose looked at him again.
She supposed this was progress. That seemed to be a record for this beach. Also, Rose noted, she had managed to make it through the entire exchange on rhetorical questions alone. That was a very Doctor-ish thing to do. He turned to her then, and his darkened eyes held more than just pervasive sadness. There was a spark of fury there now too, and Rose found herself simultaneously terrified and mesmerized by its appearance.
Bitter much? All right. But not at him. A short book, mind you, really just a manual. And there was an entire universe in that sigh. All of time and space, the massive playground of existence, swept out of reach.
She was reminded, suddenly, of the fact that he dispatched an entire race of beings just a few hours previously without batting an eyelash. But she'd been pushed too, pushed and shoved and cannoned all over the multi-verse. All to be deposited back here on the same stupid beach she stood on three years ago and cried her eyes out, vowing to whatever powers there were in the universe, and to one in particular, that she would find a way out of this personal purgatory.
Rose Tyler, Interdimensional Therapist. Rose closed her eyes. She could still feel that kiss. Could still feel the remnants of the emotions that had washed over and through her in that moment. It had been real, that kiss. He knew that. Had to know that. Rose sighed, opening her eyes and bathing him in what she hoped was a somewhat more friendly look. She stayed silent while he puzzled it out. These pronouns would be the death of them. That we could never leave knowing you were alone and unhappy here and that he had to leave, of course, before the rift closed and left everyone stranded in a paradoxically doomed universe and bloody hell you did that on purpose.
Turning a gaze upon her that was, at the same time baffled, awed and absolutely furious, he spat through gritted teeth. Solemnly, Rose nodded. Use yourself, I mean. He dropped his face back into his hands. And Rose is suddenly aware of how much her mum had been put through recently. Had always been there, in fact. Which was considerably more than she could say for the majority of people who supposedly cared for her.
Rose knew she never gave her mum enough credit for all the things she did, and apparently still had enough decency left to feel guilty about it. Rose stole a glance at her watch. There was water all around the spot now. Any square impressions it may have left in the soft earth would have long since washed away. Soon there would be several feet of salty tidewater covering it all. Raising one accusing finger, she jabbed it forcefully at his nose.
And in the middle of winter, too. He blinked up at her in surprise. He glanced sideways, briefly, at Rose. Rose and her mother turned mutually blazing gazes on the man who had dared to interrupt their familial showdown. All three of them were standing now, in the heat of the moment. His eyes shifted quickly between the two women, apparently finding it difficult to meet both their eyes at the same time.
It was, strangely enough, Jackie, who backed off first. Rose folded her arms beneath her breasts and turned back to face her mother. Slow and forceful, she enunciated every word. He stood with fists clenched at his sides, leaning slightly forward at the waist. His head was cocked slightly off from center, and this time he had no trouble meeting both of their glares at the same time.
His own eyes were liquid pools of ebony fire…if such a thing were possible. Dark stars. Rose found herself frozen by his gaze, unable to turn away. Blood pounded through her ears, a rolling crash of surf against a barren beachhead. Rose became uncomfortably aware of a dampness under her arms and between her shoulder blades; Sweat breaking out despite the chill in the air, and cooling almost instantly against her skin.
She found herself quivering with the shock of the cold, and something else as well. This, she realized, must be what it feels like to face the oncoming storm. By contrast, the air around him seemed to shimmer, like waves over pavement in a sweltering summer heat.
With a frustrated sniff, he shook his head and looked away, breaking the contact which held them petrified. Somehow, she could still feel his eyes on her. Freezing her. Thrilling her. A clipped answer that brooked no further questioning, and denied outright any chance for debate. He turned on his heel and stalked off towards the roadway. Giving a last glance to the now turbid waters, foaming and crashing where once she had stood flanked on both sides by the man she loved more than anything, more than stars and worlds and galaxies, more than her mum and Mickey and the man she almost but not quite thought of as her dad, she fell into step behind him.
Back to index. Chapter 2: Chapter 2. It was a two day flight to London by zeppelin, and that was two days too many for the Doctor. At least back at the village there had been things to see and do, for all they spent less than a full day there. He had wandered country lanes with Rose as the sun dipped low in the sky, setting early at this latitude and time of year, but not fast enough for his purposes.
He had pointed out to her the local plant life, waxed poetic about oaks and acorns, and thrilled silently at the quirked smile his explanations brought to her face.
Same old thing. They had waited in a fallow field for the stars to come out. Here, far out from any major cities, they twinkled bright even in the purple twilight, but not bright enough. Still, the same stars, mostly, in the same constellations. It was pretty much as the Doctor would have expected. The Doctor had tried, craning his neck at the thick glass window until he got a crick in it, but all he could catch sight of was the underside of the great balloon above them.
There were, of course, no trees to discuss either, and the limited conversation provided by the perfectly acceptable tea and meals could only be stretched so far.
Rose had been uncharacteristically silent, and though she had offered to play cards, she had turned his suggestion of chess down flat. But cards could only motivate Rose for so long, and in all honesty, had held the attention of the former Time Lord for even less time. He could have killed for a scientific paper on string-theory, if only for the comedic value. He eventually retreated to the cramped cabin he had been assigned, and lying flat on the fold out bunk with one arm tucked behind his head, took to analyzing with particularity every difference he could pinpoint between his prior and current physiology.
The one heart aspect was obvious. And annoying. Seriously annoying. It was a wonder he could still think with the minute amount of blood flowing to his brain, not to mention having to coordinate walking and talking at the same time. It was exhausting.
Slept the whole night through, waking to early rays of sun peaking through the window shade and the sounds of birds chattering in the bushes outside. Which brought to mind two other changes of note. Namely the complete absence of a respiratory bypass and the still questionable status of his psychic abilities.
He was wary of testing the latter, too afraid he might find they had left him entirely. However, there was a strong chance they would be significantly reduced, and that was not something he wanted to think about just yet. One plus in his favor was that he stilled seemed able to manage a good twenty or so different lines of mental process at the same time without too much effort, and as such, the worry that his telepathic brain functions might be hindered had managed to slip into his consciousness a number of times against his will.
For now, he just preferred to push that train of thought to the back of his mind whenever it arose. Ooh, right, body temperature. It seemed to be wavering somewhere around 36 or 37 degrees Celsius. Normal for a human, but bloody damned hot from his perspective. It had been cold on that beach. He had noticed. And even that evening out in the field had brought a chill that had seemed to seep all the way into his bones.
And as for his other senses? Well that was a good question. For one thing, he was certain it would annoy Rose. Food tasted…well, odd. Less, somehow. Hearing seemed okay. He had shot up from his own bunk at the sound, wondering if he should go to her. His eyes, though. In general, things seemed pretty clear, except that outlines seemed to waver a bit the closer in they got.
Practicing now, he held his thumb out at arms length above him. Squinting one eye shut, he moved it slowly towards his face. Hang on, bit fuzzy now. Urgh, rather fuzzy. Now clearer again. And clear. His thumb hit his nose. He might actually need those glasses now. It had been like a curse, the way he would every once and a while get a whiff of her presence in an empty control room.
It would literally stop him in his tracks, as he inevitably tried to lock onto its location. Martha and Donna had no doubt thought him bonkers. He had always offered excuses for his momentary inattention, laughing aloud at himself while cursing himself silently for being such a fool.
That part which had, for so long, been such a burden to him, and at the same time such a comfort. And touch. Well, that had been surprising. It had only gotten worse from there on out.
No new Doctor, perhaps, but new-new skin and ouch. He wondered if normal humans felt like this. Then there was that kiss. He had been trying not to think about it, and failing of course. Except that it had felt nice. Better than nice. Extremely better than nice. Her lips and hands, and his hands, which had momentarily seemed to be under some foreign control as they roamed and clasped about her body.
For the moment anyways. He wondered if this strange sensitivity would last. He wondered whether he wanted it to. He thought that covered it, all the major senses.
Hard to relate it to anything they could understand. And that, it appeared, was just gone. A complete void there in his mind where a swirling mass of potentialities used to be.
Well, good riddance. All that supposed knowledge of the way things were destined to be, and he still spent most of his life running around in complete ignorance of what was coming up next.
Preferred it that way, really. No point in reading the last page first. No extra-sensory baggage needed on this flight. He sighed aloud, the sound echoing weirdly around the tiny cabin, and wondered how long he could keep up this valiant attempt at convincing himself.
The Doctor waited for her to go on or to ask for admittance, but when she did neither he swung his long legs off of the bunk and got up to open the door. She was standing just outside with her arms crossed, elbows nestled comfortably in her palms, her eyebrows drawn together in thought. She looked worried. He could relate. The Doctor blinked at her. Was she serious? He stepped back a bit to give her a better view of the sparse cabin. Rose shrugged, her eyes drifting over the meager accommodations.
Besides, she should be used to that sort of thing from him by now. The Doctor blinked hard for the second time since the start of this conversation. He found himself hating, just a little bit, the way his stupid single heart seemed to trip drunkenly over itself at the sight of that smile.
Everyone knows that. Luckily, it appeared that Rose and Pete had. Rose glanced nervously up and down the corridor, making sure it was empty of passengers. Well, no. I mean…do you want to come in? She sidled past, brushing her shoulder against his chest in the narrow passageway, and causing him to take in his breath slightly at the rasping contact.
Dropping abruptly onto his bunk, she leaned back against the wall. He shut the door as. He turned to her as she was finishing her quick survey of the room.
Was she trying to make up for lost time? Make a special effort to comfort him? Fix him, as his other self would say? Did she really think he needed that? There seemed to be a curious lack of helicopters at that heliport. The thought brightened his spirits and he beamed at her. There was something wrong with that.
Something in the phraseology that just felt…uncomfortable. However, I think I can pin this one on the Hindenburg explosion.
He shifted himself slightly back from her she was sitting just at that range where things started to lose focus for him and settled himself more firmly onto the thin mattress. It was just an early passenger ship that was quickly eclipsed by safer and more efficient helium models. What else here is different that I should know about? She laughed aloud at his enthusiasm. Not the free and bell like sound he remembered, but a laugh nonetheless.
And that was definitely the first. He could not have stopped the smile that spread across his face if he had tried.
She covered well, though; continuing to smile, albeit sadly. Mentally, he chided himself for sounding just like Donna. He was going to have to work on curbing that more annoying aspect of his new personality. I ended up going online to figure out what was up.
A whole earth generation had basically been defined by that war. He was fascinated to find out how they had turned out without it. Eager even. It was almost like visiting another world, while staying on his favorite one. Almost, but not quite.
Even Rose seemed affected, and the red tinge which had always seemed to light her cheek while they were traveling together blossomed momentarily on her face. She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly willing to rise to the competition, but justifiably wary of the gloat-fest that was likely to follow in its wake. No atomic bomb. No moon landing.
No unending conflict in the Middle East. You know it. Now tell me just how impressive I am. The smile which crosses her lips turns his insides cold.
She knew she had got him, and her smile was triumphant. Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Rose had her own flat in the city. It was tiny, and had taken some getting used to as well. Had she not retained her memories of living on a council estate, she would have found the transition deplorable and the accommodations all but unlivable.
As it was, she found them vaguely comforting. It had two bedrooms, one bath, and a great room that served as kitchen, dining room, and living room combined. Her mum never seemed to recognize that particular ship had sailed. Well, flown. Well, whatever you call it when a ship slips between dimensions. Jackie of the incapacitating pregnancy hormones would have pitched a fit. It was dangerous. It was most certainly against company policy. Mickey had, in fact, used the room on more than one occasion.
Rose wondered if her stash had given him pause, or if he was just hung over. She wondered too, briefly, if he would turn her in; if their friendship had been so strained by her relationship with the Doctor that now all trust was gone. And now, the ubiquitous bedroom would have a new occupant. Oh, yes, they could have stayed at the mansion. Jackie would have been overjoyed, but Rose could not personally think of a worse torture for either of them. She watched him take in the entire expanse of the flat in one quick flick of his eyes.
He noticed her watching him, and turned to her with the same tentative air he had used on the beach. Of course, she thought, this was new ground. Her territory, yes, but strange to him. Just as the universe itself was new ground. Wished he throw himself into the adventure, half-cocked or otherwise, like the Doctor would have in the same situation. Tiny flat? Zeppelin shadowed London? Got bananas? The door closed behind him, and in a moment she could hear the water splaying across the porcelain bottom of the bathtub.
Sighing heavily with relief, she entered her bedroom. It was a mess, still. There had been a time when it had been kept fairly organized. Back when working for Torchwood was just a job and paperwork was her biggest problem. Back before the stars started going out and she started spending less and less time at home.
She would have to get back into the habit of cleaning again. And cooking. And working, in general. She started now by removing a wayward sweatshirt from the foot of her bed and depositing it in the hamper in the closet. While there, she looked for something that he could wear while she washed the few clothes he did own.
Not much of hers would fit him, but it would only be for sleeping in anyways. Clothes shopping with the little woman. She found an oversized t-shirt with the name of a local pub emblazoned across the front.
Mickey had just shaken his head, not surprised by anything she did anymore. Forest green without pattern, but very comfortable. Not exactly high fashion, but this would just have to do for now.
How he would deal with the changes. How she would deal with him dealing with the changes. That colander certainly did not belong in her bedroom. How had it even gotten there in the first place? It was wrong, totally wrong. Never belonged here. Not either of them. And she had broken down on the zeppelin, curled into a ball on her little bunk, thinking this very same thing.
That he was just as wrong as she was, only more so, because at least she could still be herself. Could still be Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth. Regular old human girl doing completely irregular things. But he could never be the Doctor.
Could never pilot through time and space, stopping wherever and whenever he wanted like it was his own personal parking lot. Could never make her palms quiver with the beat of the two hearts it ached for. No, for all her pain, for all her anger, for all her discomfiture with her current situation, she had gotten off easy. And she had promised herself, then and there, stifling her sobs into her pillow in the tiny airship cabin, that she would be strong for him.
That she would be there for him and support him and try to love him for who he was and not who she wanted him to be. The sound of running water from the bathroom dissipated; resolving itself into solitary and definitive drips. Quickly, she wiped at her damp eyes with the heels of her hands. There was nothing she could do about the redness he would undoubtedly detect there. She opened the door to find him just outside, having exited the shower clad in nothing more than a purple towel wrapped about his hips.
He was holding his now rank and wrinkled outfit in one hand and a hairbrush in the other. He handed them over to her without objection and she replaced them with the outfit she had managed to cobble together.
She noticed that he had shaved and made a mental note to get them both new razors. Shaking her head as if to clear it of cobwebs, she attacked the situation as if it were a Torchwood crisis. Okay, normal guest procedure. Provide clean towels. Bed linens. Offer food. Who keeps food in their flat when they expect any minute to be moving permanently to another universe.
Well, not her certainly. Okay, what would he like? Would he like what the Doctor had liked? No pears. That should be pretty easy to avoid. Not a lot of pear heavy take-out cuisines in central London.
Too old Doctor. Old-old Doctor. Yes, Thai would work. Happy to have something to do other than hover outside his door His door? It was her spare bedroom for goodness sake. Chapter 4: Chapter 4. He found her standing before the little fireplace with her head bent, staring blankly at a folded piece of paper. Her mobile held limp and forgotten in her other hand. She looked lost.
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