Between Here and Gone 7/?
Title: Between Here and Gone 7/?
Author: buffyaddict13
Rating: R for language and violence
Fandom: Supernatural, Doctor Who, Firefly
Characters/Pairings: Gen. Ten, Rose, Jackie Tyler, Pete Tyler, Mickey, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, River Tam. More Doctor Who and Supernatural folks will show up as the story progresses.
Summary: Nothing much surprises the Winchester brothers...until they meet a mysterious stranger called the Doctor. The Doctor holds the key to helping them catch the demon who destroyed their family. While the Doctor works to repair the Winchester Time Line, he tries to do the impossible: build himself a Void ship to find Rose.
A/N 1: Spoilers for season 1 and 2 of spn and series 1 through 3 of New Who. I've never written Doctor Who fic before so I'm pretty much terrified. Ginormous thanks to
hiyacynth for the beta. H, thank you for the encouragement and getting me into DW. <3
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters, Doctor Who, Firefly, or Torchwood. If I did, we'd be seeing a lot of awesome crossovers on TV.
People of Earth,
sometimes you really get me down.
People of Earth,
sometimes its just astonishing.
People of Earth
sometimes you really get me down.
~People of Earth by Syd Straw
9 December, 2005
Toledo, Ohio
No one gives them a second look inside the house. They make their way through the small groups of mourners, muted conversations pool around them like water. Dean keeps his expression sympathetic and his eyes downcast. He scans the room for the Shoemaker kids, but he doesn’t see any likely candidates. Great. He’s about to move into the dining room when Sam stops abruptly beside a sofa, eyes fastened on an elderly woman who looks like she’s spent the past three months weeping. Sam watches her, tongue darting over his lips, blinking hard.
Dean has a feeling if he doesn’t get Sam out of here now, he’s going to hunker down with the little old lady and cry right along with her. It doesn’t look like Shoemaker’s kids are in the house anyway. In the watery light from an antique floor lamp, Dean can see Sam’s face. For once, it’s unguarded, and the expression there makes Dean’s palms sweat. A fresh bud of worry unfolds deep in his gut. He shepherds Sam through the flocks of mourners and out onto the patio. Jesus, the look on Sam’s face.
A small group of women sit at a picnic table across the yard. Two of them appear to be in their early twenties, a third younger girl sits hunched nearby. Jackpot. The two brunettes have got to be Shoemaker’s. According to the obituary, the older girl is Donna, the younger one Lily. Donna’s blond friend sits nearby, giving the brothers the once-over.
Dean trots out a tired cover story, but it does the trick. Dean considers the initial meeting a success. They don’t have any actual information, but they haven’t been thrown out, either. So far, so good. Lily pipes up a few minutes into their trawl for information that Daddy Shoemaker’s death is all her fault.
That little reveal brings a glimmer of life to Sam’s eyes and Dean finds himself grateful to the kid. Donna uses her big-sister voice to tell Lily it most certainly is not her fault, and to shut the fuck up. Although she says it in a kinder, girlier fashion, Dean can still read between the lines. Big sister is fresh out of patience for the little one. Dean’s plenty familiar with the feeling. But Lily won’t stay quiet and when she says the words Bloody Mary, Dean can almost feel the light bulb singe his hair.
Lily’s lower lip trembles and tears spill down her face. “I said it,” she whispers. “I said Bloody Mary in front of the mirror three times. And then she killed him.”
Now they’re getting somewhere.
ooooo
TARDIS
Outer Edge of Alliance Star System
"Your mind is a series of different rooms," the Doctor says quietly. "You’ve got your kitchen, your storage cupboards, bedrooms, parlors. Each room holds thoughts. Or memories. Some are easy to hear, right on the surface. Some are stored in the attic or basement, a bit harder to access. Understand?"
River nods. She and the Doctor are sitting cross-legged on the floor, face-to-face. "Good. Now. Telepathy is like a hand. When you read people, you sort of rummage around the rooms in their mind." He frowns slightly. "Only when you do it, you’re a bit bull in the china shop about it. So. I’m going to hide a memory, and I want you to find it. Carefully. No barging about or banging doors open and shut." The Doctor pauses. "You’re going to watch for doors and windows, to respect boundaries." He lifts an eyebrow. "Ready?"
River nods. "Ready."
The Time Lord closes his eyes. It’s only a moment before he can feel River in his mind, but this time her movements are gentle. Delicate. He grins. "Yes, that’s the ticket! Magnificent." He shifts slightly. "Okay, keep going. Oh, that’s cold. Colder. Wellll. Lukewarm. A bit like Jackie Tyler’s tea, that. Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Warm." River moves gracefully through the rooms of his mind, cautiously trying to follow his guidelines. He opens his eyes and winks. "Warmer. Hot. Ouch. Hot potato!"
River’s eyes flick open. "It’s beautiful," she breathes. "Like a fairy tale. A jade sky and bright blue grass.” Her eyes are wide as she recalls his memory. “The buildings climb up into the clouds. Everyone has wings, like angels.” Her voice turns wistful. "I wish I was there, wish I could feel the wind on my face. Blow the bad thoughts away.”
The Doctor studies River. "That’s Besson. It was a magnificent planet once.” The Doctor rubs a hand over his chin. “Just like Miranda.” He should have known the instant River shared her thoughts what she’d meant. He’d been too surprised by her ability to take in the full meaning of the content. But he knows now. This time period, this universe, what else could that name mean? When a planet dies, it’s not something that goes unnoticed. Especially by a Time Lord.
“They tried to hide their secret inside me.” River’s voice is soft, but a narrow band of steel runs through it. She focuses on her left knee, rubs a finger along the frayed hem of her dress. “But it got out. Can’t stop the signal.” She lifts her head and meets the Doctor’s gaze. “All those people dead. Thousands, all screaming in my brain. And the ones that lived? They ain’t really alive. Not even people. Not even Simon can fix ‘em.”
The Doctor tugs on his left ear lobe. “People did try and fix them over the years, of course. Doctors and scientists came from galaxies away. Some insisted Reavers were simply misunderstood. Some said they were a plague that should be eradicated. Some said they belonged in a detention centre. The Magistrate on Ariel tried to pass a proclamation confining them to a specially-designed zoo. The argument went on so long, no one noticed at first when the Reavers disappeared.”
River draws her knees up, clasps her hands around them. “Where’d they go?”
The Doctor blows out a breath. “Once you lot got the hang of exploring the universe a bit more, got over your irrational fear of everything different, there was a big travel boom. Humans went everywhere once you developed light speed and faster-than-light speed. Of course, most of you went to New Earth, but there were plenty of other planets you hung about on.” He rubs the back of his neck, thinking about the last time he saw the ancestors of Miranda. “The Reavers traveled too. Little groups of them, here and there. The largest group ended up at the very end of the universe, on a planet called Malcassairo. They had an extra handful of functioning brain cells, and went by the name Futurekind.” The Doctor shakes his head. “But they weren’t from the future. They were from the past. And they still wanted nothing more than to kill.” The Doctor sniffs again and wipes his eyes. What a catastrophic waste. Such a tragedy. Stupid, stupid humans and their constant meddling.
“You saw them, then? Reavers?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
The Doctor’s expression illustrates the answer should be obvious. “I ran away.”
River considers the Doctor’s answer for a moment. “I couldn’t run away. I had to kill them all or Simon would have died. They all woulda died.” She shrugs. “They said I was a big ai ya hero, but I wasn’t. I just did what I had to. I’d do it again. Wouldn’t want to, but I would.”
The Doctor doesn’t need to intrude into her thoughts to know the terror from that confrontation still weighs heavily on her. He recalls a quote from a remarkable poet he had tea with back in 1871. The bloke had a truly magnificent beard and a collection of rather excellent hats. He also made bloody good tea. Oh, and those scrummy orange muffins! “The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first. Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first. Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd. I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.” The Doctor beams fondly at River. “And you, River Tam, are a divine thing.”
River smiles back, and the Doctor marvels. She looks like a mere child. Only her eyes hint at her true age. “And speaking of divine, have a look at this.” The Time Lord pulls her toward the doors and yanks them open, one at a time.
Beyond the TARDIS is a blue-green-orange burst of light. It resembles a shimmering curtain, and a field of stars hangs beyond the glowing veil. “This is the A’Thlox Nebula,” the Doctor explains. “The colored bits and bobs are all that remains of the supernova formed here over a million years ago.”
River stares, blinking back tears. “It’s…I can’t find the words to describe it. My vocabulary is…inadequate. Defective.”
The Doctor lowers himself to the floor of the TARDIS, lets his legs dangle outside the ship. He swings them back and forth within the safety of the ship’s force field. “I rather like fantastic. It’s a first-class adjective. Also, majestic. So what happens if I play a bit of addition? We have Fanjestic.”
River seats herself beside him, grinning. “And amazeful.”
The Doctor clicks his fingers. “Brilliant!”
River reaches a tentative hand out of the TARDIS, wiggles her fingers. “How come we ain’t dead? Frozen solid? It must be at least minus two hundred Celsius.” She presses her right index finger against her left wrist. “Normal pulse maintained. Cellular metabolic processes normal.” She moves her finger to the Doctor’s wrist. “No skin breakdown. Not even any goose bumps.” She rubs her forehead, clearly stunned. “I’m…mind-boggled.”
The Doctor gives River’s hand a comforting pat. “It’s the TARDIS. She keeps us safe.” He increases the pressure on her hand. “But I don’t recommend taking one giant step for all mankind into space. Her protection only reaches so far.” He releases her hand and points toward a distant speck of light. “The Zethros Galaxy is just a skip and a jump past that star.”
“A star’s an immensely glowy ball of plasma,” River recites. “Plasma is ionized energy. The stars crowd together to form galaxies, and galaxies make up the ‘verse. The nearest star to Earth-that-was was the Sun.” The girl looks at the Doctor expectantly, as if she’s waiting for him to grade her homework.
“Er, that’s fairly accurate. I’d give you a gold star, but…” he trails off and motions with his hands to the universe around them. He winks. “You already have several.”
They sit together in silence for several minutes, both swinging their legs and taking in the beauty. The Doctor’s eyes stray to her bare arms more than once. “You’re not cold, then? You can have my jacket,” he offers.
River shakes her head. “Not cold. Not enough to matter, anyhow. Donna was more scared then cold. She couldn’t find the right words either. They all ran away.”
“River,” the Doctor says archly, “please observe the doors and windows.”
River looks slightly sheepish. “Sorry.”
The Doctor flashes a warm smile. “It’s quite all right. Practice makes perfect. It’s not something I expect you to pull off in a few short hours. No one could do that. Well, I could. But I already have a perfect touch.” The Doctor stutters, backpedaling. “I…I mean with this,” he clarifies by tapping his temple, “not with this.” He lifts a hand, drops it back in his lap. Perhaps it would be best to observe the nebula in silence. Yes. What was that saying? Silence is golden. Not really, of course. How could silence possibly be golden? It can’t be anything but silence. Not in this dimension anyway. Humans are always coming up with strange little sayings they seem to think have great intrinsic meaning. They’re fine for stitching onto samplers and hanging on a wall. But other than hiding a hole in the plaster, he doesn’t see much use for them.
River closes her eyes and speaks in a sing-song voice. “Then the traveler in the dark,
thanks you for your tiny spark. He could not see which way to go, if you did not twinkle so. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. “
The Doctor blinks. “I believe you established the star is made of plasma which is really just ionized gas.” Wait. There’s something familiar about River’s words. “Oh! A nursery rhyme! Lovely. Do you know the one about the cat and the fiddle? Always liked that one,” he muses.
“Simon used to read to me when I was little. I could already read when I was three, but I didn’t care. Simon still had to read to me at bedtime. He always did the voices just right.”
The Time Lord grins. “I love a good story, especially with the voices.” He sniffs. “And you’re right, by the way. Which isn’t something I say to other people all that often. The stars are the lanterns that light our way. Great big lanterns. That’s quite poetic, really. I could stitch that onto a pillow! Pity I don’t sew.” He nudges River’s arm. “Oh, I almost forgot. Did you make your wish?”
River nods, gets to her feet, and dusts off her dress. “Sure did. I’m hopeful we’ll survive.”
The Doctor frowns up at her. “Survive? Survive what?” He leaps to his feet, maroon trainers skidding on the floor.
The TARDIS heaves beneath them, and they both grasp for a door handle. The Doctor’s mouth falls open. “What is it? What’s happening?”
The ship makes a metallic groaning noise and tilts. The doors swing closed, and the Doctor and River tumble against them. The Doctor locks the dead bolt and takes what he hopes is a calming breath. Nope. Not calming at all. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” That’s when the TARDIS tells him there’s a massive metal harpoon sticking into her side. She pitches again, trying to dislodge it. River and the Doctor fall to the floor. River turns to him, her face inches from his, and whispers, “Reavers.”
ooooo
9 December, 2005
Toledo, Ohio
Sam runs a hand over the tiled bathroom floor. This is where Steve Shoemaker died. The lighting is poor, and Dean’s still in the hall; Sam’s pretty sure Dean can’t see the way his hand shakes. Stardi sniffs at his fingers, then at the floor. The grout is stained a faint pink. Sam refuses to look at the wolf and stands, facing Dean. “I don’t get it. Bloody Mary is a legend all over the country. Kids play it all the time, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”
Dean leans a shoulder against the doorway. “Yeah, well, maybe everywhere else it’s just a story, but here it’s actually happening.”
Sam nods, understanding what Dean’s getting at. “The place where the legend began.” The wolf curls into the corner, yawns, and rests her head on her front paws. Sam keeps waiting for her to say something, but she doesn’t. His skin feels stretched, too tight from the constant waiting. Dreading. Lying.
Dean half-shrugs a maybe. He walks over the medicine cabinet, opens the door, and peers inside.
“But according to the legend-“ Sam can see his reflection in the mirror and there, just behind him is a solemn-eyed girl and a hint of red balloon. He reaches out and shuts the cabinet. “-the person who says you-know-what gets it.” His eyes are drawn back to the mirror like a tongue to a loose tooth. The girl is still there, watching, always watching. “But here-“
Dean continues Sam’s thought. “Shoemaker gets it instead.”
“Right.”
Dean looks thoughtful. “I’ve never head anything like that before. Still,” he eyes Sam, “the guy did die right in front of the mirror.”
Footsteps echo down the hallway, and Sam tries not to hear the sound of a clock. He and Dean hurry out of the bathroom.
Donna Shoemaker’s friend Charlie stands in front of them, arms folded. Her pale hair is pulled back by a barrette. She looks both weary and angry, her face has a pinched, waxy quality. “What are you doing up here?”
Dean smiles the biggest fake smile in the history of fake smiles and Sam cringes inwardly. “We…we had to go to the bathroom.” His voice is as artificial as his expression.
“Who are you?” Charlie demands.
Dean’s still trying, but it’s a losing battle. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna’s dad.”
Stardi emerges from the bathroom and brushes past Charlie. Sam watches the wolf pad toward the stairs. She doesn’t look back, and Sam wants to pound on the wall until the plaster or his fist breaks.
Charlie regards them coldly, clearly not buying what Dean’s selling. “He was a day trader or something,” she informs them in a frosty tone. “He worked by himself.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean shrugs, still trying to play it smooth, “I meant-“
“And why are you asking everyone weird questions?” She stares fixedly at Dean. “You tell me what’s going on right now or I start screaming.”
Sam holds a hand up to Dean, Winchester-speak for game over. “All right, all right.” He takes a deep breath and looks her squarely in the face. He tries hard to exude sincerity and kindness instead of huge amounts of batshit crazy. “We think something happened to Donna’s dad.”
Charlie stares at him like he’s a moron. “Yeah. He had a stroke.”
“What happened to him aren’t the signs of a typical stroke,” Sam points out.
Charlie finally looks away, unable to meet Sam’s gaze. A little of the suspicion leaks out of her face. It’s replaced with confusion.
“We think there might be something else,” Sam says gently. He’s using the same voice Dean’s been using on him, and he wants to laugh. He can feel the faint fizz of hysteria bubbling in the back of his throat.
Charlie’s confusion turns to curiosity. “Like what?”
“Honestly? We don’t know yet. But we don’t want it to happen to anyone else. That’s the truth.” Something buried deep in his chest uncurls slightly. He can’t remember the last time he told the truth about anything. And when he finally does tell the truth, it's to a stranger and not to Dean. Typical.
Charlie’s eyes flick from Sam to Dean.
Dean’s plastic exterior has been replaced with steel. He regards her with hooded eyes. “So. If you’re gonna scream,“ he shrugs indifferently, “go ahead.”
Charlie seems nonplussed. “Are you guys cops?”
Sam and Dean exchange a look. Dean nods. “Something like that.”
“Tell you what,” Sam offers. He reaches into his pocket for a pad and pencil and scribbles his cell number. “You think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, or out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” Sam tears off the page and hands it to her.
She stares at the paper uncertainly. Take it, Sam thinks. Please, just take it.
And she does.
ooooo
TARDIS
Outer Edge of Alliance Star System
“Now that’s the kind of thing I’d appreciate you mentioning earlier, next time,” the Doctor grumbles tetchily. “A little less ‘Donna lost her words’ and a little more ‘the Reavers are coming and they’re really quite peckish.’”
“Yes, Captain.”
The Doctor shoves himself to his feet and rushes to the control panel. He digs in his pocket for the sonic screwdriver and pulls it out with an air of triumph. He switches it to setting 13A and tosses the implement to River. "Oi. Look sharp." She catches it deftly. "Plug it into that outlet," he instructs, pointing. “Third one down, on the left. No, one over. One after that. Yes, that’s exactly right! Fantastic!"
He runs to the other side of the panel and clicks the view screen on. A dilapidated ship moves inexorably toward them, its hull scarred and stained crimson. The Doctor knows he’s not looking at paint. "Bloody hell," he mutters, which is more than a little apt. His thoughts snap back to River. "Keep your finger on the button. Don’t let up until I say so."
"Yes, Captain."
He turns to her in annoyance, feeling for something under the console. Where is it? "For the last time, I am not your Captain! I’m the Doctor! Doc-tor! That’s it, that’s all, full stop." He pulls at his hair in exasperation.
River stubbornly refuses to be chagrined. Instead she simply nods, her expression clearly indicating he’s talking nonsense.
"Don’t humour me," the Doctor warns, jabbing a finger in her direction. "Do not. It’s rude, and I’ve decided you’re not allowed." If his voice sounds a bit high, it’s certainly not because he’s petulant. He’s just nervous. A completely normal reaction when murderous cannibals are trying to capture one’s ship.
River responds with a demure "Yes, Doctor." The TARDIS lurches again and River’s smile metamorphoses into a look of grim determination. "How close are they?"
The Doctor can see their rabid faces through the portholes of their ship. They’re close. Much too close. And their ship is much too fast. "Blast," he hisses and his fingers finally locate the oblong piece of coral he’s been looking for. "Stupid humans with their G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate." With one hand he types destination coordinates into the console keypad, with the other he inspects the remains of the tribophysical waveform macro kinetic extrapolator. It’s a bit crusty, but it’ll work. Absolutely. Possibly. Hopefully.
An alarm sounds, and River cranes to see the view screen. "What’s happening?"
"We’re being towed toward imminent death, that’s all. No problem. We’ll be out of here in a jiffy."
River blows a strand of hair out of her face, eyes fastened on the sonic screwdriver. "How long’s a jiffy?"
The Time Lord activates the extrapolator, rotates the bicycle pump exactly forty-five degrees, and holds his breath. The time rotor launches upward. The control column’s emerald light dims, then flares. "It falls somewhere between a tick and a flash," he explains absently, his attention on the view screen.
He watches the Reaver ship blink in and out on the monitor with heavy hearts. It’s not your fault, he tells them. You didn’t want this life. You didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry.
He’s still watching the screen when the TARDIS dematerializes, but he can feel the weight of River’s gaze against his back. He can feel the fingers of her mind pressed against the windows in his head, but that’s as far as she goes.
"I’m so sorry," she echoes.
For once, the Doctor has no reply.
ooooo
7 March, 2011
London, Parallel Earth
Rose is reading on the sofa, bare feet tucked beneath her, when Pete enters the room. He’s carrying a large box and sets it on the decorative end table beside his adopted daughter. Rose glances up from her book and eyes the box curiously. "What’s that, then?"
Pete heaves a sigh and drops onto the opposite end of the ornate sofa. "That," he nods toward the box, "is all that’s left of old Torchwood. I met with President Jones this afternoon and this was my parting gift. Turns out this box has been gathering dust in the Secretary of Defence’s Office for quite some time."
"Let me guess, I’m to catalogue the contents?"
"Exactly."
Rose smirks. "Nothin’ like a bit of job security." She tilts her head, listening for the sound of her mother’s footsteps, but the house is silent save for the ticking of the mantle clock. "Where’s Mum?"
"Asleep. It’s been a tough couple of days. She’s pretty eager to have the baby, I think."
"That’s putting it mildly," Rose observes.
The silence that falls between them isn’t awkward, exactly. They get along fine, and Rose might even love him in some way, but she’s careful not to examine her emotions too closely. This is the man who turned her away. This is the man who saved her life. To say she’s a bit conflicted on the matter is an understatement.
"Watcha reading?"
Rose holds up her book, and Pete reads the title aloud. "Madame de Pompadour: Mistress of France." He lifts an eyebrow in surprise. "I didn’t know you were interested in French history."
Rose shrugs, caught between embarrassment and pride. "I’m not exactly interested in French history. I’m interested in her." She taps the elegant face painted across the cover’s book jacket. "I met her once. Wish I’d had a chance to know her a bit better, is all." Reinette had also been left behind, waiting for the Doctor. Rose keeps that thought to herself.
.
"Look," Pete begins, and slides closer to her. "Do you have...do you have a minute to talk?"
Instantly concerned, Rose inserts a bookmark and closes the book with a thump. "What’s wrong?"
Pete rubs his face, and Rose is further alarmed by how exhausted he looks. "Are you okay? Is Mum all right?"
He smiles gingerly and Rose’s heart constricts at the sight. She’d seen that very same smile inside a church once.
"I’m fine. Jacks is fine. Well, a bit loud, but fine. You know your mum. I just...I made a mistake, Rose. I made a mistake, and I’m tryin’ to fix it. But I’m not exactly sure how to go about it. It’s something I should have done ages ago. But I’m an old fool. And a bit of a coward, so here I am."
Rose gapes at him. A coward? Hardly. He’d risked his life to save Jackie, not to mention pulling Rose from the mouth of the Void. Plus, there was Vitex. A legitimate business he had built from the ground up that had made him a millionaire. He was friends with the President of England and managing Torchwood. Peter Tyler was neither a fool nor a coward. That leaves only one option. “Are you mad? You’re no coward and you’re not a fool.” Her mouth curves. “You are a bit old, though.”
Pete chuckles. “I was mad once. But no longer.” His face goes solemn, and he puts a hand on hers.
Rose is so startled she almost pulls her hand away. But she manages to keep still, just. She studies the wedding ring on his finger and waits.
“When I met you…” Pete frowns and trails off. He tries again. “The first time I saw you at that…at my Jackie’s party, I knew you were…there was something about you. Something special. Remember, I told you how easy you were to talk to?”
Rose’s throat tightens. “You don’t have to-“
Pete lets go of her hand and gestures for silence. “Please. Let me finish.”
Rose hesitates; torn between a desire to hear what he has to say, and the inclination to run from the room. She nods weakly at him to continue.
“I think I knew…understood in some way even before you told me, that you were part of my life. Or that you could have been if Jackie and I had made different choices.” He bows his head. “The right choices.
“So when you told me that you were my daughter, I had to walk away. But Rose, what I need you to understand, is I didn’t walk away because of you. I walked away because I couldn’t face…couldn’t acknowledge what I’d been missing for so long. Until I met you, I didn’t realize I had a great bloody hole in my heart. It’s a hard feeling to get used to, let me tell you.” He lifts his head and gazes as Rose with watery eyes.
Rose blinks back matching tears. “I thought…I thought you didn’t want me,” she admits in a small voice. The voice of an abandoned child.
Pete shakes his head vehemently. “No. That was never it, Rose. Never. I did want you in my life. I just didn’t know how to deal with that. I’d just lost Jackie…Cybermen were still running around the city. It was all too much. And then you were gone.”
The emptiness in Pete’s words is too much for her to bear. She covers her face with one hand, tears running freely. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
He sniffs loudly. “And I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.” He smiles. “And then I had a second chance. I told myself I’d tell you the moment I saw you that I loved you like my daughter. That I wanted you to be my daughter, if you’d have me. But there wasn’t time.”
Rose manages a soggy laugh. “It’s a bit hard finding time for a proper chat when the world’s endin’, yeah?”
Pete smiles faintly. “Yeah. And then I saw your mum. And I knew, this was my chance. Don’t get me wrong, Rose. I loved my Jackie, I did. But your Jackie?” His smile turns blinding. “That woman is my life.” He lifts Rose’s hand to his cheek. “And so are you. I just wanted you to know that, now, before the baby comes. I’m over the moon about the baby, but don’t you think for one instant that I don’t consider you my firstborn. You got that?”
Rose stops blubbing long enough to aim a broad smile at the man who has become (is) her father. She leans forward and throws her arms about his neck. “Thank you,” she whispers into his collar, “I love you, Dad.”
Pete kisses the top of her head. “I love you, too.”
And for the first time since she’s been on this Earth, Rose Tyler feels as if she belongs.
Author: buffyaddict13
Rating: R for language and violence
Fandom: Supernatural, Doctor Who, Firefly
Characters/Pairings: Gen. Ten, Rose, Jackie Tyler, Pete Tyler, Mickey, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, River Tam. More Doctor Who and Supernatural folks will show up as the story progresses.
Summary: Nothing much surprises the Winchester brothers...until they meet a mysterious stranger called the Doctor. The Doctor holds the key to helping them catch the demon who destroyed their family. While the Doctor works to repair the Winchester Time Line, he tries to do the impossible: build himself a Void ship to find Rose.
A/N 1: Spoilers for season 1 and 2 of spn and series 1 through 3 of New Who. I've never written Doctor Who fic before so I'm pretty much terrified. Ginormous thanks to
hiyacynth for the beta. H, thank you for the encouragement and getting me into DW. <3
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters, Doctor Who, Firefly, or Torchwood. If I did, we'd be seeing a lot of awesome crossovers on TV.
People of Earth,
sometimes you really get me down.
People of Earth,
sometimes its just astonishing.
People of Earth
sometimes you really get me down.
~People of Earth by Syd Straw
9 December, 2005
Toledo, Ohio
No one gives them a second look inside the house. They make their way through the small groups of mourners, muted conversations pool around them like water. Dean keeps his expression sympathetic and his eyes downcast. He scans the room for the Shoemaker kids, but he doesn’t see any likely candidates. Great. He’s about to move into the dining room when Sam stops abruptly beside a sofa, eyes fastened on an elderly woman who looks like she’s spent the past three months weeping. Sam watches her, tongue darting over his lips, blinking hard.
Dean has a feeling if he doesn’t get Sam out of here now, he’s going to hunker down with the little old lady and cry right along with her. It doesn’t look like Shoemaker’s kids are in the house anyway. In the watery light from an antique floor lamp, Dean can see Sam’s face. For once, it’s unguarded, and the expression there makes Dean’s palms sweat. A fresh bud of worry unfolds deep in his gut. He shepherds Sam through the flocks of mourners and out onto the patio. Jesus, the look on Sam’s face.
A small group of women sit at a picnic table across the yard. Two of them appear to be in their early twenties, a third younger girl sits hunched nearby. Jackpot. The two brunettes have got to be Shoemaker’s. According to the obituary, the older girl is Donna, the younger one Lily. Donna’s blond friend sits nearby, giving the brothers the once-over.
Dean trots out a tired cover story, but it does the trick. Dean considers the initial meeting a success. They don’t have any actual information, but they haven’t been thrown out, either. So far, so good. Lily pipes up a few minutes into their trawl for information that Daddy Shoemaker’s death is all her fault.
That little reveal brings a glimmer of life to Sam’s eyes and Dean finds himself grateful to the kid. Donna uses her big-sister voice to tell Lily it most certainly is not her fault, and to shut the fuck up. Although she says it in a kinder, girlier fashion, Dean can still read between the lines. Big sister is fresh out of patience for the little one. Dean’s plenty familiar with the feeling. But Lily won’t stay quiet and when she says the words Bloody Mary, Dean can almost feel the light bulb singe his hair.
Lily’s lower lip trembles and tears spill down her face. “I said it,” she whispers. “I said Bloody Mary in front of the mirror three times. And then she killed him.”
Now they’re getting somewhere.
ooooo
TARDIS
Outer Edge of Alliance Star System
"Your mind is a series of different rooms," the Doctor says quietly. "You’ve got your kitchen, your storage cupboards, bedrooms, parlors. Each room holds thoughts. Or memories. Some are easy to hear, right on the surface. Some are stored in the attic or basement, a bit harder to access. Understand?"
River nods. She and the Doctor are sitting cross-legged on the floor, face-to-face. "Good. Now. Telepathy is like a hand. When you read people, you sort of rummage around the rooms in their mind." He frowns slightly. "Only when you do it, you’re a bit bull in the china shop about it. So. I’m going to hide a memory, and I want you to find it. Carefully. No barging about or banging doors open and shut." The Doctor pauses. "You’re going to watch for doors and windows, to respect boundaries." He lifts an eyebrow. "Ready?"
River nods. "Ready."
The Time Lord closes his eyes. It’s only a moment before he can feel River in his mind, but this time her movements are gentle. Delicate. He grins. "Yes, that’s the ticket! Magnificent." He shifts slightly. "Okay, keep going. Oh, that’s cold. Colder. Wellll. Lukewarm. A bit like Jackie Tyler’s tea, that. Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Warm." River moves gracefully through the rooms of his mind, cautiously trying to follow his guidelines. He opens his eyes and winks. "Warmer. Hot. Ouch. Hot potato!"
River’s eyes flick open. "It’s beautiful," she breathes. "Like a fairy tale. A jade sky and bright blue grass.” Her eyes are wide as she recalls his memory. “The buildings climb up into the clouds. Everyone has wings, like angels.” Her voice turns wistful. "I wish I was there, wish I could feel the wind on my face. Blow the bad thoughts away.”
The Doctor studies River. "That’s Besson. It was a magnificent planet once.” The Doctor rubs a hand over his chin. “Just like Miranda.” He should have known the instant River shared her thoughts what she’d meant. He’d been too surprised by her ability to take in the full meaning of the content. But he knows now. This time period, this universe, what else could that name mean? When a planet dies, it’s not something that goes unnoticed. Especially by a Time Lord.
“They tried to hide their secret inside me.” River’s voice is soft, but a narrow band of steel runs through it. She focuses on her left knee, rubs a finger along the frayed hem of her dress. “But it got out. Can’t stop the signal.” She lifts her head and meets the Doctor’s gaze. “All those people dead. Thousands, all screaming in my brain. And the ones that lived? They ain’t really alive. Not even people. Not even Simon can fix ‘em.”
The Doctor tugs on his left ear lobe. “People did try and fix them over the years, of course. Doctors and scientists came from galaxies away. Some insisted Reavers were simply misunderstood. Some said they were a plague that should be eradicated. Some said they belonged in a detention centre. The Magistrate on Ariel tried to pass a proclamation confining them to a specially-designed zoo. The argument went on so long, no one noticed at first when the Reavers disappeared.”
River draws her knees up, clasps her hands around them. “Where’d they go?”
The Doctor blows out a breath. “Once you lot got the hang of exploring the universe a bit more, got over your irrational fear of everything different, there was a big travel boom. Humans went everywhere once you developed light speed and faster-than-light speed. Of course, most of you went to New Earth, but there were plenty of other planets you hung about on.” He rubs the back of his neck, thinking about the last time he saw the ancestors of Miranda. “The Reavers traveled too. Little groups of them, here and there. The largest group ended up at the very end of the universe, on a planet called Malcassairo. They had an extra handful of functioning brain cells, and went by the name Futurekind.” The Doctor shakes his head. “But they weren’t from the future. They were from the past. And they still wanted nothing more than to kill.” The Doctor sniffs again and wipes his eyes. What a catastrophic waste. Such a tragedy. Stupid, stupid humans and their constant meddling.
“You saw them, then? Reavers?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
The Doctor’s expression illustrates the answer should be obvious. “I ran away.”
River considers the Doctor’s answer for a moment. “I couldn’t run away. I had to kill them all or Simon would have died. They all woulda died.” She shrugs. “They said I was a big ai ya hero, but I wasn’t. I just did what I had to. I’d do it again. Wouldn’t want to, but I would.”
The Doctor doesn’t need to intrude into her thoughts to know the terror from that confrontation still weighs heavily on her. He recalls a quote from a remarkable poet he had tea with back in 1871. The bloke had a truly magnificent beard and a collection of rather excellent hats. He also made bloody good tea. Oh, and those scrummy orange muffins! “The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first. Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first. Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd. I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.” The Doctor beams fondly at River. “And you, River Tam, are a divine thing.”
River smiles back, and the Doctor marvels. She looks like a mere child. Only her eyes hint at her true age. “And speaking of divine, have a look at this.” The Time Lord pulls her toward the doors and yanks them open, one at a time.
Beyond the TARDIS is a blue-green-orange burst of light. It resembles a shimmering curtain, and a field of stars hangs beyond the glowing veil. “This is the A’Thlox Nebula,” the Doctor explains. “The colored bits and bobs are all that remains of the supernova formed here over a million years ago.”
River stares, blinking back tears. “It’s…I can’t find the words to describe it. My vocabulary is…inadequate. Defective.”
The Doctor lowers himself to the floor of the TARDIS, lets his legs dangle outside the ship. He swings them back and forth within the safety of the ship’s force field. “I rather like fantastic. It’s a first-class adjective. Also, majestic. So what happens if I play a bit of addition? We have Fanjestic.”
River seats herself beside him, grinning. “And amazeful.”
The Doctor clicks his fingers. “Brilliant!”
River reaches a tentative hand out of the TARDIS, wiggles her fingers. “How come we ain’t dead? Frozen solid? It must be at least minus two hundred Celsius.” She presses her right index finger against her left wrist. “Normal pulse maintained. Cellular metabolic processes normal.” She moves her finger to the Doctor’s wrist. “No skin breakdown. Not even any goose bumps.” She rubs her forehead, clearly stunned. “I’m…mind-boggled.”
The Doctor gives River’s hand a comforting pat. “It’s the TARDIS. She keeps us safe.” He increases the pressure on her hand. “But I don’t recommend taking one giant step for all mankind into space. Her protection only reaches so far.” He releases her hand and points toward a distant speck of light. “The Zethros Galaxy is just a skip and a jump past that star.”
“A star’s an immensely glowy ball of plasma,” River recites. “Plasma is ionized energy. The stars crowd together to form galaxies, and galaxies make up the ‘verse. The nearest star to Earth-that-was was the Sun.” The girl looks at the Doctor expectantly, as if she’s waiting for him to grade her homework.
“Er, that’s fairly accurate. I’d give you a gold star, but…” he trails off and motions with his hands to the universe around them. He winks. “You already have several.”
They sit together in silence for several minutes, both swinging their legs and taking in the beauty. The Doctor’s eyes stray to her bare arms more than once. “You’re not cold, then? You can have my jacket,” he offers.
River shakes her head. “Not cold. Not enough to matter, anyhow. Donna was more scared then cold. She couldn’t find the right words either. They all ran away.”
“River,” the Doctor says archly, “please observe the doors and windows.”
River looks slightly sheepish. “Sorry.”
The Doctor flashes a warm smile. “It’s quite all right. Practice makes perfect. It’s not something I expect you to pull off in a few short hours. No one could do that. Well, I could. But I already have a perfect touch.” The Doctor stutters, backpedaling. “I…I mean with this,” he clarifies by tapping his temple, “not with this.” He lifts a hand, drops it back in his lap. Perhaps it would be best to observe the nebula in silence. Yes. What was that saying? Silence is golden. Not really, of course. How could silence possibly be golden? It can’t be anything but silence. Not in this dimension anyway. Humans are always coming up with strange little sayings they seem to think have great intrinsic meaning. They’re fine for stitching onto samplers and hanging on a wall. But other than hiding a hole in the plaster, he doesn’t see much use for them.
River closes her eyes and speaks in a sing-song voice. “Then the traveler in the dark,
thanks you for your tiny spark. He could not see which way to go, if you did not twinkle so. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. “
The Doctor blinks. “I believe you established the star is made of plasma which is really just ionized gas.” Wait. There’s something familiar about River’s words. “Oh! A nursery rhyme! Lovely. Do you know the one about the cat and the fiddle? Always liked that one,” he muses.
“Simon used to read to me when I was little. I could already read when I was three, but I didn’t care. Simon still had to read to me at bedtime. He always did the voices just right.”
The Time Lord grins. “I love a good story, especially with the voices.” He sniffs. “And you’re right, by the way. Which isn’t something I say to other people all that often. The stars are the lanterns that light our way. Great big lanterns. That’s quite poetic, really. I could stitch that onto a pillow! Pity I don’t sew.” He nudges River’s arm. “Oh, I almost forgot. Did you make your wish?”
River nods, gets to her feet, and dusts off her dress. “Sure did. I’m hopeful we’ll survive.”
The Doctor frowns up at her. “Survive? Survive what?” He leaps to his feet, maroon trainers skidding on the floor.
The TARDIS heaves beneath them, and they both grasp for a door handle. The Doctor’s mouth falls open. “What is it? What’s happening?”
The ship makes a metallic groaning noise and tilts. The doors swing closed, and the Doctor and River tumble against them. The Doctor locks the dead bolt and takes what he hopes is a calming breath. Nope. Not calming at all. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” That’s when the TARDIS tells him there’s a massive metal harpoon sticking into her side. She pitches again, trying to dislodge it. River and the Doctor fall to the floor. River turns to him, her face inches from his, and whispers, “Reavers.”
ooooo
9 December, 2005
Toledo, Ohio
Sam runs a hand over the tiled bathroom floor. This is where Steve Shoemaker died. The lighting is poor, and Dean’s still in the hall; Sam’s pretty sure Dean can’t see the way his hand shakes. Stardi sniffs at his fingers, then at the floor. The grout is stained a faint pink. Sam refuses to look at the wolf and stands, facing Dean. “I don’t get it. Bloody Mary is a legend all over the country. Kids play it all the time, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”
Dean leans a shoulder against the doorway. “Yeah, well, maybe everywhere else it’s just a story, but here it’s actually happening.”
Sam nods, understanding what Dean’s getting at. “The place where the legend began.” The wolf curls into the corner, yawns, and rests her head on her front paws. Sam keeps waiting for her to say something, but she doesn’t. His skin feels stretched, too tight from the constant waiting. Dreading. Lying.
Dean half-shrugs a maybe. He walks over the medicine cabinet, opens the door, and peers inside.
“But according to the legend-“ Sam can see his reflection in the mirror and there, just behind him is a solemn-eyed girl and a hint of red balloon. He reaches out and shuts the cabinet. “-the person who says you-know-what gets it.” His eyes are drawn back to the mirror like a tongue to a loose tooth. The girl is still there, watching, always watching. “But here-“
Dean continues Sam’s thought. “Shoemaker gets it instead.”
“Right.”
Dean looks thoughtful. “I’ve never head anything like that before. Still,” he eyes Sam, “the guy did die right in front of the mirror.”
Footsteps echo down the hallway, and Sam tries not to hear the sound of a clock. He and Dean hurry out of the bathroom.
Donna Shoemaker’s friend Charlie stands in front of them, arms folded. Her pale hair is pulled back by a barrette. She looks both weary and angry, her face has a pinched, waxy quality. “What are you doing up here?”
Dean smiles the biggest fake smile in the history of fake smiles and Sam cringes inwardly. “We…we had to go to the bathroom.” His voice is as artificial as his expression.
“Who are you?” Charlie demands.
Dean’s still trying, but it’s a losing battle. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna’s dad.”
Stardi emerges from the bathroom and brushes past Charlie. Sam watches the wolf pad toward the stairs. She doesn’t look back, and Sam wants to pound on the wall until the plaster or his fist breaks.
Charlie regards them coldly, clearly not buying what Dean’s selling. “He was a day trader or something,” she informs them in a frosty tone. “He worked by himself.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean shrugs, still trying to play it smooth, “I meant-“
“And why are you asking everyone weird questions?” She stares fixedly at Dean. “You tell me what’s going on right now or I start screaming.”
Sam holds a hand up to Dean, Winchester-speak for game over. “All right, all right.” He takes a deep breath and looks her squarely in the face. He tries hard to exude sincerity and kindness instead of huge amounts of batshit crazy. “We think something happened to Donna’s dad.”
Charlie stares at him like he’s a moron. “Yeah. He had a stroke.”
“What happened to him aren’t the signs of a typical stroke,” Sam points out.
Charlie finally looks away, unable to meet Sam’s gaze. A little of the suspicion leaks out of her face. It’s replaced with confusion.
“We think there might be something else,” Sam says gently. He’s using the same voice Dean’s been using on him, and he wants to laugh. He can feel the faint fizz of hysteria bubbling in the back of his throat.
Charlie’s confusion turns to curiosity. “Like what?”
“Honestly? We don’t know yet. But we don’t want it to happen to anyone else. That’s the truth.” Something buried deep in his chest uncurls slightly. He can’t remember the last time he told the truth about anything. And when he finally does tell the truth, it's to a stranger and not to Dean. Typical.
Charlie’s eyes flick from Sam to Dean.
Dean’s plastic exterior has been replaced with steel. He regards her with hooded eyes. “So. If you’re gonna scream,“ he shrugs indifferently, “go ahead.”
Charlie seems nonplussed. “Are you guys cops?”
Sam and Dean exchange a look. Dean nods. “Something like that.”
“Tell you what,” Sam offers. He reaches into his pocket for a pad and pencil and scribbles his cell number. “You think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, or out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” Sam tears off the page and hands it to her.
She stares at the paper uncertainly. Take it, Sam thinks. Please, just take it.
And she does.
ooooo
TARDIS
Outer Edge of Alliance Star System
“Now that’s the kind of thing I’d appreciate you mentioning earlier, next time,” the Doctor grumbles tetchily. “A little less ‘Donna lost her words’ and a little more ‘the Reavers are coming and they’re really quite peckish.’”
“Yes, Captain.”
The Doctor shoves himself to his feet and rushes to the control panel. He digs in his pocket for the sonic screwdriver and pulls it out with an air of triumph. He switches it to setting 13A and tosses the implement to River. "Oi. Look sharp." She catches it deftly. "Plug it into that outlet," he instructs, pointing. “Third one down, on the left. No, one over. One after that. Yes, that’s exactly right! Fantastic!"
He runs to the other side of the panel and clicks the view screen on. A dilapidated ship moves inexorably toward them, its hull scarred and stained crimson. The Doctor knows he’s not looking at paint. "Bloody hell," he mutters, which is more than a little apt. His thoughts snap back to River. "Keep your finger on the button. Don’t let up until I say so."
"Yes, Captain."
He turns to her in annoyance, feeling for something under the console. Where is it? "For the last time, I am not your Captain! I’m the Doctor! Doc-tor! That’s it, that’s all, full stop." He pulls at his hair in exasperation.
River stubbornly refuses to be chagrined. Instead she simply nods, her expression clearly indicating he’s talking nonsense.
"Don’t humour me," the Doctor warns, jabbing a finger in her direction. "Do not. It’s rude, and I’ve decided you’re not allowed." If his voice sounds a bit high, it’s certainly not because he’s petulant. He’s just nervous. A completely normal reaction when murderous cannibals are trying to capture one’s ship.
River responds with a demure "Yes, Doctor." The TARDIS lurches again and River’s smile metamorphoses into a look of grim determination. "How close are they?"
The Doctor can see their rabid faces through the portholes of their ship. They’re close. Much too close. And their ship is much too fast. "Blast," he hisses and his fingers finally locate the oblong piece of coral he’s been looking for. "Stupid humans with their G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate." With one hand he types destination coordinates into the console keypad, with the other he inspects the remains of the tribophysical waveform macro kinetic extrapolator. It’s a bit crusty, but it’ll work. Absolutely. Possibly. Hopefully.
An alarm sounds, and River cranes to see the view screen. "What’s happening?"
"We’re being towed toward imminent death, that’s all. No problem. We’ll be out of here in a jiffy."
River blows a strand of hair out of her face, eyes fastened on the sonic screwdriver. "How long’s a jiffy?"
The Time Lord activates the extrapolator, rotates the bicycle pump exactly forty-five degrees, and holds his breath. The time rotor launches upward. The control column’s emerald light dims, then flares. "It falls somewhere between a tick and a flash," he explains absently, his attention on the view screen.
He watches the Reaver ship blink in and out on the monitor with heavy hearts. It’s not your fault, he tells them. You didn’t want this life. You didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry.
He’s still watching the screen when the TARDIS dematerializes, but he can feel the weight of River’s gaze against his back. He can feel the fingers of her mind pressed against the windows in his head, but that’s as far as she goes.
"I’m so sorry," she echoes.
For once, the Doctor has no reply.
ooooo
7 March, 2011
London, Parallel Earth
Rose is reading on the sofa, bare feet tucked beneath her, when Pete enters the room. He’s carrying a large box and sets it on the decorative end table beside his adopted daughter. Rose glances up from her book and eyes the box curiously. "What’s that, then?"
Pete heaves a sigh and drops onto the opposite end of the ornate sofa. "That," he nods toward the box, "is all that’s left of old Torchwood. I met with President Jones this afternoon and this was my parting gift. Turns out this box has been gathering dust in the Secretary of Defence’s Office for quite some time."
"Let me guess, I’m to catalogue the contents?"
"Exactly."
Rose smirks. "Nothin’ like a bit of job security." She tilts her head, listening for the sound of her mother’s footsteps, but the house is silent save for the ticking of the mantle clock. "Where’s Mum?"
"Asleep. It’s been a tough couple of days. She’s pretty eager to have the baby, I think."
"That’s putting it mildly," Rose observes.
The silence that falls between them isn’t awkward, exactly. They get along fine, and Rose might even love him in some way, but she’s careful not to examine her emotions too closely. This is the man who turned her away. This is the man who saved her life. To say she’s a bit conflicted on the matter is an understatement.
"Watcha reading?"
Rose holds up her book, and Pete reads the title aloud. "Madame de Pompadour: Mistress of France." He lifts an eyebrow in surprise. "I didn’t know you were interested in French history."
Rose shrugs, caught between embarrassment and pride. "I’m not exactly interested in French history. I’m interested in her." She taps the elegant face painted across the cover’s book jacket. "I met her once. Wish I’d had a chance to know her a bit better, is all." Reinette had also been left behind, waiting for the Doctor. Rose keeps that thought to herself.
.
"Look," Pete begins, and slides closer to her. "Do you have...do you have a minute to talk?"
Instantly concerned, Rose inserts a bookmark and closes the book with a thump. "What’s wrong?"
Pete rubs his face, and Rose is further alarmed by how exhausted he looks. "Are you okay? Is Mum all right?"
He smiles gingerly and Rose’s heart constricts at the sight. She’d seen that very same smile inside a church once.
"I’m fine. Jacks is fine. Well, a bit loud, but fine. You know your mum. I just...I made a mistake, Rose. I made a mistake, and I’m tryin’ to fix it. But I’m not exactly sure how to go about it. It’s something I should have done ages ago. But I’m an old fool. And a bit of a coward, so here I am."
Rose gapes at him. A coward? Hardly. He’d risked his life to save Jackie, not to mention pulling Rose from the mouth of the Void. Plus, there was Vitex. A legitimate business he had built from the ground up that had made him a millionaire. He was friends with the President of England and managing Torchwood. Peter Tyler was neither a fool nor a coward. That leaves only one option. “Are you mad? You’re no coward and you’re not a fool.” Her mouth curves. “You are a bit old, though.”
Pete chuckles. “I was mad once. But no longer.” His face goes solemn, and he puts a hand on hers.
Rose is so startled she almost pulls her hand away. But she manages to keep still, just. She studies the wedding ring on his finger and waits.
“When I met you…” Pete frowns and trails off. He tries again. “The first time I saw you at that…at my Jackie’s party, I knew you were…there was something about you. Something special. Remember, I told you how easy you were to talk to?”
Rose’s throat tightens. “You don’t have to-“
Pete lets go of her hand and gestures for silence. “Please. Let me finish.”
Rose hesitates; torn between a desire to hear what he has to say, and the inclination to run from the room. She nods weakly at him to continue.
“I think I knew…understood in some way even before you told me, that you were part of my life. Or that you could have been if Jackie and I had made different choices.” He bows his head. “The right choices.
“So when you told me that you were my daughter, I had to walk away. But Rose, what I need you to understand, is I didn’t walk away because of you. I walked away because I couldn’t face…couldn’t acknowledge what I’d been missing for so long. Until I met you, I didn’t realize I had a great bloody hole in my heart. It’s a hard feeling to get used to, let me tell you.” He lifts his head and gazes as Rose with watery eyes.
Rose blinks back matching tears. “I thought…I thought you didn’t want me,” she admits in a small voice. The voice of an abandoned child.
Pete shakes his head vehemently. “No. That was never it, Rose. Never. I did want you in my life. I just didn’t know how to deal with that. I’d just lost Jackie…Cybermen were still running around the city. It was all too much. And then you were gone.”
The emptiness in Pete’s words is too much for her to bear. She covers her face with one hand, tears running freely. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
He sniffs loudly. “And I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.” He smiles. “And then I had a second chance. I told myself I’d tell you the moment I saw you that I loved you like my daughter. That I wanted you to be my daughter, if you’d have me. But there wasn’t time.”
Rose manages a soggy laugh. “It’s a bit hard finding time for a proper chat when the world’s endin’, yeah?”
Pete smiles faintly. “Yeah. And then I saw your mum. And I knew, this was my chance. Don’t get me wrong, Rose. I loved my Jackie, I did. But your Jackie?” His smile turns blinding. “That woman is my life.” He lifts Rose’s hand to his cheek. “And so are you. I just wanted you to know that, now, before the baby comes. I’m over the moon about the baby, but don’t you think for one instant that I don’t consider you my firstborn. You got that?”
Rose stops blubbing long enough to aim a broad smile at the man who has become (is) her father. She leans forward and throws her arms about his neck. “Thank you,” she whispers into his collar, “I love you, Dad.”
Pete kisses the top of her head. “I love you, too.”
And for the first time since she’s been on this Earth, Rose Tyler feels as if she belongs.