Shadows of Giants, 1/1
Title: Shadows of Giants
Pairings: Ten2/Rose, mentions of 10/Rose
Genre: Hurt/comfort, angst, romance
A/N: Written for country_who. Her prompt was Ten2/Rose with the phrase "Cast thy nighted color off". It's not quite Hamlet, but there is angst.
I am not the flag: not at all. I am but its shadow.
-Franklin Knight Lane
---
For the first few days, all he is aware of is the loneliness. As soon as the TARDIS had faded away, the tenuous link he had with the time ship snapped. His head feels empty, the last remaining connection he feels to his old life and home gone. There is nothing, no one, to fill that space now, and it eats away at his soul, the crushing emptiness of loss and betrayal and uncertainty welling up and threatening to spill out in floods. He holds back the torrent, but barely; the last thing he needs is to remind her just how inadequate he is, how this human body is so much weaker. He needs to be strong for her, to prove to her (and himself) that he is still capable of strength, still worthy enough to hold her hand and show her the wonders of living a better way of life.
He aches to hold her hand, but ever since the beach she’s been quiet, reserved. The ride back to London was filled with unspoken thoughts between them, and he barely heard Jackie’s chatter and Rose’s quiet responses through the haze in his mind. He should be worried about going into shock, but all he can really think is that she regrets her decision and that he’s alone. The feeling is only intensified when the zeppelin lands and she gets off without even looking at him, hunching into her jacket and curling into the corner of the limo looking like a lost little girl. He hesitates only briefly before sliding in beside her, resting his hand between them, an open invitation she does not take. Even Jackie seems to realize that nothing can be done, and by the time they finally arrive at the Tyler home sometime past midnight, all are exhausted.
Jackie shows him to a spare room, and after toeing off his trainers he collapses on top of the duvet, falling asleep instantly. He is dirty and grimy and smells like ashes and sweat, but he wants the oblivion sleep offers, if only for a while. When he wakes up four hours later, no longer tired and alert once more, he is only marginally comforted that something stayed the same.
The house, like his head, is quiet; he wonders if he’ll ever feel at home again.
He decides to shower, feeling uncomfortable in his clothing and skin. Walking into the attached bathroom, he sees that there’s a basket of travel-sized products for guests, and grabs a few before turning on the water. The suit is shared with little ceremony, but not before he pulls out the spare sonic he ‘borrowed’ from his other self and placing it reverently on the counter. There is little else of interest in the pockets; the brown had been his favorite, and everything of import was in there. His memory has decreased by an alarming amount even if his intelligence is still that above a human’s, but from what he can remember, there were only a few knickknacks he had picked up from random planets and the TARDIS itself. Except...
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out the small, wrapped bundle, gently peeling away the layers until the small piece of coral is revealed. It had been the final gift from the TARDIS before he left, the final piece of home he’ll ever have. Though the seed is too small, too young to form a consciousness, he can already feel the faint thrumming of life beneath his fingertips. In a few years it will be big enough to link with him; until then, it was up to him to keep it alive and healthy.
He didn’t share this with Rose. He’s not even sure if his counterpart knows of it; he had been alone, pacing distractedly after an argument over what was best for Rose, and the humming that always signified the TARDIS’s presence has suddenly swelled in volume. He had stopped, confused, and then a small object had appeared on the table in front of him. When he saw it, he instantly knew what it meant; that he was going to leave, with or without Rose, but leave nonetheless. Swallowing, he had gone to his bedroom, wrapping the tiny coral in a spare tie before pocketing it. After thanking the TARDIS he had entered the console room, just in time for them to leave for Bad Wolf Bay. He wonders if he should tell her, to let her know that not only is he able to spend his life with her, but that in a matter of twenty, maybe thirty years, the stars will be a reality for them once more. Almost as immediately as he thinks it, he dismisses it; he wants her to choose him for him, not because he can show her the stars like... like his counterpart.
The spray of the water beckons him, and he steps under the scalding hot water, letting the current pound over his back and leaving little jolts of pain. Reaching for the soap, he scrubs away the dirt, sweat and grime, feeling as if it is clinging to him like a second skin. Even when the skin becomes pink and tender from the ferocity of his actions, he can feel it lurking on him. Shuddering, he clenches his hands and squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the memories.
When he finally emerges from the shower the water has turned cold and he is shivering. Drying off with the towel, he walks into the bedroom and sees that dawn has started showing upon the horizon; the moment would bring others hope, but for him, it’s a reminder that he has to face another day alone.
There’s a short, quiet knock on his door, and he looks quickly around the room for something to wear. A robe is hanging over the door of the closet, and he puts it on before answering. It’s one of the maids, and she hands him a bundle of clothing. “Mr. Tyler said you could borrow some of his clothes until you are able to get a new wardrobe,” she says politely.
“Thanks,” he says, and closes the door when she walks off. The clothes are generic- plain grey tee and blue jeans, with thick white socks- but they fit well enough, even if the jeans are short. After making a nest for the baby TARDIS out of his suit at the back of his walk-in closet, he wanders downstairs for breakfast.
He’s not expecting to see Rose; she’s reading the paper over a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, frowning at the article that has gotten her attention. Her hair is still rumpled from sleep and she’s wearing a baggy shirt and track pants, face free of makeup and looking radiant. His breath catches and his heart squeezes painfully in his chest, and he quietly slips through the door into the kitchen, hoping she won’t see him. The plan backfires when Jackie enters the room after he’s taken three steps and calls to him. “Oh, good morning, Doctor. There’s tea in the kettle still if you want some, and just tell the cook to make you what you want.” He hears the chair scrape against the floor as she pulls it out, and he realizes that he’s tensed up at her words.
“Thanks.” He says, neutrally, before escaping to the kitchen.
When he enters the dining area once more, Rose has gone; he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Giving Jackie a tiny nod, he quietly eats his breakfast, aware of her eyes on him the entire time. He only speaks when he’s finished. “Tell Pete thanks for the clothes. I’ll be sure to buy some as soon as I can so he won’t have to keep loaning me his.”
She waits until he moves to pick up his plate before she speaks. “She missed you, Doctor. Every day, she spent it looking for a way back to you. Promise me you won’t let her go again.”
He meets her gaze steadily. “I’ll always be here for her, Jackie. Whether she wants me to or not; I’ll always be here.”
It’s all he can promise. Though he wants to tie his life to Rose, wants her to belong to him in the way he belongs to her, the final decision is hers. It is her choice whether she can accept him for who he is, if she can see him not as the Doctor, but as the man who is willing to be so much more. He will not push her, but he will not let go, either. Even though the need to take that final step with her is as necessary as breathing, it is her choice. It will always be her choice.
Jackie seems satisfied with his answer, and nods before turning back to her own meal. He exits the room quietly before walking out to the garden behind the house, needing time to think. Finding the perfect spot beneath a weeping willow next to a koi pond, he sits down against the trunk and closes his eyes, letting his mind wander.
Though his memories leading up to his aborted regeneration are jumbled, he remembers thinking that he didn’t want Rose to go through yet another change… and then he was sort of floating, noises and sensations hovering at the edge of his existence but out of focus. It was like he was dozing off in a room of people, awake enough to know that people were talking but asleep enough to not know what was being said. And then the pins-and-needles sensation as if his entire body had fallen asleep, a growing warmth, brilliant gold light; and he was staring at Donna, too surprised to even register what had really happened. Then came saving the TARDIS and Davros and the reality bomb and destroying the Daleks and only when it was all over, only when the exhilaration of towing the Earth home had gripped him firmly and he had grabbed Rose and swung her around, seeing her look at the other him and immediately grab his hand… only then did he realize that he didn’t belong. It was like the ground was falling out from under his feet and he had stammered out an excuse to be alone, but the other him had followed and they had different ideas on what was best for everyone, especially Rose. He had argued to keep her on the TARDIS, other him had argued to leave her with him, and he had extended an olive branch and suggested they leave it up to her. Then came the beach, and other him had broken the agreement by saying the one thing he knew would push her away, forcing her to him. He had whispered those three words then, suddenly not wanting other him to witness it; and Rose had kissed him, and he had been blissfully unaware until she had torn away, until she had raced back to the vanishing time ship. He had taken her hand then, and when she looked at him he tried to find the words to let her know that it would be alright, that he was with her now, there to fight alongside her and face the world together; but he waited too long, couldn’t force the words out, and she had dropped his hand and turned away without a word, taking his entire world with him.
He stays there for the rest of the morning, simply existing, breathing in the slightly almond-y taste of this universe’s air, watching the koi swim in the water in front of him. A bird chirps somewhere to his left, and though there’s a chill in the air he doesn’t feel it. Only when he goes to change position and his leg cramps does he realize just how long he’d been outside and how cold it really is. Shivering, he walks back into the blessed warmth of the house and returns to the kitchen to grab whatever is in the fridge before retreating to his room to sit next to the baby TARDIS.
After eating, he cradles the baby TARDIS in his hands and talks, about Gallifrey and the galaxy of Kasterborous and how the Medusa Cascade looked like the northern lights five months out of the year from his childhood bedroom window. He spoke about the time ship it originated from, how the instant they linked he felt at home for the first time in years. How the ship had always taken him places he hadn’t wanted to go, but where, he realized now, he needed to go. How she knew exactly what he needed at every moment, how she had brought him to a young girl, barely a woman, with sunshine hair and a radiant smile that melted the ice around his hearts and made him a better man. How that same woman, no longer a girl, held his single, human heart in the palm of her hand and didn’t even know it. And all the while, he wished Rose were there to hear him, to realize that she was his world and his life and his soul and he would be everything his other self would never let himself become.
He falls asleep that way, the baby TARDIS hugged to his chest, his old suit his pillow.
The next two days pass in this fashion; he wakes up well before dawn, gets into the shower, scrubs viciously at the ash and sweat and grime that he still feels crawling over his skin, dresses in a spare set of Pete’s old clothes, gets breakfast, and retreats to the back garden before anyone can stop him and ask how he’s doing. Even when he can see his breath in the early morning chill he remains stubbornly outside, unable to bear the silence of the house. He learns from listening to household gossip among the maids, cooks, and butler that Tony is away at school, Pete is at work, and Jackie and Rose are holed up somewhere (Rose in the library, sunroom, or study, Jackie in her office on the phone, the kitchen, the living room, or out in the town shopping). Rose has been forced to take two weeks off work for recuperation, though she did go in for a post-mission analysis the day he snuck by her for breakfast. The rest of the day is spent exploring the house, surfing the internet to catch up on a few important moments of this Earth’s history, and caring for the TARDIS.
On the fourth day, Rose finds him under the willow.
He had been reclining in the shade, on leg stretched before him and the other propped up, his arm resting on the knee as he leaned on the other. He’s only aware of a faint rustling before Rose emerges, wearing blue jeans and a pink sweater. They stare at each other in shocked silence, and it is clear she had not expected him. His heart is beating madly and it takes every ounce of self-restraint he has to not jump up and crush her to him; he knows he is trembling slightly from the effort, and hopes she can’t see. Finally, after what feels like years, she finally speaks quietly. “Your hair is flat.”
Startled, he reaches up a hand to feel it. “Oh. Yeah. Didn’t feel like it. Blame that on Donna, really; she didn’t like messing with her hair, said it took too long. Besides, I don’t have any product to style it, and I think I like it this way. It’s… it’s not too bad, is it?” He adds, hesitantly, “New, new, new me, after all. Thought I’d try something different.”
“It’s… nice.” She finally admits. Then: “Mind if I join you?”
His heart soars, and he feels suspiciously like crying. Instead, he croaks out a faint, “yeah,” and watches as she takes a spot next to him. He quickly changes positions, sitting cross-legged like her, hands uncertainly moving to his lap. He looks at her as she stares at the water, drinking her in after being so long deprived of her presence.
“Dad wants you to go in to Torchwood next week,” she says, just as he is beginning to wonder why she was here. “We need to give you an identity and history so you can live here, properly.”
“Ok,” he answers, because what else is he supposed to say?
“They’ll also need to run a full medical exam, just to make sure you’re healthy, and see if there isn’t any side-effects from your… um… creation.” He winces slightly; the tone of her voice says that she sees his birth as a freak of nature, an experiment gone wrong.
He looks away from her, out over the water. “I’m not spending more time than is needed at Torchwood. I may be the only one of my kind, but that doesn’t mean they’ll get to poke and prod at me as long as they want.”
She stiffens slightly. “We’re not like that. It’s different than the one back… back there. It’s more research-based now, and though we deal with aliens on occasion, we let UNIT handle most of the mess.”
“I don’t care. That organization has taken too much from me already; I cannot in good faith willingly have anything to do with it.” His tone shows that he is not in a mind to be told otherwise, and he can feel Rose give him a level stare.
Her voice has gained a hard edge when she replies. “I have the same history with Torchwood that you do, Doctor. I know things are different here. Do you think I would work at an organization like the one back there?”
“No.” He finally looks at her, notices the defensive look. “What you do with your time is not mine to control. But my life is my own, Rose, and I don’t want to do something I’m not comfortable with. I’m still… I’m still trying to discover who I now am. And I may not be the same man who left on that beach, but I am still him in the sense that Torchwood is an enemy.”
There is several seconds of silence before she finally nods. “Alright. I won’t push you. But you have to create an identity, at the very least. That’s all I ask.”
“I can do that.” He won’t like it, but he can do it. For her.
There’s another strained silence around them, an aura of anticipation crackling in the air. He doesn’t know who will break, first; he can’t see timelines anymore, but he knows that there are only two ways this meeting will end: Together, or apart. He’s terrified that it will be the latter.
“You’re never this quiet.” Rose finally announces, turning to face him properly. “What’s wrong?”
He mirrors her move. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know anymore.” He rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated. “This… this entire thing is new to me, Rose. For all intents and purposes I shouldn’t even exist, and yet here I am. I’m still trying to figure myself out. All these human hormones, human desires, human habits; I’m me, but not me at the same time.” He stands, begins to pace. “All my life I’ve ran, ran from authority, ran from mistakes, ran from obligations… ran from feelings. And for the first time in my life I don’t want to run, but I don’t know how to stop.”
“You’ll figure it out,” She says, convinced of her answer. “You’re the smartest man I know.”
“But that’s the thing, Rose.” He says. “I’m not. I’m not the Doctor. I’m not a Time Lord- not fully- but I’m not human either. I can’t read timelines, I don’t have the same capabilities, I can’t hold thirty different thoughts at once; I’m not… I’m not him.”
And suddenly, he realizes he’s angry. Angry at his other self for assuming what was best, for leaving him with the task of clean-up with Rose as he swanned off for another time and adventure. He was angry at the events that forced his creation, angry at himself for not being good enough. Angry that Rose still saw the Doctor when she looked at him, the only reason he could think of for her avoidance. A small part of him relished the thought that his other self was alone; at least he knew his own pain, the confusion and heartache that existed within him.
Rose stood up, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, so now you’re a new man? Then all that talk on the beach then, that was just talk?” She scoffed, her arms crossing over her chest.
“It wasn’t!” he argued back. “My thoughts, my memories, all of those are the same. I have the same needs and wants, but I express them differently, feel them differently. The Doctor wasn’t the only participant in my creation; Donna was, as well. And it’s her personality that’s made me this way. Shouting at the world because no one is listening . . . well, guess what, world? Hear me now? I’m not him! I don’t want to be!”
His confession rings around the area, and Rose stares at him in shocked silence. His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t want to run anymore, Rose. All that time, he… he ran from you. Ran from what he felt for you, because if he let himself admit it… the universe always took those that were close to him, Rose. If he admitted that you were the one thing he couldn’t lose, do you know how much it would have hurt when you vanished from his life?” He lifts a shaking hand to her face, tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear before letting it drop. “I can’t spend my life that way. What I said at the beach, when I told you I loved you…. I wasn’t lying. I love you so much and it hurts to think I may never be able to have you, but I love you enough to let you go if that is what makes you happy. I’m yours, Rose. For as long as you want me and even when you don’t. The universe may have taken you away from him, but it led me to you, and I’m just too damn selfish to care otherwise. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re my entire world, Rose, if you let me. Just… if you don’t, I… it’s your choice, Rose. It’s always been your choice.”
There’s an expression in her eyes that he’s never seen before, and he’s afraid to let the hope that’s building within him escape to the surface. When she fails to respond, he closes his eyes and begins to turn away, realizing that it was too soon, that she still hasn’t gotten over her loss, that he should have broken it gradually, easily… but then she’s grabs his hand and tugs him sharply to her and before he knows it she’s kissing him and he’s wrapping his arms around her and it’s good, so good, and he’s finally free…
When they finally break for air, gasping, his forehead pressing against hers and their limbs entwined like vines, she speaks. “You’re right, you aren’t the Doctor.”
Startled, he pulls his head back, slightly wounded. Her gaze is tender, though, and a hand runs soothingly through his hair. “You’re better. He would never… he never would have made himself vulnerable like that. The entire time we were together, he never trusted me with his worries. Yes, he spoke of Gallifrey and the Time War occasionally, but his fears, his worries, his emotions; you’re stronger than him for doing that. I… I’m sorry it took me so long to see that. I’m not… I’m not fully over him, I can’t just forget what we shared, but… with you, I know I’ll be able to move past it, quicker than I’d thought.” She smiles up at him. “You and me, together, yeah? We’ll move past it.”
Moisture pricks at his eyes, and he blinks rapidly. “Yeah,” He replies, voice slightly hoarse. “Together.”
He can feel the burden lifting from his shoulders, the stress and anxiety and uncertainty that hung over him scattered by her light. Though he knew he would always have a small part of himself in the Doctor’s shadow, he could make his own life, breaking away from that man’s name and legacy and forging his own path.
And with Rose’s guiding light, the journey didn’t seem nearly as difficult as it had a few days before.
Pairings: Ten2/Rose, mentions of 10/Rose
Genre: Hurt/comfort, angst, romance
A/N: Written for country_who. Her prompt was Ten2/Rose with the phrase "Cast thy nighted color off". It's not quite Hamlet, but there is angst.
I am not the flag: not at all. I am but its shadow.
-Franklin Knight Lane
---
For the first few days, all he is aware of is the loneliness. As soon as the TARDIS had faded away, the tenuous link he had with the time ship snapped. His head feels empty, the last remaining connection he feels to his old life and home gone. There is nothing, no one, to fill that space now, and it eats away at his soul, the crushing emptiness of loss and betrayal and uncertainty welling up and threatening to spill out in floods. He holds back the torrent, but barely; the last thing he needs is to remind her just how inadequate he is, how this human body is so much weaker. He needs to be strong for her, to prove to her (and himself) that he is still capable of strength, still worthy enough to hold her hand and show her the wonders of living a better way of life.
He aches to hold her hand, but ever since the beach she’s been quiet, reserved. The ride back to London was filled with unspoken thoughts between them, and he barely heard Jackie’s chatter and Rose’s quiet responses through the haze in his mind. He should be worried about going into shock, but all he can really think is that she regrets her decision and that he’s alone. The feeling is only intensified when the zeppelin lands and she gets off without even looking at him, hunching into her jacket and curling into the corner of the limo looking like a lost little girl. He hesitates only briefly before sliding in beside her, resting his hand between them, an open invitation she does not take. Even Jackie seems to realize that nothing can be done, and by the time they finally arrive at the Tyler home sometime past midnight, all are exhausted.
Jackie shows him to a spare room, and after toeing off his trainers he collapses on top of the duvet, falling asleep instantly. He is dirty and grimy and smells like ashes and sweat, but he wants the oblivion sleep offers, if only for a while. When he wakes up four hours later, no longer tired and alert once more, he is only marginally comforted that something stayed the same.
The house, like his head, is quiet; he wonders if he’ll ever feel at home again.
He decides to shower, feeling uncomfortable in his clothing and skin. Walking into the attached bathroom, he sees that there’s a basket of travel-sized products for guests, and grabs a few before turning on the water. The suit is shared with little ceremony, but not before he pulls out the spare sonic he ‘borrowed’ from his other self and placing it reverently on the counter. There is little else of interest in the pockets; the brown had been his favorite, and everything of import was in there. His memory has decreased by an alarming amount even if his intelligence is still that above a human’s, but from what he can remember, there were only a few knickknacks he had picked up from random planets and the TARDIS itself. Except...
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out the small, wrapped bundle, gently peeling away the layers until the small piece of coral is revealed. It had been the final gift from the TARDIS before he left, the final piece of home he’ll ever have. Though the seed is too small, too young to form a consciousness, he can already feel the faint thrumming of life beneath his fingertips. In a few years it will be big enough to link with him; until then, it was up to him to keep it alive and healthy.
He didn’t share this with Rose. He’s not even sure if his counterpart knows of it; he had been alone, pacing distractedly after an argument over what was best for Rose, and the humming that always signified the TARDIS’s presence has suddenly swelled in volume. He had stopped, confused, and then a small object had appeared on the table in front of him. When he saw it, he instantly knew what it meant; that he was going to leave, with or without Rose, but leave nonetheless. Swallowing, he had gone to his bedroom, wrapping the tiny coral in a spare tie before pocketing it. After thanking the TARDIS he had entered the console room, just in time for them to leave for Bad Wolf Bay. He wonders if he should tell her, to let her know that not only is he able to spend his life with her, but that in a matter of twenty, maybe thirty years, the stars will be a reality for them once more. Almost as immediately as he thinks it, he dismisses it; he wants her to choose him for him, not because he can show her the stars like... like his counterpart.
The spray of the water beckons him, and he steps under the scalding hot water, letting the current pound over his back and leaving little jolts of pain. Reaching for the soap, he scrubs away the dirt, sweat and grime, feeling as if it is clinging to him like a second skin. Even when the skin becomes pink and tender from the ferocity of his actions, he can feel it lurking on him. Shuddering, he clenches his hands and squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the memories.
When he finally emerges from the shower the water has turned cold and he is shivering. Drying off with the towel, he walks into the bedroom and sees that dawn has started showing upon the horizon; the moment would bring others hope, but for him, it’s a reminder that he has to face another day alone.
There’s a short, quiet knock on his door, and he looks quickly around the room for something to wear. A robe is hanging over the door of the closet, and he puts it on before answering. It’s one of the maids, and she hands him a bundle of clothing. “Mr. Tyler said you could borrow some of his clothes until you are able to get a new wardrobe,” she says politely.
“Thanks,” he says, and closes the door when she walks off. The clothes are generic- plain grey tee and blue jeans, with thick white socks- but they fit well enough, even if the jeans are short. After making a nest for the baby TARDIS out of his suit at the back of his walk-in closet, he wanders downstairs for breakfast.
He’s not expecting to see Rose; she’s reading the paper over a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, frowning at the article that has gotten her attention. Her hair is still rumpled from sleep and she’s wearing a baggy shirt and track pants, face free of makeup and looking radiant. His breath catches and his heart squeezes painfully in his chest, and he quietly slips through the door into the kitchen, hoping she won’t see him. The plan backfires when Jackie enters the room after he’s taken three steps and calls to him. “Oh, good morning, Doctor. There’s tea in the kettle still if you want some, and just tell the cook to make you what you want.” He hears the chair scrape against the floor as she pulls it out, and he realizes that he’s tensed up at her words.
“Thanks.” He says, neutrally, before escaping to the kitchen.
When he enters the dining area once more, Rose has gone; he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Giving Jackie a tiny nod, he quietly eats his breakfast, aware of her eyes on him the entire time. He only speaks when he’s finished. “Tell Pete thanks for the clothes. I’ll be sure to buy some as soon as I can so he won’t have to keep loaning me his.”
She waits until he moves to pick up his plate before she speaks. “She missed you, Doctor. Every day, she spent it looking for a way back to you. Promise me you won’t let her go again.”
He meets her gaze steadily. “I’ll always be here for her, Jackie. Whether she wants me to or not; I’ll always be here.”
It’s all he can promise. Though he wants to tie his life to Rose, wants her to belong to him in the way he belongs to her, the final decision is hers. It is her choice whether she can accept him for who he is, if she can see him not as the Doctor, but as the man who is willing to be so much more. He will not push her, but he will not let go, either. Even though the need to take that final step with her is as necessary as breathing, it is her choice. It will always be her choice.
Jackie seems satisfied with his answer, and nods before turning back to her own meal. He exits the room quietly before walking out to the garden behind the house, needing time to think. Finding the perfect spot beneath a weeping willow next to a koi pond, he sits down against the trunk and closes his eyes, letting his mind wander.
Though his memories leading up to his aborted regeneration are jumbled, he remembers thinking that he didn’t want Rose to go through yet another change… and then he was sort of floating, noises and sensations hovering at the edge of his existence but out of focus. It was like he was dozing off in a room of people, awake enough to know that people were talking but asleep enough to not know what was being said. And then the pins-and-needles sensation as if his entire body had fallen asleep, a growing warmth, brilliant gold light; and he was staring at Donna, too surprised to even register what had really happened. Then came saving the TARDIS and Davros and the reality bomb and destroying the Daleks and only when it was all over, only when the exhilaration of towing the Earth home had gripped him firmly and he had grabbed Rose and swung her around, seeing her look at the other him and immediately grab his hand… only then did he realize that he didn’t belong. It was like the ground was falling out from under his feet and he had stammered out an excuse to be alone, but the other him had followed and they had different ideas on what was best for everyone, especially Rose. He had argued to keep her on the TARDIS, other him had argued to leave her with him, and he had extended an olive branch and suggested they leave it up to her. Then came the beach, and other him had broken the agreement by saying the one thing he knew would push her away, forcing her to him. He had whispered those three words then, suddenly not wanting other him to witness it; and Rose had kissed him, and he had been blissfully unaware until she had torn away, until she had raced back to the vanishing time ship. He had taken her hand then, and when she looked at him he tried to find the words to let her know that it would be alright, that he was with her now, there to fight alongside her and face the world together; but he waited too long, couldn’t force the words out, and she had dropped his hand and turned away without a word, taking his entire world with him.
He stays there for the rest of the morning, simply existing, breathing in the slightly almond-y taste of this universe’s air, watching the koi swim in the water in front of him. A bird chirps somewhere to his left, and though there’s a chill in the air he doesn’t feel it. Only when he goes to change position and his leg cramps does he realize just how long he’d been outside and how cold it really is. Shivering, he walks back into the blessed warmth of the house and returns to the kitchen to grab whatever is in the fridge before retreating to his room to sit next to the baby TARDIS.
After eating, he cradles the baby TARDIS in his hands and talks, about Gallifrey and the galaxy of Kasterborous and how the Medusa Cascade looked like the northern lights five months out of the year from his childhood bedroom window. He spoke about the time ship it originated from, how the instant they linked he felt at home for the first time in years. How the ship had always taken him places he hadn’t wanted to go, but where, he realized now, he needed to go. How she knew exactly what he needed at every moment, how she had brought him to a young girl, barely a woman, with sunshine hair and a radiant smile that melted the ice around his hearts and made him a better man. How that same woman, no longer a girl, held his single, human heart in the palm of her hand and didn’t even know it. And all the while, he wished Rose were there to hear him, to realize that she was his world and his life and his soul and he would be everything his other self would never let himself become.
He falls asleep that way, the baby TARDIS hugged to his chest, his old suit his pillow.
The next two days pass in this fashion; he wakes up well before dawn, gets into the shower, scrubs viciously at the ash and sweat and grime that he still feels crawling over his skin, dresses in a spare set of Pete’s old clothes, gets breakfast, and retreats to the back garden before anyone can stop him and ask how he’s doing. Even when he can see his breath in the early morning chill he remains stubbornly outside, unable to bear the silence of the house. He learns from listening to household gossip among the maids, cooks, and butler that Tony is away at school, Pete is at work, and Jackie and Rose are holed up somewhere (Rose in the library, sunroom, or study, Jackie in her office on the phone, the kitchen, the living room, or out in the town shopping). Rose has been forced to take two weeks off work for recuperation, though she did go in for a post-mission analysis the day he snuck by her for breakfast. The rest of the day is spent exploring the house, surfing the internet to catch up on a few important moments of this Earth’s history, and caring for the TARDIS.
On the fourth day, Rose finds him under the willow.
He had been reclining in the shade, on leg stretched before him and the other propped up, his arm resting on the knee as he leaned on the other. He’s only aware of a faint rustling before Rose emerges, wearing blue jeans and a pink sweater. They stare at each other in shocked silence, and it is clear she had not expected him. His heart is beating madly and it takes every ounce of self-restraint he has to not jump up and crush her to him; he knows he is trembling slightly from the effort, and hopes she can’t see. Finally, after what feels like years, she finally speaks quietly. “Your hair is flat.”
Startled, he reaches up a hand to feel it. “Oh. Yeah. Didn’t feel like it. Blame that on Donna, really; she didn’t like messing with her hair, said it took too long. Besides, I don’t have any product to style it, and I think I like it this way. It’s… it’s not too bad, is it?” He adds, hesitantly, “New, new, new me, after all. Thought I’d try something different.”
“It’s… nice.” She finally admits. Then: “Mind if I join you?”
His heart soars, and he feels suspiciously like crying. Instead, he croaks out a faint, “yeah,” and watches as she takes a spot next to him. He quickly changes positions, sitting cross-legged like her, hands uncertainly moving to his lap. He looks at her as she stares at the water, drinking her in after being so long deprived of her presence.
“Dad wants you to go in to Torchwood next week,” she says, just as he is beginning to wonder why she was here. “We need to give you an identity and history so you can live here, properly.”
“Ok,” he answers, because what else is he supposed to say?
“They’ll also need to run a full medical exam, just to make sure you’re healthy, and see if there isn’t any side-effects from your… um… creation.” He winces slightly; the tone of her voice says that she sees his birth as a freak of nature, an experiment gone wrong.
He looks away from her, out over the water. “I’m not spending more time than is needed at Torchwood. I may be the only one of my kind, but that doesn’t mean they’ll get to poke and prod at me as long as they want.”
She stiffens slightly. “We’re not like that. It’s different than the one back… back there. It’s more research-based now, and though we deal with aliens on occasion, we let UNIT handle most of the mess.”
“I don’t care. That organization has taken too much from me already; I cannot in good faith willingly have anything to do with it.” His tone shows that he is not in a mind to be told otherwise, and he can feel Rose give him a level stare.
Her voice has gained a hard edge when she replies. “I have the same history with Torchwood that you do, Doctor. I know things are different here. Do you think I would work at an organization like the one back there?”
“No.” He finally looks at her, notices the defensive look. “What you do with your time is not mine to control. But my life is my own, Rose, and I don’t want to do something I’m not comfortable with. I’m still… I’m still trying to discover who I now am. And I may not be the same man who left on that beach, but I am still him in the sense that Torchwood is an enemy.”
There is several seconds of silence before she finally nods. “Alright. I won’t push you. But you have to create an identity, at the very least. That’s all I ask.”
“I can do that.” He won’t like it, but he can do it. For her.
There’s another strained silence around them, an aura of anticipation crackling in the air. He doesn’t know who will break, first; he can’t see timelines anymore, but he knows that there are only two ways this meeting will end: Together, or apart. He’s terrified that it will be the latter.
“You’re never this quiet.” Rose finally announces, turning to face him properly. “What’s wrong?”
He mirrors her move. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know anymore.” He rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated. “This… this entire thing is new to me, Rose. For all intents and purposes I shouldn’t even exist, and yet here I am. I’m still trying to figure myself out. All these human hormones, human desires, human habits; I’m me, but not me at the same time.” He stands, begins to pace. “All my life I’ve ran, ran from authority, ran from mistakes, ran from obligations… ran from feelings. And for the first time in my life I don’t want to run, but I don’t know how to stop.”
“You’ll figure it out,” She says, convinced of her answer. “You’re the smartest man I know.”
“But that’s the thing, Rose.” He says. “I’m not. I’m not the Doctor. I’m not a Time Lord- not fully- but I’m not human either. I can’t read timelines, I don’t have the same capabilities, I can’t hold thirty different thoughts at once; I’m not… I’m not him.”
And suddenly, he realizes he’s angry. Angry at his other self for assuming what was best, for leaving him with the task of clean-up with Rose as he swanned off for another time and adventure. He was angry at the events that forced his creation, angry at himself for not being good enough. Angry that Rose still saw the Doctor when she looked at him, the only reason he could think of for her avoidance. A small part of him relished the thought that his other self was alone; at least he knew his own pain, the confusion and heartache that existed within him.
Rose stood up, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, so now you’re a new man? Then all that talk on the beach then, that was just talk?” She scoffed, her arms crossing over her chest.
“It wasn’t!” he argued back. “My thoughts, my memories, all of those are the same. I have the same needs and wants, but I express them differently, feel them differently. The Doctor wasn’t the only participant in my creation; Donna was, as well. And it’s her personality that’s made me this way. Shouting at the world because no one is listening . . . well, guess what, world? Hear me now? I’m not him! I don’t want to be!”
His confession rings around the area, and Rose stares at him in shocked silence. His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t want to run anymore, Rose. All that time, he… he ran from you. Ran from what he felt for you, because if he let himself admit it… the universe always took those that were close to him, Rose. If he admitted that you were the one thing he couldn’t lose, do you know how much it would have hurt when you vanished from his life?” He lifts a shaking hand to her face, tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear before letting it drop. “I can’t spend my life that way. What I said at the beach, when I told you I loved you…. I wasn’t lying. I love you so much and it hurts to think I may never be able to have you, but I love you enough to let you go if that is what makes you happy. I’m yours, Rose. For as long as you want me and even when you don’t. The universe may have taken you away from him, but it led me to you, and I’m just too damn selfish to care otherwise. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re my entire world, Rose, if you let me. Just… if you don’t, I… it’s your choice, Rose. It’s always been your choice.”
There’s an expression in her eyes that he’s never seen before, and he’s afraid to let the hope that’s building within him escape to the surface. When she fails to respond, he closes his eyes and begins to turn away, realizing that it was too soon, that she still hasn’t gotten over her loss, that he should have broken it gradually, easily… but then she’s grabs his hand and tugs him sharply to her and before he knows it she’s kissing him and he’s wrapping his arms around her and it’s good, so good, and he’s finally free…
When they finally break for air, gasping, his forehead pressing against hers and their limbs entwined like vines, she speaks. “You’re right, you aren’t the Doctor.”
Startled, he pulls his head back, slightly wounded. Her gaze is tender, though, and a hand runs soothingly through his hair. “You’re better. He would never… he never would have made himself vulnerable like that. The entire time we were together, he never trusted me with his worries. Yes, he spoke of Gallifrey and the Time War occasionally, but his fears, his worries, his emotions; you’re stronger than him for doing that. I… I’m sorry it took me so long to see that. I’m not… I’m not fully over him, I can’t just forget what we shared, but… with you, I know I’ll be able to move past it, quicker than I’d thought.” She smiles up at him. “You and me, together, yeah? We’ll move past it.”
Moisture pricks at his eyes, and he blinks rapidly. “Yeah,” He replies, voice slightly hoarse. “Together.”
He can feel the burden lifting from his shoulders, the stress and anxiety and uncertainty that hung over him scattered by her light. Though he knew he would always have a small part of himself in the Doctor’s shadow, he could make his own life, breaking away from that man’s name and legacy and forging his own path.
And with Rose’s guiding light, the journey didn’t seem nearly as difficult as it had a few days before.