Fic: The Day the Earth Moved (1/1)
Title: The Day the Earth Moved
Author: Gillian Taylor
Character/Pairing: Rose Tyler, Eighth Doctor, Tenth Doctor
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Doomsday, Journey's End & old school
Summary: It’s his future, her past. Doing the right thing has never been this hard.
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
A/N: Thanks, as always, to the brilliant wendymr & ponygirl72 for BRing. This was written for the drficexchange for prlrocks. Prompt is at the end. I’ve not heard from the moderators or noticed any activity on the ficathon community for over a week and have noticed that other authors have posted/begun posting their fics elsewhere. Therefore, I’m following suit and posting my fic. :)
“The Day the Earth Moved”
by Gillian Taylor
The furniture is moving.
When no-one’s watching, it moves. It’s just enough to call her attention to it, but not enough to be glaringly obvious to anyone other than herself. She’s dismissed some of it as flights of fancy. One too many drinks at the pub with Mickey and Jake after a successful mission, perhaps. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe Rose Tyler has gone quietly mad, stuck in an alternate dimension that never knew of her existence.
She stares at the contents of her flat and sighs. It’d take too much effort to shift all of the furniture back into their proper positions. But, just to be certain, she moves her armchair so it’s flush against the wall.
That’s practically a challenge.
“Go on, then. Move that while I’m at work,” she says.
Giving her flat one last look, she leaves it behind, locking the door firmly behind her.
“Mad,” she whispers to herself.
Sometimes, she’s rather afraid she is.
Her life is full of routines now. She gets up, eats breakfast, goes to work, saves the world, goes home, eats dinner and goes to bed. Days roll into nights with a disturbing frequency. No longer are there times where she doesn’t know the hour or the day of the week. She’s so aware of time, in ways that she wasn’t before.
Seconds slip past and every one seems like a death sentence. It’s a human life she leads, but it’s not the one she wants. She wants to live with him. His life. Where there are no alarm clocks or jobs or responsibilities beyond saving the world.
Sadly, she knows now all too well that she can’t always get what she wants. But, perhaps, she has something that she needs.
She can’t live her life staring at that damned wall in Torchwood Tower and living in the past. She’s got to go forward. She’s got to do something. She’s got to -
“Rose, there’s a problem.”
She blinks, pulling herself out of her reverie and back into the here-and-now. “What?” she asks.
The fact that Jerry - a member of her team - doesn’t seem concerned about interrupting her tells her that this is serious. “We’re getting reports of buildings shifting on their own, including a few where the buildings disappear and reappear minutes and in one case hours later.”
“Anyone injured?” She’s already grabbing her bag and heading for the door.
“Not yet.”
“Fair point,” she says.
Time to go to work.
Tyres squeal against the pavement as the Land Rover skids to a halt. She’s out the door and surveying the scene before the driver turns off the engine. They are the second team to arrive here. The others have already begun their initial investigation, so she moves to stand next to their team leader.
“Don’t touch the building,” Mickey warns.
He’s not looking good. His features are pale, almost drawn, and she knows that particular expression. He’s worried. “What happened?” she asks.
“Nichols disappeared.”
That’s not good. “Energy readings?”
“Negligible.”
Before she can say anything in response, the air thickens, choking her lungs and she struggles to cough, to do something, anything to alert Mickey to the trouble. He’s talking to her, saying something that she’s certain is important, but she just can’t seem to concentrate. Her attention’s focused on the important task of drawing in enough oxygen to breathe.
Her vision darkens, narrowing to a thin tunnel of colour and blackness. She can see Mickey, alarm crossing his face as he grabs her arms. She can’t say anything, can’t do anything, and then, just as quickly as it occurred, the feeling dissipates.
“Rose! Rose, c’mon, answer me,” Mickey says, but her focus isn’t on him. She’s looking at the building.
Or, rather, at the object just in front of the building. Now she knows that wasn’t there before. Cannot have been.
“Is that-?” she asks and curbs the question halfway through, choosing instead to shake herself free of Mickey’s grip and walk towards the building, one hand outstretched.
She expects the shape to disappear, to be a figment of her obviously overworked mind, but her hand hits something very solid, very blue and very much wood-like.
“Oh my god, that’s-“ Mickey starts.
“-the TARDIS,” she finishes and feels a soft hum of recognition and welcome fill her mind.
She thinks her face is going to split in two from the force of her smile as she reaches for her key and pulls it free from her blouse. Keeping one hand firmly against the TARDIS - it can’t disappear with her touching it, right? - she uses her other hand to slip the key into the lock.
Before she can open it, the door pulls free from her grasp, taking her key with it.
This is it, she thinks, and prepares herself to face anything.
That doesn’t stop her jaw from dropping slightly as a stranger peers outside of the door, looks at her, and announces without any trace of recognition, “Ah. Now this is a bit awkward. Timelines crossing, I take it? Sorry, hello, I’m the Doctor, but you already know that.” He pulls her key free from the lock and holds it out to her. “Your key?”
He’s wearing a cravat. That’s the first thing she notices as she struggles to regain her composure. “I, erm, thanks,” she manages to say. She’s not certain how she does it, but she somehow avoids touching his skin as she reclaims her property.
“Oh, now that’s different.” His attention is focused above them and she follows his gaze. A zeppelin hovers overhead, casting its dark shadow over them all.
“Parallel world,” she says and then curses herself. Of course he knows that. Or would do.
“And yet you know me. No, wait, don’t say anything. I can’t know. Obviously,” he says, holding up his hand.
She frowns. “Were you trave- no, wait, stupid question. No materialisation sounds. So had you just arrived?”
“There are no stupid questions,” he tells her, smiling in a way that’s both familiar and not. “I was about to leave the TARDIS when reality ‘blinked’ if you’ll pardon the glib metaphor. Still, it’s as good a term as any, I suppose. When everything settled again, I opened the doors and found myself here. London, yes, but not the London I was expecting. While travel between dimensions is simple enough, it does take some effort on my part to achieve it.”
Dimension travel is easy? How can that be? Unless it’s got something to do with his planet, his people, still being around? “Buildings have been shifting here. Moving just a bit. Contents of flats rearranging themselves -“ Now that’s pure conjecture on her part, but she can’t dismiss the possibility that it’s related. “- and then going back to the way they were. The walls between the worlds are breaking down, aren’t they?”
He wears an unfamiliar face, but the expression is one that both warms and hurts with its familiarity. “Yes and no.”
What?
Though she doesn’t say anything, something of her confusion must be evident, as the Doctor continues, “Calling the barriers between universes ‘walls’ isn’t technically correct. Think of them like the thin membrane of a soap bubble. There’s some room for movement, but not much. The multiverse is composed of countless billions of these soap bubbles, each separated from the other by that thin containing membrane. However, some times, if acted upon by an outside force, those membranes can merge, letting bits of their universes bleed over into the other. And that’s never good.”
“So our universes are merging?” She’s not going to think about how that will make things so much easier for her to get back to her Doctor. She’s really, really not.
“If we don’t stop it, yes. But there’s a problem. For every living thing, there’s likely to be a duplicate in that alternate dimension. The duplicates can never touch. Any sort of interaction will result in a quasi-Blinovitch effect.”
She blinks. “Blino-what?”
“An explosion,” he explains.
That’s when it dawns on her. It’s not just the Earth that’s getting merged with its duplicate. It’s everything in this universe. Every planet. Every sector of space. Which means, well, “Armageddon,” she says out loud.
He nods.
Make that definitely not good. “So what could cause the universes to merge?”
He smiles. It’s not as manic as the one she’s used to, but there’s a flicker of something recognisable in that look. “No idea. Want to find out?”
The Doctor turns and walks back into the TARDIS, leaving the door open in invitation. She turns slightly, meeting Mickey’s gaze. There’s resignation there, and a barely concealed grief. He knows what she might try to do. The problem is that she can’t. Not with this Doctor. He doesn’t know her and won’t know her for some unknown time yet.
Oh. Oh. She could warn him, couldn’t she? Tell him about the War. Warn him about the Daleks. Do something to change…
The memory of her first Doctor suddenly looms in her mind, his expression disapproving. Seconds later, the Doctor-in-her-mind is consumed by a Reaper. No. No, she can’t. Despite the fact that the idea of not telling him hurts just as much as the inevitability of letting any version of him go.
God, the pain he’s going to go through. She shakes herself and turns to look at the door.
There’s only one choice for her now. One choice that’s right for both him and her.
She walks into the TARDIS.
This both is and isn’t the TARDIS. The cavernous room bears no resemblance to the one that’s seared in her memory, but the welcoming hum that echoes in her mind and her body is just as she remembers. There are no coral arches stretching to the ceiling here. No greenish-coloured lighting. This is something entirely different.
There’s something almost Jules Vernean about this TARDIS - his TARDIS. All wood and brass and antiques. Clocks of infinite variety line one corner of the room, their arrangement reminding her of a mechanical garden. Nearby, a comfortable-looking chair faces the centre console, a book with a carefully marked place left on its seat. There’s a fine china tea-cup sitting on the table beside the chair, a thin waft of steam rising from its contents.
It’s almost - dare she even think the word? - domestic. The antithesis of her first Doctor, and to some extent her second in brass and wood. But that’s just what he chooses to surround himself with. The man who is moving around the console, flipping switches, turning knobs and mumbling to himself is achingly familiar.
“Doctor?” Rose asks. There’s a question in his name, but it’s one she doesn’t entirely know. Is she asking if it’s still him? If he’s the man she loves and is so desperate to get back to? Or is she asking if he’ll leave her, like his future self, even though she knows he has to?
Time seems to live and breathe in this place and for one moment she thinks she can see the future between the space of her heartbeats. He leaves. He stays. She goes with him. She stays. She finds her Doctor again. Her Doctor leaves her one last time.
“Bad Wolf.”
She blinks and looks at the Doctor. “What?” He couldn’t’ve said what she thought he said. How can he know that name?
When he responds, she thinks he didn’t hear her question. Or maybe she was simply hearing things before. The Doctor never said ‘Bad Wolf’. That was all in her imagination. “Has someone been punching holes through the universes?” he asks. There’s no accusation in those words, just fact.
“Once. A few years ago, now. That’s when-” She stops herself before she can tell him too much about his own future. “-the walls were closed. Sealed.” She chooses to use his analogy as she adds, “Separated.”
“Not well enough,” he says. “Unless…” He moves with the speed of a dervish, darting around the console before he finally stills.
That mouth of his seems to be accustomed to much smiling, but he’s not smiling now. “It’s happening again. Something’s stretching through the universes, merging them, so the future of one becomes the future of them all.”
“What? Who?” She tries to think of who, or what, might do something like that. Who would want to bring about Armageddon? Who would profit from the end of everything? Unless there’s a way for something to survive? Somewhere? Somehow?
He moves to join her, close enough that she can feel his velvet-clad arm brushing against her skin. Suddenly, his hand is touching her own, gripping it tightly. Too-wise eyes stare into her own as he says, “This is just the beginning. The stars are going to disappear soon.”
The stars are going to disappear? “What?” she asks, repeating her earlier question. How on Earth, or anywhere else for that matter, can the stars start disappearing? Sure, she can understand that Blinovitch thing the Doctor was on about. Don’t touch the baby and all that. But that’s an explosion. Disappearing is something else entirely.
“According to these readings, the merging has stopped. But there’s something cascading through the universes. All the TARDIS’s sensors can see is darkness. It’s tracing back to - oh, now that’s impossible.”
She looks at him expectantly.
“It traces to Gallifrey.”
“Gallifrey?” The instant she repeats the word, she knows. That’s his home. Oh, god, his home.
“My homeworld. Didn’t I-? Don’t answer that.”
“What can we do? How can we stop it?” she asks, changing tack.
“We,” he intones, “can do nothing. But separately, oh, we can do anything.”
Separately? If it traces back to Gallifrey, could it be the Time War? Oh, god, what if she’s sending him back to destroy his people? Can she honestly live with herself if she does?
He confirms her suspicions in an instant. “I’m going to Gallifrey. You, however, have more time. If I fail-“
You will, she thinks, and hates herself for it. But what can she honestly do? Reapers are an unavoidable consequence if she tries it.
“-it’ll be up to you.”
“What can I do?” Universes melding. Stars disappearing? That’s more of a job for the Doctor, isn’t it?
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two objects. One looks like an ordinary mobile. The other resembles something she’s seen once before in the Doctor’s possession. Last time, it glowed during its recharging cycle. This time it doesn’t glow. It simply looks like a bit of emerald attached to a piece of coral.
“You can use these,” he says, holding them out to her.
“A bit of emerald and a mobile? I’ve already got a mobile, thanks,” she says.
“It’s much more than a mobile,” he replies. “Every universe has a unique signature. Something that differentiates it from every other one. This mobile can detect that. And, if connected to something - say, a transmat - it might even be able to help you slip through the membranes between universes.”
“An’ the emerald?”
This time, when he says the words, she isn’t surprised though a chill runs down her spine all the same. “Bad Wolf.”
“You know…”
“Not exactly,” he says, avoiding answering her directly. “You’ve got time. A month, maybe two, before the damage becomes permanent. I, however, do not have that same luxury.”
She takes the mobile and the emerald from his hand, slipping them both into her pocket. “You’re going back to Gallifrey.” It still exists. There’s a part of her, a large part, that wants nothing more than to beg to visit. To see where he came from so someone else can remember it, too.
But she knows how this has to end. She can’t see Gallifrey because if she does she knows she won’t be able to keep silent.
He’s going to destroy his world, his people, and she’s going to have to let him.
“Yes.”
She bites the inside of her lip and fights tears. Not for her, but for him. “Good luck,” she manages to say without her voice breaking on the words.
“And you,” he replies.
She should go. She should really go. Let him go into her past, his future. But there’s something she has to do. She can’t just let him go. Not like this. So she closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close.
Caught by surprise, the Doctor hesitates only an instant before he returns the embrace.
When she releases him, she doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she does the hardest thing she’s ever done.
She leaves the TARDIS behind.
Months pass, universes are saved, and she’s back on this damned beach. Dårlig Ulv Stranden. Only there’s a difference. He’s gone, yes, but he’s also right here.
She hasn’t thought about it in a while, but suddenly the memory comes to the forefront of her mind. Slipping her free hand - even now, she can’t bear to release him for fear that this could simply be a dream - into her pocket, she pulls out the emerald. “Do you remember?” she asks suddenly.
“Oooh, a power crystal! Where did you- Oh, oh, yes! Rose, that’s brilliant, that is. I’m brilliant. I knew! Oh, not entirely, mind. Had a bit of thing with precognition in that body, but still! Power crystal! That’s brilliant!”
Her head hurts as she tries to follow his babbling, but she thinks she gets it. “You remember giving this to me?”
“Now I do, yes,” he says. “I didn’t want to remember the beginning of the war for a long time. It hurt too much.”
She draws in a shaky breath, hating herself even more for not trying something instead of letting him go.
“You did the right thing.”
“What?”
“You let me, that past me, go without telling me about my future. I know how much it must’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry, but you did the right thing.” She finds herself in his arms and though it should be startling to only feel one heart beating in his chest, it’s actually rather comforting. It’s still him. Smells like him, feels like him, is him. In all the ways that count.
“I know,” she murmurs and changes the subject. “I know what the mobile was for. That helped us build the dimension cannon. What I don’t know is what this power crystal’s for.”
He pulls back enough so he can look her in the eyes and smile. “Oh, now that’s the most brilliant thing of all. I didn’t strand us here, Rose. Well, the other me. The full Time Lord me.”
She blinks. “You - he - didn’t?” Damn these pronouns.
“Nope,” he says and, withdrawing one hand from around her, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of coral. “See, add one power crystal to one piece of the TARDIS and you know what you get?”
She’s still stuck on the part where he mentioned a piece of the TARDIS. “What?”
“Three years to explore this Earth.”
“An’ then?”
“And then we’ll have the rest of our lives to explore this universe, time and space, in our own TARDIS. If you want,” he adds, ducking his head slightly as though he’s doubtful of her response.
Everything she had before and more. All because of three selfless - or are they selfish? - gifts he gave her. A mobile, a power crystal, and himself.
“Don’t be daft,” she says. “Of course I want!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she replies and this time it’s not one who leans towards the other for a kiss.
They meet in the middle.
END
Original Prompt: BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive if you were to get a fic by describing... I love fics where Rose meets the earlier versions of the Doctor. She can meet one or she can meet them all. She can be romantic with them or it can be gen. Whether Ten is present at time is up to the writer though Rose having a history with/feeling for him is something I prefer. It's a bonus if its a Doctor other than the 9th, though he is fine. It's an extra bonus if the 8th Doctor is a main character, because I love him to insane levels.
The tone/mood of the fic: I like angsty fic. Romance mixed in is lovely too, but not overly fuffy. I prefer happy endings. :)
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic:
Any other Characters except the Doctor and Rose? None required
Preferred rating of the fic you want: I tend to prefer PG-13 and above, but any are fine.
Canon or AU? Doesn't matter. I like both.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): No death or cheating fic. Also no baby fic unless needed for the plot.
x-posted to: dark_aegis & time_and_chips
Author: Gillian Taylor
Character/Pairing: Rose Tyler, Eighth Doctor, Tenth Doctor
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Doomsday, Journey's End & old school
Summary: It’s his future, her past. Doing the right thing has never been this hard.
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
A/N: Thanks, as always, to the brilliant wendymr & ponygirl72 for BRing. This was written for the drficexchange for prlrocks. Prompt is at the end. I’ve not heard from the moderators or noticed any activity on the ficathon community for over a week and have noticed that other authors have posted/begun posting their fics elsewhere. Therefore, I’m following suit and posting my fic. :)
“The Day the Earth Moved”
by Gillian Taylor
The furniture is moving.
When no-one’s watching, it moves. It’s just enough to call her attention to it, but not enough to be glaringly obvious to anyone other than herself. She’s dismissed some of it as flights of fancy. One too many drinks at the pub with Mickey and Jake after a successful mission, perhaps. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe Rose Tyler has gone quietly mad, stuck in an alternate dimension that never knew of her existence.
She stares at the contents of her flat and sighs. It’d take too much effort to shift all of the furniture back into their proper positions. But, just to be certain, she moves her armchair so it’s flush against the wall.
That’s practically a challenge.
“Go on, then. Move that while I’m at work,” she says.
Giving her flat one last look, she leaves it behind, locking the door firmly behind her.
“Mad,” she whispers to herself.
Sometimes, she’s rather afraid she is.
Her life is full of routines now. She gets up, eats breakfast, goes to work, saves the world, goes home, eats dinner and goes to bed. Days roll into nights with a disturbing frequency. No longer are there times where she doesn’t know the hour or the day of the week. She’s so aware of time, in ways that she wasn’t before.
Seconds slip past and every one seems like a death sentence. It’s a human life she leads, but it’s not the one she wants. She wants to live with him. His life. Where there are no alarm clocks or jobs or responsibilities beyond saving the world.
Sadly, she knows now all too well that she can’t always get what she wants. But, perhaps, she has something that she needs.
She can’t live her life staring at that damned wall in Torchwood Tower and living in the past. She’s got to go forward. She’s got to do something. She’s got to -
“Rose, there’s a problem.”
She blinks, pulling herself out of her reverie and back into the here-and-now. “What?” she asks.
The fact that Jerry - a member of her team - doesn’t seem concerned about interrupting her tells her that this is serious. “We’re getting reports of buildings shifting on their own, including a few where the buildings disappear and reappear minutes and in one case hours later.”
“Anyone injured?” She’s already grabbing her bag and heading for the door.
“Not yet.”
“Fair point,” she says.
Time to go to work.
Tyres squeal against the pavement as the Land Rover skids to a halt. She’s out the door and surveying the scene before the driver turns off the engine. They are the second team to arrive here. The others have already begun their initial investigation, so she moves to stand next to their team leader.
“Don’t touch the building,” Mickey warns.
He’s not looking good. His features are pale, almost drawn, and she knows that particular expression. He’s worried. “What happened?” she asks.
“Nichols disappeared.”
That’s not good. “Energy readings?”
“Negligible.”
Before she can say anything in response, the air thickens, choking her lungs and she struggles to cough, to do something, anything to alert Mickey to the trouble. He’s talking to her, saying something that she’s certain is important, but she just can’t seem to concentrate. Her attention’s focused on the important task of drawing in enough oxygen to breathe.
Her vision darkens, narrowing to a thin tunnel of colour and blackness. She can see Mickey, alarm crossing his face as he grabs her arms. She can’t say anything, can’t do anything, and then, just as quickly as it occurred, the feeling dissipates.
“Rose! Rose, c’mon, answer me,” Mickey says, but her focus isn’t on him. She’s looking at the building.
Or, rather, at the object just in front of the building. Now she knows that wasn’t there before. Cannot have been.
“Is that-?” she asks and curbs the question halfway through, choosing instead to shake herself free of Mickey’s grip and walk towards the building, one hand outstretched.
She expects the shape to disappear, to be a figment of her obviously overworked mind, but her hand hits something very solid, very blue and very much wood-like.
“Oh my god, that’s-“ Mickey starts.
“-the TARDIS,” she finishes and feels a soft hum of recognition and welcome fill her mind.
She thinks her face is going to split in two from the force of her smile as she reaches for her key and pulls it free from her blouse. Keeping one hand firmly against the TARDIS - it can’t disappear with her touching it, right? - she uses her other hand to slip the key into the lock.
Before she can open it, the door pulls free from her grasp, taking her key with it.
This is it, she thinks, and prepares herself to face anything.
That doesn’t stop her jaw from dropping slightly as a stranger peers outside of the door, looks at her, and announces without any trace of recognition, “Ah. Now this is a bit awkward. Timelines crossing, I take it? Sorry, hello, I’m the Doctor, but you already know that.” He pulls her key free from the lock and holds it out to her. “Your key?”
He’s wearing a cravat. That’s the first thing she notices as she struggles to regain her composure. “I, erm, thanks,” she manages to say. She’s not certain how she does it, but she somehow avoids touching his skin as she reclaims her property.
“Oh, now that’s different.” His attention is focused above them and she follows his gaze. A zeppelin hovers overhead, casting its dark shadow over them all.
“Parallel world,” she says and then curses herself. Of course he knows that. Or would do.
“And yet you know me. No, wait, don’t say anything. I can’t know. Obviously,” he says, holding up his hand.
She frowns. “Were you trave- no, wait, stupid question. No materialisation sounds. So had you just arrived?”
“There are no stupid questions,” he tells her, smiling in a way that’s both familiar and not. “I was about to leave the TARDIS when reality ‘blinked’ if you’ll pardon the glib metaphor. Still, it’s as good a term as any, I suppose. When everything settled again, I opened the doors and found myself here. London, yes, but not the London I was expecting. While travel between dimensions is simple enough, it does take some effort on my part to achieve it.”
Dimension travel is easy? How can that be? Unless it’s got something to do with his planet, his people, still being around? “Buildings have been shifting here. Moving just a bit. Contents of flats rearranging themselves -“ Now that’s pure conjecture on her part, but she can’t dismiss the possibility that it’s related. “- and then going back to the way they were. The walls between the worlds are breaking down, aren’t they?”
He wears an unfamiliar face, but the expression is one that both warms and hurts with its familiarity. “Yes and no.”
What?
Though she doesn’t say anything, something of her confusion must be evident, as the Doctor continues, “Calling the barriers between universes ‘walls’ isn’t technically correct. Think of them like the thin membrane of a soap bubble. There’s some room for movement, but not much. The multiverse is composed of countless billions of these soap bubbles, each separated from the other by that thin containing membrane. However, some times, if acted upon by an outside force, those membranes can merge, letting bits of their universes bleed over into the other. And that’s never good.”
“So our universes are merging?” She’s not going to think about how that will make things so much easier for her to get back to her Doctor. She’s really, really not.
“If we don’t stop it, yes. But there’s a problem. For every living thing, there’s likely to be a duplicate in that alternate dimension. The duplicates can never touch. Any sort of interaction will result in a quasi-Blinovitch effect.”
She blinks. “Blino-what?”
“An explosion,” he explains.
That’s when it dawns on her. It’s not just the Earth that’s getting merged with its duplicate. It’s everything in this universe. Every planet. Every sector of space. Which means, well, “Armageddon,” she says out loud.
He nods.
Make that definitely not good. “So what could cause the universes to merge?”
He smiles. It’s not as manic as the one she’s used to, but there’s a flicker of something recognisable in that look. “No idea. Want to find out?”
The Doctor turns and walks back into the TARDIS, leaving the door open in invitation. She turns slightly, meeting Mickey’s gaze. There’s resignation there, and a barely concealed grief. He knows what she might try to do. The problem is that she can’t. Not with this Doctor. He doesn’t know her and won’t know her for some unknown time yet.
Oh. Oh. She could warn him, couldn’t she? Tell him about the War. Warn him about the Daleks. Do something to change…
The memory of her first Doctor suddenly looms in her mind, his expression disapproving. Seconds later, the Doctor-in-her-mind is consumed by a Reaper. No. No, she can’t. Despite the fact that the idea of not telling him hurts just as much as the inevitability of letting any version of him go.
God, the pain he’s going to go through. She shakes herself and turns to look at the door.
There’s only one choice for her now. One choice that’s right for both him and her.
She walks into the TARDIS.
This both is and isn’t the TARDIS. The cavernous room bears no resemblance to the one that’s seared in her memory, but the welcoming hum that echoes in her mind and her body is just as she remembers. There are no coral arches stretching to the ceiling here. No greenish-coloured lighting. This is something entirely different.
There’s something almost Jules Vernean about this TARDIS - his TARDIS. All wood and brass and antiques. Clocks of infinite variety line one corner of the room, their arrangement reminding her of a mechanical garden. Nearby, a comfortable-looking chair faces the centre console, a book with a carefully marked place left on its seat. There’s a fine china tea-cup sitting on the table beside the chair, a thin waft of steam rising from its contents.
It’s almost - dare she even think the word? - domestic. The antithesis of her first Doctor, and to some extent her second in brass and wood. But that’s just what he chooses to surround himself with. The man who is moving around the console, flipping switches, turning knobs and mumbling to himself is achingly familiar.
“Doctor?” Rose asks. There’s a question in his name, but it’s one she doesn’t entirely know. Is she asking if it’s still him? If he’s the man she loves and is so desperate to get back to? Or is she asking if he’ll leave her, like his future self, even though she knows he has to?
Time seems to live and breathe in this place and for one moment she thinks she can see the future between the space of her heartbeats. He leaves. He stays. She goes with him. She stays. She finds her Doctor again. Her Doctor leaves her one last time.
“Bad Wolf.”
She blinks and looks at the Doctor. “What?” He couldn’t’ve said what she thought he said. How can he know that name?
When he responds, she thinks he didn’t hear her question. Or maybe she was simply hearing things before. The Doctor never said ‘Bad Wolf’. That was all in her imagination. “Has someone been punching holes through the universes?” he asks. There’s no accusation in those words, just fact.
“Once. A few years ago, now. That’s when-” She stops herself before she can tell him too much about his own future. “-the walls were closed. Sealed.” She chooses to use his analogy as she adds, “Separated.”
“Not well enough,” he says. “Unless…” He moves with the speed of a dervish, darting around the console before he finally stills.
That mouth of his seems to be accustomed to much smiling, but he’s not smiling now. “It’s happening again. Something’s stretching through the universes, merging them, so the future of one becomes the future of them all.”
“What? Who?” She tries to think of who, or what, might do something like that. Who would want to bring about Armageddon? Who would profit from the end of everything? Unless there’s a way for something to survive? Somewhere? Somehow?
He moves to join her, close enough that she can feel his velvet-clad arm brushing against her skin. Suddenly, his hand is touching her own, gripping it tightly. Too-wise eyes stare into her own as he says, “This is just the beginning. The stars are going to disappear soon.”
The stars are going to disappear? “What?” she asks, repeating her earlier question. How on Earth, or anywhere else for that matter, can the stars start disappearing? Sure, she can understand that Blinovitch thing the Doctor was on about. Don’t touch the baby and all that. But that’s an explosion. Disappearing is something else entirely.
“According to these readings, the merging has stopped. But there’s something cascading through the universes. All the TARDIS’s sensors can see is darkness. It’s tracing back to - oh, now that’s impossible.”
She looks at him expectantly.
“It traces to Gallifrey.”
“Gallifrey?” The instant she repeats the word, she knows. That’s his home. Oh, god, his home.
“My homeworld. Didn’t I-? Don’t answer that.”
“What can we do? How can we stop it?” she asks, changing tack.
“We,” he intones, “can do nothing. But separately, oh, we can do anything.”
Separately? If it traces back to Gallifrey, could it be the Time War? Oh, god, what if she’s sending him back to destroy his people? Can she honestly live with herself if she does?
He confirms her suspicions in an instant. “I’m going to Gallifrey. You, however, have more time. If I fail-“
You will, she thinks, and hates herself for it. But what can she honestly do? Reapers are an unavoidable consequence if she tries it.
“-it’ll be up to you.”
“What can I do?” Universes melding. Stars disappearing? That’s more of a job for the Doctor, isn’t it?
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two objects. One looks like an ordinary mobile. The other resembles something she’s seen once before in the Doctor’s possession. Last time, it glowed during its recharging cycle. This time it doesn’t glow. It simply looks like a bit of emerald attached to a piece of coral.
“You can use these,” he says, holding them out to her.
“A bit of emerald and a mobile? I’ve already got a mobile, thanks,” she says.
“It’s much more than a mobile,” he replies. “Every universe has a unique signature. Something that differentiates it from every other one. This mobile can detect that. And, if connected to something - say, a transmat - it might even be able to help you slip through the membranes between universes.”
“An’ the emerald?”
This time, when he says the words, she isn’t surprised though a chill runs down her spine all the same. “Bad Wolf.”
“You know…”
“Not exactly,” he says, avoiding answering her directly. “You’ve got time. A month, maybe two, before the damage becomes permanent. I, however, do not have that same luxury.”
She takes the mobile and the emerald from his hand, slipping them both into her pocket. “You’re going back to Gallifrey.” It still exists. There’s a part of her, a large part, that wants nothing more than to beg to visit. To see where he came from so someone else can remember it, too.
But she knows how this has to end. She can’t see Gallifrey because if she does she knows she won’t be able to keep silent.
He’s going to destroy his world, his people, and she’s going to have to let him.
“Yes.”
She bites the inside of her lip and fights tears. Not for her, but for him. “Good luck,” she manages to say without her voice breaking on the words.
“And you,” he replies.
She should go. She should really go. Let him go into her past, his future. But there’s something she has to do. She can’t just let him go. Not like this. So she closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close.
Caught by surprise, the Doctor hesitates only an instant before he returns the embrace.
When she releases him, she doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she does the hardest thing she’s ever done.
She leaves the TARDIS behind.
Months pass, universes are saved, and she’s back on this damned beach. Dårlig Ulv Stranden. Only there’s a difference. He’s gone, yes, but he’s also right here.
She hasn’t thought about it in a while, but suddenly the memory comes to the forefront of her mind. Slipping her free hand - even now, she can’t bear to release him for fear that this could simply be a dream - into her pocket, she pulls out the emerald. “Do you remember?” she asks suddenly.
“Oooh, a power crystal! Where did you- Oh, oh, yes! Rose, that’s brilliant, that is. I’m brilliant. I knew! Oh, not entirely, mind. Had a bit of thing with precognition in that body, but still! Power crystal! That’s brilliant!”
Her head hurts as she tries to follow his babbling, but she thinks she gets it. “You remember giving this to me?”
“Now I do, yes,” he says. “I didn’t want to remember the beginning of the war for a long time. It hurt too much.”
She draws in a shaky breath, hating herself even more for not trying something instead of letting him go.
“You did the right thing.”
“What?”
“You let me, that past me, go without telling me about my future. I know how much it must’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry, but you did the right thing.” She finds herself in his arms and though it should be startling to only feel one heart beating in his chest, it’s actually rather comforting. It’s still him. Smells like him, feels like him, is him. In all the ways that count.
“I know,” she murmurs and changes the subject. “I know what the mobile was for. That helped us build the dimension cannon. What I don’t know is what this power crystal’s for.”
He pulls back enough so he can look her in the eyes and smile. “Oh, now that’s the most brilliant thing of all. I didn’t strand us here, Rose. Well, the other me. The full Time Lord me.”
She blinks. “You - he - didn’t?” Damn these pronouns.
“Nope,” he says and, withdrawing one hand from around her, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of coral. “See, add one power crystal to one piece of the TARDIS and you know what you get?”
She’s still stuck on the part where he mentioned a piece of the TARDIS. “What?”
“Three years to explore this Earth.”
“An’ then?”
“And then we’ll have the rest of our lives to explore this universe, time and space, in our own TARDIS. If you want,” he adds, ducking his head slightly as though he’s doubtful of her response.
Everything she had before and more. All because of three selfless - or are they selfish? - gifts he gave her. A mobile, a power crystal, and himself.
“Don’t be daft,” she says. “Of course I want!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she replies and this time it’s not one who leans towards the other for a kiss.
They meet in the middle.
END
Original Prompt: BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive if you were to get a fic by describing... I love fics where Rose meets the earlier versions of the Doctor. She can meet one or she can meet them all. She can be romantic with them or it can be gen. Whether Ten is present at time is up to the writer though Rose having a history with/feeling for him is something I prefer. It's a bonus if its a Doctor other than the 9th, though he is fine. It's an extra bonus if the 8th Doctor is a main character, because I love him to insane levels.
The tone/mood of the fic: I like angsty fic. Romance mixed in is lovely too, but not overly fuffy. I prefer happy endings. :)
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic:
Any other Characters except the Doctor and Rose? None required
Preferred rating of the fic you want: I tend to prefer PG-13 and above, but any are fine.
Canon or AU? Doesn't matter. I like both.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): No death or cheating fic. Also no baby fic unless needed for the plot.
x-posted to: dark_aegis & time_and_chips