Fic: Never Alone - Doctor/Rose
Title: Never Alone (Ten/Rose)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Claim: Doctor/Rose
Rating: Hard R
Prompt: Cemetery
Word Count: 4982
Spoilers: Mentions of Parting of the Ways and Dalek, but no specific spoilers for s2.
Summary: Written for 50_smutlets. The TARDIS knows that the Doctor's never truly mourned Gallifrey, so she takes things into her own-er, hands? Or, rather, Rose's.
x-posted at aibhinn, 50_smutlets, and time_and_chips.
The Doctor looked up as Rose entered the TARDIS, and noticed immediately that her eyes and nose were red. She'd clearly been weeping, though she was dry-eyed now. They'd stopped to visit her mum, and as had become her habit, she'd told the Doctor she'd wanted to go to her dad's grave before they left.
He'd offered to go along, as he always did, but she'd declined with a smile, as she always did. It was a thing she had to do alone, and the Doctor respected that. He didn't understand it, but he respected it. On Gallifrey, the dead were honoured communally; groups of friends and family would travel to the gravesite or (more commonly, as Time Lords rarely left bodies in places that were easily accessible) memorial, and they remembered together. Of course, Gallifreyan life spans were much longer than humans', so it wasn't uncommon for an entire clan of several hundred people to visit a single memorial service.
Perhaps that was why he'd never gone back to the place his planet had been. There was no one left to mourn with.
"Where to next?" Rose asked, as if all was perfectly normal. She never wanted a lot of attention paid to her visits to the cemetery, and so he pretended nothing was out of the ordinary.
"The TARDIS wants a little maintenance, so into the Vortex for awhile. After that, there's a star ready to be born near Arcturus; I thought we might go take in the sights."
Rose leaned her hip against the console. "I've never worked out just how sentient the TARDIS is," she mused. "When you say she wants some maintenance, do you mean it the way Mum would say 'the flat wants a good hoovering,' or the way I'd say 'I want an order of chips and a Coke'?"
He grinned. "Yep!" he said brightly and unhelpfully, then flipped a couple of switches and the time rotor pulsed into life, causing the ship to begin its familiar shuddering. She shifted automatically to balance against the motion and mock-glared at the Doctor, who continued his unrepentant grinning but added, "She's as sentient as you or I, though a far different type of being. And she's quite old-older than I am, even." A circuit spat a spark and he jerked his hand away, sucking on his finger. "Ow," he complained.
"Serve you right," Rose said cheekily, "talkin' about a lady's age. Besides, age doesn't matter; the TARDIS is the greatest ship in the universe."
The TARDIS purred in the Doctor's mind, and made it known that she had always quite liked this companion. The Doctor was amused and pleased, but feigned irritation. "Quit buttering up my ship, Rose Tyler. Ooh," he added, frowning. "That's a nasty mental image. Where did that phrase ever come from, anyway? Why would smearing congealed milk fat on someone be the equivalent of complimenting them for the sake of getting what you want? Unless it was some sort of strange sexual practice, though I must admit, I don't recall anything in human history about butter as an acceptable aid to flirtation."
The TARDIS equivalent of a raspberry blew in his mind as Rose laughed. "Careful, Doctor, or you'll find she's disguised the door to your room or somethin'. Hell hath no fury, an' all that."
"Nah," the Doctor said, patting the TARDIS affectionately. "We've been through a lot together, the two of us. Sometimes she knows what's best for me better than I do."
There was an odd mental rumble from the TARDIS at that. Not displeased; quite the opposite, in fact. It was as though she'd put two and two together and finally made a connection. Intrigued, he sent her a silent query, but received no answer. All right, he thought, she was going to be coy. She was good at that.
"Well, I'm off to have a nice, hot shower," Rose said, pushing away from the console with a pat and heading for her room. "How long we gonna be in the Vortex?"
"Oh…." He blew out a breath, contemplating. "Couple days, probably. I haven't got my previous self's way with machinery, so it'll take me a little longer in this body, but I'll get there in the end." There was another tickle in his mind, and he grinned again. "The TARDIS is planning to provide you with all the steaming hot water you could ever use, by the by, so feel free to go boil yourself. She'll probably fetch a silk dressing gown or something from the wardrobe, as well. In fact, don't be too surprised if you come out of the bathroom to find a bedroom that resembles the Taj Mahal. She's quite pleased with you, she is."
Rose smiled a little wistfully. "I wish I could talk with her the way you do."
"Well, we don't talk exactly. Not in words. It's feelings, impressions, images. Takes years for a TARDIS and Time Lord to truly bond." He noted her disappointment and added, "But, you know, she likes you well enough that she may just decide to take you up on that request."
Rose beamed at him, then turned and left, humming. He didn't really know why he'd said that; the TARDIS had never spoken to any of his companions, except perhaps Romana. "Did you slip that into my head, clever girl?" he asked with a gentle caress.
The TARDIS responded with a definite affirmative, reiterating how much she liked and approved of Rose. He smiled. "Good," he said softly. "Because I do as well."
Dalek ships, hundreds of thousands of them, swarmed Gallifrey. The Time Lords fought with the desperation of the lost, and were being decimated. Telepathic screams filled his head as he frantically worked to put together their last possible weapon: a Delta wave. If he could just get it calibrated properly so it didn't bypass the regeneration gene-
"The Time Lords shall be no more!" the sharp, metallic voice of the Daleks boomed into his mind. "The Daleks shall be the only race in the universe, as it was always meant to be."
"Not while I'm alive!" he shouted furiously, fingers still working. Almost there-so close-
"They're closing in!" Romana said, the telepathic message shouted almost as loudly as the Daleks'. "They're nearly to the Panopticon. Theta, you know what happens if they get in. If you're going to do it, do it now!"
"I can't! It's not been refined. If I set it off now, it'll kill everything-us, them, all of it!"
"They're breaking through!" another voice shouted.
"We can't hold!" a third said, ending on a long, drawn-out scream of agony as his ship was hit. His scream, his ship's scream, echoing together, then falling abruptly silent.
"Theta!" Romana thundered, in a voice that pled as much as it ordered. The TARDIS urged him in wordless emotions to comply: Terror, hope, encouragement.
"We'll die!" he protested.
Images of Daleks fading into nothingness. They'd die too, she meant. A fair trade.
He stared at the switch in front of him, jaw clenched. Murder-suicide. No: extinction. Genocide. The worst mass murderer in the history of the universe.
Except for the Daleks.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured. To the TARDIS, to the fleet, to the planet below.
And hit the switch.
***
Rose woke with a jerk, the screams of the dying still echoing in her ears. Her heart thumped almost audibly in her chest. "What the hell was that?" she asked aloud, when she could get her breath. She'd never dreamed so vividly before. And who was Theta?
An odd feeling made itself known in her mind. It was tentative, as though asking for permission to be there-longingly, she thought. The feeling was definitely female, even more definitely alien. The weight of years was heavy in it, and the weight of loneliness as well.
It couldn't be. Could it? "TARDIS, is that you?" she asked aloud.
The response was affirmative, and again the request came for permission to be in Rose's mind. She was polite, the TARDIS, Rose thought, and smiled. "Yeah, all right," she said. "I asked for it, after all."
A sudden onslaught of images and sensations ripped through her brain, far too much for her to make sense of. Crying out in fear in surprise, she flailed, looking for something sturdy to hold onto-and suddenly the images pulled away. There was an air of apology and embarrassment. The TARDIS had forgotten Rose was human.
"No, s'all right," Rose said immediately, if shakily. "Just slow it down a bit, yeah? Let me get used to it. I've only got five senses, not forty or ninety-three or whatever the Doctor's got." The number twenty-seven appeared primly in her forebrain for a moment, and Rose grinned. "All right, twenty-seven," she said.
There was a sense of the TARDIS's amusement, then she seemed to sober and the number was replaced with a flash of image from Rose's dream along with a picture of the Doctor she knew standing in the control room, a tear running slowly down each cheek as he stared at the monitor. The tear-tracks shone in the muted light of the time rotor, and he appeared rooted to the spot. Transfixed.
Alone, the TARDIS communicated without words, and sent Rose an understanding of how wrong that was. No Time Lord should be alone while he mourned.
"Mourned?" Rose frowned. "What's he mourning?"
Another flash from her dream, the image of the deaths of millions. The death of a world.
Understanding clicked, and Rose's jaw dropped open. "You mean-that dream-it wasn't just a dream, was it?" she said, horrified. "That was the Time War. When his people died." A flash of memory, her own this time: his earlier self on Satellite Five, working on the Delta wave generator which he was planning to use to destroy the Daleks. Rose felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. "Oh, God," she said, her voice stunned. "He-he did it, didn't he? He killed the Daleks, but destroyed his own planet at the same time. And-and he knew it would happen, but he didn't have any choice. He had to do it."
A sad affirmative, and a gentle urging for her to go to him.
Rose felt troubled. "I-don't want to intrude," she said slowly. "I mean, if he wants to be alone-"
Another flash of the dying world, and then a longer, more detailed image: hundreds of people gathered round a stone obelisk, about six feet high, inscribed with a name. No, not people-Gallifreyans. Time Lords. None of them touched each other in any way, and yet they were connected, remembering together the life that had once been. A Gallifreyan memorial, the TARDIS informed her. Mourning together. Paying tribute together to the person who had been. And yet the Doctor was alone in the console room, with his memories and his grief. It was wrong.
"But why is he remembering now?" Rose asked, confused. "Is he always like this when I'm asleep?" The thought was even more troubling. Had she been leaving him alone to his grief all these months?
No, the TARDIS communicated, again wordlessly. To Rose's surprise, there was an almost sheepish overtone to the ship's 'voice'. In flashes of emotion and image too quick to make individual sense of, Rose was given to understand that the TARDIS had picked up on his need to mourn the way she had, at her father's grave, and had taken him to the place where Gallifrey had once been. He had never been back since the war ended, and he needed it. More than that, he needed her. Right now, with him. Sometimes she knows what's best for me better than I do, the Doctor's voice echoed in her memory from earlier.
Rose nodded. "I see," she said, and somewhat to her surprise, she really did. Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and into her dressing gown. He had always allowed her to mourn the way she needed to-first taking her to 1987 so she could hold her dad's hand as he'd died (and how she'd cocked that one up); then comforting her after that dreadful day, when he should rightfully have been bloody angry with her; then letting her visit her dad's grave, alone, every time they went back to London, and never once asking her questions or pushing her.
He'd always been there for her. It was time for her to be there for him.
She padded barefoot out of her room and down the hall, the TARDIS a comforting presence in the back of her mind. She didn't exactly know how the Doctor would take being interrupted, especially as he hadn't planned for the TARDIS to bring them here. Suddenly discovering himself in the place where his planet had been had to be a shock, like a fist to the gut. His emotional defences might not survive it, and he might not want her to see that. He had a lot of defences, her Doctor. His new self appeared easier to reach than his terse, intense, leather-jacketed self had been, but the silly grin, manic energy and incessant babble were just another form of barrier. Perhaps even a stronger barrier. When he'd brooded and growled, it was impossible to forget he'd been all but destroyed mentally and emotionally and physically not so long before he met her. But how easy was it to forget all that when it was hidden behind banter and grins?
Too easy.
He had his back to her when she entered the control room; just like in the vision the TARDIS had sent her, he stood at the console, staring at the monitor screen as though unable to tear his eyes away. His suit jacket was off and draped over the railing next to the door; his shoulders were hunched and tense, rock-hard through his blue Oxford shirt; his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his trousers, and it looked as though his fists were clenched.
She hesitated just inside the room and said quietly, "Doctor?"
Startled, he swung round to look at her, and in that moment she saw his unguarded expression. It was haunted, anguished; two damp tracks glistened down his cheeks. She was reminded, inevitably, of the first time she'd seen him truly broken: on level 1 of Henry Van Statten's bunker, facing her and what they had then thought to be the only Dalek to survive the Time War. His agony and grief had burst out in a single sentence that had brought tears to her eyes.
Oh, Rose. They're all dead!
But this was a different man. Where his previous self had worn his bad-boy image for all to see, this one was less reserved, though somehow even more stoic. He turned away from her again and ran his hands over his face casually, wiping away the tears. "Rose," he said, his voice full of forced jollity. "I didn't expect you to be up. I've got the repairs done, and I was trying to decide where to go after we've seen the star born." He bounced around the console to the other side, though there was a weight to him that wasn't usually there, and grinned at her, though it was almost more a grimace. "The Vorkellian home world passes through a huge asteroid belt once a year, and the meteor shower makes your Perseids look like a child's sparkler. What say we-"
"Doctor," Rose said again, more desperately this time because his attempt to hide his feelings was breaking her heart. "The TARDIS brought me out here."
"She did?" There didn't seem to be any change to his tone. No reaction at all. She couldn't read him; his defences were too well-constructed. Rose stepped farther into the room, leaned against one of the support pillars.
"Yeah. She's been talking to me. Well, not talking; more images, really. Feelings."
"That's what I said earlier-it's how she communicates. Sometimes they're strong enough that it's almost like words, though." The false grin flashed. "I told you she liked you! She doesn't often communicate with anyone but me. Well, there aren't many whose minds are open enough, for one thing, and not many she'd want to talk to, for another. You've made a friend. I'm glad; she could use another one." He patted the console affectionately.
He wasn't going to make this easy on her, that was clear, and she didn't know how to be tactful about it anyway. Best to just blurt it out. "I know where we are," she said.
"In orbit around a largish chunk of black rock, vaguely spherical in shape, in the constellation Kasterborous. Galactic coordinates ten-zero-eleven-zero-zero by zero-two from galactic zero centre, about 250 million light years away from Earth." He was flipping switches on the console. "Bit boring, really. The Vorkellian home world is much more interesting."
Rose felt her eyes prickling with tears. The TARDIS was telling her in emotions that had no words what he was doing: pushing away the guilt and grief and horror at his own actions, not to make himself feel better, but to prevent her from being wrapped up in it. He didn't want her to feel tied to his grief. But by dint of being his companion, being his friend, she already was.
"It's Gallifrey, isn't it?" she asked softly. He froze in mid-motion, hand on a control lever. The tension was back in his shoulders, and his head dropped a little, turned away from her. She swallowed, and repeated, "We're in orbit around Gallifrey. Your planet."
His pain was palpable, almost tangible. She desperately wanted to stop there, to spare him the pain; she would have stopped without the TARDIS egging her on. "She brought you here because you need to mourn," Rose continued, watching the Doctor carefully for any sign of reaction, but he remained perfectly still, perfectly silent. She couldn't see his face. "You've never properly mourned your planet and your people, and you need to. But your people mourn together, not alone. So I'm here."
His head came up suddenly, and she almost flinched at the expression on his face. "We mourn together," he repeated harshly. "But you're not from Gallifrey. You didn't know it. You don't remember it. I can't mourn with you, Rose Tyler, because you don't mourn for it." He released the controls and pushed himself away from the console, turning his back to her and folding his arms protectively across his chest. His muscles quivered, and his breathing had roughened.
It took all the courage she had to step forward, not back. "I was never physically there," she agreed. "But the TARDIS was, and she's in my head. I can experience anything she did." Hoping this wasn't as supremely stupid as she was afraid it was, she closed her eyes and asked the TARDIS for help.
The TARDIS sent silent approval as the images came, slowly enough that Rose could describe them in words. "The sky was burnt-orange," she said. "Everything's sort of a warm amber in its light, like seeing the world through sunglasses." She took a deep breath, and though there was nothing there to smell, the scent memory was rich and clear. "Gallifrey smelled of cloves and mint and powdered ginger, like a shop in a Moroccan bazaar. The trees were bright, so bright, with silver leaves that chimed in the wind. And then there's the Citadel-so beautiful, climbing to the sky, all marble and white limestone. The Panopticon at its centre, also beautiful, but dangerous, powerful, full of politics and controversy. And the Academy, the seat of so much learning, so much experimentation. So much maturing-so many who never matured at all."
She thought she heard a sound from his direction-something soft, muffled. It made her heart leap with a mixture of fear and hope, but she kept her eyes closed, continued her narration. The words weren't even really hers, she realised; the TARDIS was somehow providing most of it, including the names she hadn't known. "And the people," she went on. "Pompous know-it-alls, some of them, willing to sacrifice the lives of millions in the name of non-interference-and yet they were capable of so much love, so much amazing work, so much good. They lived and fought and loved and died and did all the things that beings do. They cared for the Looms, for the next generation of Gallifreyans; they taught future Time Lords at the Academy; some of them even took a stand and left the Citadel to live as Outsiders. Pretentious and stagnant, perhaps; stuffy and cold, definitely; but still your people. Still your world."
Another sound, like a strained sob. Rose opened her eyes and saw the Doctor bent forward, hands to his face, shoulders shaking. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she obeyed the TARDIS's silent urging and went to him, touched him tentatively. He turned blindly and slid his arms around her, burying his face against her shoulder as he wept. She held him tightly, feeling her own tears spill over at his agony. "They're gone," he choked. "All of them, everyone, guilty and innocent, young and old. I killed them. I destroyed my entire species, Rose. And I did it for nothing, because the Daleks survived. The bloody Daleks survived, and my people are gone, and I'm all alone."
"I'm here, Doctor," she whispered. "For as long as I live, I'm here." Her hand came up to caress his hair, and she held him, rocking very slightly side to side, murmuring softly as he finally let go of some of the grief and guilt that had eaten at him for so very long.
At last his sobs began to quiet, his muscles to relax. She turned her head slightly, kissed his cheek. "You're not alone," she breathed again against his ear. "I'm here."
His arms tightened slightly, and he lifted his head, resting his forehead against hers. His face was wet with tears, his eyes bloodshot. "I know," he said softly. "I know. Thank you."
And he kissed her.
It was a soft kiss at first. Delicate, light, just a brush of lips on lips. Then another, pressing slightly harder. A third, lightly capturing her bottom lip between both of his. And then he shifted and she shifted and somehow her bottom was perched on the console railing and her legs were wrapped around him and he was kissing her desperately, one hand in her hair, the other stroking up and down her back, and he couldn't stop and she didn't want him to. She could feel what he felt, filtered through the TARDIS: grief, guilt, self-loathing, helplessness, hopelessness-
But no, not quite hopeless. There was a small spark of hope. It was her. Rose Tyler, who knew what he was, knew what he'd done, had seen it, had lived it, and yet still came to him, still held him, still…still loved him, as he loved her.
Yes, yes, Rose thought with all her might as his mouth trailed down her throat. I do love you, Doctor, I do. It was the kind of thing she couldn't say aloud, any more than he could, but it was impossible that he should not know how she felt, just as she knew how he felt about her-had known it long before the TARDIS had told her.
He pulled away and looked down at her, staring into her eyes for a long, silent moment. His hair was a mess from her roaming hands, his face still streaked with tears, but it was his gaze that captured her heart. There were no barriers any more. It was open and vulnerable and aching with pain and desire and love. "I-" he began, haltingly, and she could sense how difficult this was for him. "Rose, I-I need…"
"I know," she said, because he didn't seem able to articulate it, and kissed him again. "S'all right. I want it, too."
"Do you?" he murmured. A hand cupped her cheek, thumb caressing her cheekbone. "Do you, Rose Tyler? Because once we take this step-"
"There's never been any turning back," she interrupted. "Not since Utah. Not in all these months. I know what I want, Doctor, and it's you. S'always been you."
And because she knew it would be up to her to make the first move, she untied the sash of her dressing gown and slid the garment down and off her arms, exposing her brief satin night-dress. Tugging her hands free of the sleeves, she twined her fingers into his hair again and brought him down for another kiss.
He groaned deep in his throat and wrapped his arms round her, pulling her tightly against him and lifting her away from the console, only to swing around and set her down on the jump seat. Long fingers slid under the hem and traced up over her hips to her waist before he broke the kiss long enough to pull the night-dress up and over her head, tossing it aside. Her own hands reached for his tie as his mouth found hers again, his tongue meeting and caressing hers as his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs fanning her nipples and dragging a groan from her as well.
The hard, hot, desperate pace of earlier still fired in their veins. She tugged his tie loose and started on his shirt buttons, but he batted her hands away and pulled the shirt open, sending buttons flying. She fumbled with the buckle of his belt, managing to get it open, moving on to the fastener and zip of his trousers. He struggled with the cuffs of his shirt for a moment, then gave up and left the shirt on as he tugged trousers and pants down far enough to free his erection. Sliding his hands beneath her thighs, he pulled her forward to the edge of the seat and with one swift, sure movement, buried himself inside her with a gasp of pleasure.
Rose whimpered and wrapped her legs round him again, pulling him closer. There was nothing romantic about this joining; it was rough and frantic and deep and hard, and she clutched at him as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, listening to his uneven breathing and the harsh, gutteral sounds that seemed to be dragged almost unwillingly from him. His hands cupped her bottom, lifting her to meet him, his fingers digging almost painfully into her soft flesh, but she couldn't care. Her whole being was too wrapped up in him, in them, in the pleasure that was building deep inside her and growing, bubbling up from her centre toward her heart and along every nerve and fibre.
"Rose," the Doctor panted in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Oh, Rose."
She came apart, shuddering beneath him as the pleasure spilled over and seized her throat and forced from her a long, low, keening cry that seemed to spur him on. Growling something incoherent, he slid one hand up along her back, holding her close as his hips jerked in a sudden spasm. His back arched and he grimaced, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut as he gave a gutteral, gasping moan, every muscle rock-hard, and she felt him swell and surge within her, his whole body quivering in reaction.
After a long moment he collapsed forward, head on her shoulder, panting as he held onto her. She ran her hands over his cotton-clad shoulders soothingly. Her heart was so full she thought it might burst, but there was a faint shimmer of worry beneath it. She knew he'd never intended to take their relationship to this level; if she hadn't caught him at a vulnerable time, this would never have happened. Was this to be a one-off? Would he try to take them back to the relationship they'd had before? Or even worse, would he take her home, back to the Powell Estates and her mother, because he'd crossed a line he'd not meant to cross?
The Doctor raised his head and kissed her again. Softer, this time. His arms loosened, released her, though his hands continued to rest on her hips as he disengaged slowly. Rose unlocked her legs from around him as well, letting them settle to either side of his thighs. Her hands slid down his arms, then back up to rest on his bare chest. She could feel the beating of his hearts under her palms, their rhythm slowing back to normal.
He broke the kiss and looked down into her eyes, brows furrowed slightly. She tensed, preparing herself for whatever he was going to say, lining up counter-arguments in her mind.
"That can't be a comfortable position," he said.
She blinked, taken aback, only just realising that she did indeed have a crick in her neck from the way she'd been leaning against the back of the jump seat. He pulled her up to a much more comfortable position, one hand rising to massage the muscle that had begun to knot. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said, and managed a small smile. "You?"
His eyes closed briefly, then opened again. There was still pain there, but it wasn't the soul-deep agony she'd seen before. "Not quite," he said quietly. "I don't know that I'll ever be. But…" He smiled, and it was a proper smile this time. "At least I know I'm not alone."
The tension left her, and her smile broadened as the TARDIS purred in her mind. "Never," she said, and kissed him.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Claim: Doctor/Rose
Rating: Hard R
Prompt: Cemetery
Word Count: 4982
Spoilers: Mentions of Parting of the Ways and Dalek, but no specific spoilers for s2.
Summary: Written for 50_smutlets. The TARDIS knows that the Doctor's never truly mourned Gallifrey, so she takes things into her own-er, hands? Or, rather, Rose's.
x-posted at aibhinn, 50_smutlets, and time_and_chips.
The Doctor looked up as Rose entered the TARDIS, and noticed immediately that her eyes and nose were red. She'd clearly been weeping, though she was dry-eyed now. They'd stopped to visit her mum, and as had become her habit, she'd told the Doctor she'd wanted to go to her dad's grave before they left.
He'd offered to go along, as he always did, but she'd declined with a smile, as she always did. It was a thing she had to do alone, and the Doctor respected that. He didn't understand it, but he respected it. On Gallifrey, the dead were honoured communally; groups of friends and family would travel to the gravesite or (more commonly, as Time Lords rarely left bodies in places that were easily accessible) memorial, and they remembered together. Of course, Gallifreyan life spans were much longer than humans', so it wasn't uncommon for an entire clan of several hundred people to visit a single memorial service.
Perhaps that was why he'd never gone back to the place his planet had been. There was no one left to mourn with.
"Where to next?" Rose asked, as if all was perfectly normal. She never wanted a lot of attention paid to her visits to the cemetery, and so he pretended nothing was out of the ordinary.
"The TARDIS wants a little maintenance, so into the Vortex for awhile. After that, there's a star ready to be born near Arcturus; I thought we might go take in the sights."
Rose leaned her hip against the console. "I've never worked out just how sentient the TARDIS is," she mused. "When you say she wants some maintenance, do you mean it the way Mum would say 'the flat wants a good hoovering,' or the way I'd say 'I want an order of chips and a Coke'?"
He grinned. "Yep!" he said brightly and unhelpfully, then flipped a couple of switches and the time rotor pulsed into life, causing the ship to begin its familiar shuddering. She shifted automatically to balance against the motion and mock-glared at the Doctor, who continued his unrepentant grinning but added, "She's as sentient as you or I, though a far different type of being. And she's quite old-older than I am, even." A circuit spat a spark and he jerked his hand away, sucking on his finger. "Ow," he complained.
"Serve you right," Rose said cheekily, "talkin' about a lady's age. Besides, age doesn't matter; the TARDIS is the greatest ship in the universe."
The TARDIS purred in the Doctor's mind, and made it known that she had always quite liked this companion. The Doctor was amused and pleased, but feigned irritation. "Quit buttering up my ship, Rose Tyler. Ooh," he added, frowning. "That's a nasty mental image. Where did that phrase ever come from, anyway? Why would smearing congealed milk fat on someone be the equivalent of complimenting them for the sake of getting what you want? Unless it was some sort of strange sexual practice, though I must admit, I don't recall anything in human history about butter as an acceptable aid to flirtation."
The TARDIS equivalent of a raspberry blew in his mind as Rose laughed. "Careful, Doctor, or you'll find she's disguised the door to your room or somethin'. Hell hath no fury, an' all that."
"Nah," the Doctor said, patting the TARDIS affectionately. "We've been through a lot together, the two of us. Sometimes she knows what's best for me better than I do."
There was an odd mental rumble from the TARDIS at that. Not displeased; quite the opposite, in fact. It was as though she'd put two and two together and finally made a connection. Intrigued, he sent her a silent query, but received no answer. All right, he thought, she was going to be coy. She was good at that.
"Well, I'm off to have a nice, hot shower," Rose said, pushing away from the console with a pat and heading for her room. "How long we gonna be in the Vortex?"
"Oh…." He blew out a breath, contemplating. "Couple days, probably. I haven't got my previous self's way with machinery, so it'll take me a little longer in this body, but I'll get there in the end." There was another tickle in his mind, and he grinned again. "The TARDIS is planning to provide you with all the steaming hot water you could ever use, by the by, so feel free to go boil yourself. She'll probably fetch a silk dressing gown or something from the wardrobe, as well. In fact, don't be too surprised if you come out of the bathroom to find a bedroom that resembles the Taj Mahal. She's quite pleased with you, she is."
Rose smiled a little wistfully. "I wish I could talk with her the way you do."
"Well, we don't talk exactly. Not in words. It's feelings, impressions, images. Takes years for a TARDIS and Time Lord to truly bond." He noted her disappointment and added, "But, you know, she likes you well enough that she may just decide to take you up on that request."
Rose beamed at him, then turned and left, humming. He didn't really know why he'd said that; the TARDIS had never spoken to any of his companions, except perhaps Romana. "Did you slip that into my head, clever girl?" he asked with a gentle caress.
The TARDIS responded with a definite affirmative, reiterating how much she liked and approved of Rose. He smiled. "Good," he said softly. "Because I do as well."
Dalek ships, hundreds of thousands of them, swarmed Gallifrey. The Time Lords fought with the desperation of the lost, and were being decimated. Telepathic screams filled his head as he frantically worked to put together their last possible weapon: a Delta wave. If he could just get it calibrated properly so it didn't bypass the regeneration gene-
"The Time Lords shall be no more!" the sharp, metallic voice of the Daleks boomed into his mind. "The Daleks shall be the only race in the universe, as it was always meant to be."
"Not while I'm alive!" he shouted furiously, fingers still working. Almost there-so close-
"They're closing in!" Romana said, the telepathic message shouted almost as loudly as the Daleks'. "They're nearly to the Panopticon. Theta, you know what happens if they get in. If you're going to do it, do it now!"
"I can't! It's not been refined. If I set it off now, it'll kill everything-us, them, all of it!"
"They're breaking through!" another voice shouted.
"We can't hold!" a third said, ending on a long, drawn-out scream of agony as his ship was hit. His scream, his ship's scream, echoing together, then falling abruptly silent.
"Theta!" Romana thundered, in a voice that pled as much as it ordered. The TARDIS urged him in wordless emotions to comply: Terror, hope, encouragement.
"We'll die!" he protested.
Images of Daleks fading into nothingness. They'd die too, she meant. A fair trade.
He stared at the switch in front of him, jaw clenched. Murder-suicide. No: extinction. Genocide. The worst mass murderer in the history of the universe.
Except for the Daleks.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured. To the TARDIS, to the fleet, to the planet below.
And hit the switch.
***
Rose woke with a jerk, the screams of the dying still echoing in her ears. Her heart thumped almost audibly in her chest. "What the hell was that?" she asked aloud, when she could get her breath. She'd never dreamed so vividly before. And who was Theta?
An odd feeling made itself known in her mind. It was tentative, as though asking for permission to be there-longingly, she thought. The feeling was definitely female, even more definitely alien. The weight of years was heavy in it, and the weight of loneliness as well.
It couldn't be. Could it? "TARDIS, is that you?" she asked aloud.
The response was affirmative, and again the request came for permission to be in Rose's mind. She was polite, the TARDIS, Rose thought, and smiled. "Yeah, all right," she said. "I asked for it, after all."
A sudden onslaught of images and sensations ripped through her brain, far too much for her to make sense of. Crying out in fear in surprise, she flailed, looking for something sturdy to hold onto-and suddenly the images pulled away. There was an air of apology and embarrassment. The TARDIS had forgotten Rose was human.
"No, s'all right," Rose said immediately, if shakily. "Just slow it down a bit, yeah? Let me get used to it. I've only got five senses, not forty or ninety-three or whatever the Doctor's got." The number twenty-seven appeared primly in her forebrain for a moment, and Rose grinned. "All right, twenty-seven," she said.
There was a sense of the TARDIS's amusement, then she seemed to sober and the number was replaced with a flash of image from Rose's dream along with a picture of the Doctor she knew standing in the control room, a tear running slowly down each cheek as he stared at the monitor. The tear-tracks shone in the muted light of the time rotor, and he appeared rooted to the spot. Transfixed.
Alone, the TARDIS communicated without words, and sent Rose an understanding of how wrong that was. No Time Lord should be alone while he mourned.
"Mourned?" Rose frowned. "What's he mourning?"
Another flash from her dream, the image of the deaths of millions. The death of a world.
Understanding clicked, and Rose's jaw dropped open. "You mean-that dream-it wasn't just a dream, was it?" she said, horrified. "That was the Time War. When his people died." A flash of memory, her own this time: his earlier self on Satellite Five, working on the Delta wave generator which he was planning to use to destroy the Daleks. Rose felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. "Oh, God," she said, her voice stunned. "He-he did it, didn't he? He killed the Daleks, but destroyed his own planet at the same time. And-and he knew it would happen, but he didn't have any choice. He had to do it."
A sad affirmative, and a gentle urging for her to go to him.
Rose felt troubled. "I-don't want to intrude," she said slowly. "I mean, if he wants to be alone-"
Another flash of the dying world, and then a longer, more detailed image: hundreds of people gathered round a stone obelisk, about six feet high, inscribed with a name. No, not people-Gallifreyans. Time Lords. None of them touched each other in any way, and yet they were connected, remembering together the life that had once been. A Gallifreyan memorial, the TARDIS informed her. Mourning together. Paying tribute together to the person who had been. And yet the Doctor was alone in the console room, with his memories and his grief. It was wrong.
"But why is he remembering now?" Rose asked, confused. "Is he always like this when I'm asleep?" The thought was even more troubling. Had she been leaving him alone to his grief all these months?
No, the TARDIS communicated, again wordlessly. To Rose's surprise, there was an almost sheepish overtone to the ship's 'voice'. In flashes of emotion and image too quick to make individual sense of, Rose was given to understand that the TARDIS had picked up on his need to mourn the way she had, at her father's grave, and had taken him to the place where Gallifrey had once been. He had never been back since the war ended, and he needed it. More than that, he needed her. Right now, with him. Sometimes she knows what's best for me better than I do, the Doctor's voice echoed in her memory from earlier.
Rose nodded. "I see," she said, and somewhat to her surprise, she really did. Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and into her dressing gown. He had always allowed her to mourn the way she needed to-first taking her to 1987 so she could hold her dad's hand as he'd died (and how she'd cocked that one up); then comforting her after that dreadful day, when he should rightfully have been bloody angry with her; then letting her visit her dad's grave, alone, every time they went back to London, and never once asking her questions or pushing her.
He'd always been there for her. It was time for her to be there for him.
She padded barefoot out of her room and down the hall, the TARDIS a comforting presence in the back of her mind. She didn't exactly know how the Doctor would take being interrupted, especially as he hadn't planned for the TARDIS to bring them here. Suddenly discovering himself in the place where his planet had been had to be a shock, like a fist to the gut. His emotional defences might not survive it, and he might not want her to see that. He had a lot of defences, her Doctor. His new self appeared easier to reach than his terse, intense, leather-jacketed self had been, but the silly grin, manic energy and incessant babble were just another form of barrier. Perhaps even a stronger barrier. When he'd brooded and growled, it was impossible to forget he'd been all but destroyed mentally and emotionally and physically not so long before he met her. But how easy was it to forget all that when it was hidden behind banter and grins?
Too easy.
He had his back to her when she entered the control room; just like in the vision the TARDIS had sent her, he stood at the console, staring at the monitor screen as though unable to tear his eyes away. His suit jacket was off and draped over the railing next to the door; his shoulders were hunched and tense, rock-hard through his blue Oxford shirt; his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his trousers, and it looked as though his fists were clenched.
She hesitated just inside the room and said quietly, "Doctor?"
Startled, he swung round to look at her, and in that moment she saw his unguarded expression. It was haunted, anguished; two damp tracks glistened down his cheeks. She was reminded, inevitably, of the first time she'd seen him truly broken: on level 1 of Henry Van Statten's bunker, facing her and what they had then thought to be the only Dalek to survive the Time War. His agony and grief had burst out in a single sentence that had brought tears to her eyes.
Oh, Rose. They're all dead!
But this was a different man. Where his previous self had worn his bad-boy image for all to see, this one was less reserved, though somehow even more stoic. He turned away from her again and ran his hands over his face casually, wiping away the tears. "Rose," he said, his voice full of forced jollity. "I didn't expect you to be up. I've got the repairs done, and I was trying to decide where to go after we've seen the star born." He bounced around the console to the other side, though there was a weight to him that wasn't usually there, and grinned at her, though it was almost more a grimace. "The Vorkellian home world passes through a huge asteroid belt once a year, and the meteor shower makes your Perseids look like a child's sparkler. What say we-"
"Doctor," Rose said again, more desperately this time because his attempt to hide his feelings was breaking her heart. "The TARDIS brought me out here."
"She did?" There didn't seem to be any change to his tone. No reaction at all. She couldn't read him; his defences were too well-constructed. Rose stepped farther into the room, leaned against one of the support pillars.
"Yeah. She's been talking to me. Well, not talking; more images, really. Feelings."
"That's what I said earlier-it's how she communicates. Sometimes they're strong enough that it's almost like words, though." The false grin flashed. "I told you she liked you! She doesn't often communicate with anyone but me. Well, there aren't many whose minds are open enough, for one thing, and not many she'd want to talk to, for another. You've made a friend. I'm glad; she could use another one." He patted the console affectionately.
He wasn't going to make this easy on her, that was clear, and she didn't know how to be tactful about it anyway. Best to just blurt it out. "I know where we are," she said.
"In orbit around a largish chunk of black rock, vaguely spherical in shape, in the constellation Kasterborous. Galactic coordinates ten-zero-eleven-zero-zero by zero-two from galactic zero centre, about 250 million light years away from Earth." He was flipping switches on the console. "Bit boring, really. The Vorkellian home world is much more interesting."
Rose felt her eyes prickling with tears. The TARDIS was telling her in emotions that had no words what he was doing: pushing away the guilt and grief and horror at his own actions, not to make himself feel better, but to prevent her from being wrapped up in it. He didn't want her to feel tied to his grief. But by dint of being his companion, being his friend, she already was.
"It's Gallifrey, isn't it?" she asked softly. He froze in mid-motion, hand on a control lever. The tension was back in his shoulders, and his head dropped a little, turned away from her. She swallowed, and repeated, "We're in orbit around Gallifrey. Your planet."
His pain was palpable, almost tangible. She desperately wanted to stop there, to spare him the pain; she would have stopped without the TARDIS egging her on. "She brought you here because you need to mourn," Rose continued, watching the Doctor carefully for any sign of reaction, but he remained perfectly still, perfectly silent. She couldn't see his face. "You've never properly mourned your planet and your people, and you need to. But your people mourn together, not alone. So I'm here."
His head came up suddenly, and she almost flinched at the expression on his face. "We mourn together," he repeated harshly. "But you're not from Gallifrey. You didn't know it. You don't remember it. I can't mourn with you, Rose Tyler, because you don't mourn for it." He released the controls and pushed himself away from the console, turning his back to her and folding his arms protectively across his chest. His muscles quivered, and his breathing had roughened.
It took all the courage she had to step forward, not back. "I was never physically there," she agreed. "But the TARDIS was, and she's in my head. I can experience anything she did." Hoping this wasn't as supremely stupid as she was afraid it was, she closed her eyes and asked the TARDIS for help.
The TARDIS sent silent approval as the images came, slowly enough that Rose could describe them in words. "The sky was burnt-orange," she said. "Everything's sort of a warm amber in its light, like seeing the world through sunglasses." She took a deep breath, and though there was nothing there to smell, the scent memory was rich and clear. "Gallifrey smelled of cloves and mint and powdered ginger, like a shop in a Moroccan bazaar. The trees were bright, so bright, with silver leaves that chimed in the wind. And then there's the Citadel-so beautiful, climbing to the sky, all marble and white limestone. The Panopticon at its centre, also beautiful, but dangerous, powerful, full of politics and controversy. And the Academy, the seat of so much learning, so much experimentation. So much maturing-so many who never matured at all."
She thought she heard a sound from his direction-something soft, muffled. It made her heart leap with a mixture of fear and hope, but she kept her eyes closed, continued her narration. The words weren't even really hers, she realised; the TARDIS was somehow providing most of it, including the names she hadn't known. "And the people," she went on. "Pompous know-it-alls, some of them, willing to sacrifice the lives of millions in the name of non-interference-and yet they were capable of so much love, so much amazing work, so much good. They lived and fought and loved and died and did all the things that beings do. They cared for the Looms, for the next generation of Gallifreyans; they taught future Time Lords at the Academy; some of them even took a stand and left the Citadel to live as Outsiders. Pretentious and stagnant, perhaps; stuffy and cold, definitely; but still your people. Still your world."
Another sound, like a strained sob. Rose opened her eyes and saw the Doctor bent forward, hands to his face, shoulders shaking. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she obeyed the TARDIS's silent urging and went to him, touched him tentatively. He turned blindly and slid his arms around her, burying his face against her shoulder as he wept. She held him tightly, feeling her own tears spill over at his agony. "They're gone," he choked. "All of them, everyone, guilty and innocent, young and old. I killed them. I destroyed my entire species, Rose. And I did it for nothing, because the Daleks survived. The bloody Daleks survived, and my people are gone, and I'm all alone."
"I'm here, Doctor," she whispered. "For as long as I live, I'm here." Her hand came up to caress his hair, and she held him, rocking very slightly side to side, murmuring softly as he finally let go of some of the grief and guilt that had eaten at him for so very long.
At last his sobs began to quiet, his muscles to relax. She turned her head slightly, kissed his cheek. "You're not alone," she breathed again against his ear. "I'm here."
His arms tightened slightly, and he lifted his head, resting his forehead against hers. His face was wet with tears, his eyes bloodshot. "I know," he said softly. "I know. Thank you."
And he kissed her.
It was a soft kiss at first. Delicate, light, just a brush of lips on lips. Then another, pressing slightly harder. A third, lightly capturing her bottom lip between both of his. And then he shifted and she shifted and somehow her bottom was perched on the console railing and her legs were wrapped around him and he was kissing her desperately, one hand in her hair, the other stroking up and down her back, and he couldn't stop and she didn't want him to. She could feel what he felt, filtered through the TARDIS: grief, guilt, self-loathing, helplessness, hopelessness-
But no, not quite hopeless. There was a small spark of hope. It was her. Rose Tyler, who knew what he was, knew what he'd done, had seen it, had lived it, and yet still came to him, still held him, still…still loved him, as he loved her.
Yes, yes, Rose thought with all her might as his mouth trailed down her throat. I do love you, Doctor, I do. It was the kind of thing she couldn't say aloud, any more than he could, but it was impossible that he should not know how she felt, just as she knew how he felt about her-had known it long before the TARDIS had told her.
He pulled away and looked down at her, staring into her eyes for a long, silent moment. His hair was a mess from her roaming hands, his face still streaked with tears, but it was his gaze that captured her heart. There were no barriers any more. It was open and vulnerable and aching with pain and desire and love. "I-" he began, haltingly, and she could sense how difficult this was for him. "Rose, I-I need…"
"I know," she said, because he didn't seem able to articulate it, and kissed him again. "S'all right. I want it, too."
"Do you?" he murmured. A hand cupped her cheek, thumb caressing her cheekbone. "Do you, Rose Tyler? Because once we take this step-"
"There's never been any turning back," she interrupted. "Not since Utah. Not in all these months. I know what I want, Doctor, and it's you. S'always been you."
And because she knew it would be up to her to make the first move, she untied the sash of her dressing gown and slid the garment down and off her arms, exposing her brief satin night-dress. Tugging her hands free of the sleeves, she twined her fingers into his hair again and brought him down for another kiss.
He groaned deep in his throat and wrapped his arms round her, pulling her tightly against him and lifting her away from the console, only to swing around and set her down on the jump seat. Long fingers slid under the hem and traced up over her hips to her waist before he broke the kiss long enough to pull the night-dress up and over her head, tossing it aside. Her own hands reached for his tie as his mouth found hers again, his tongue meeting and caressing hers as his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs fanning her nipples and dragging a groan from her as well.
The hard, hot, desperate pace of earlier still fired in their veins. She tugged his tie loose and started on his shirt buttons, but he batted her hands away and pulled the shirt open, sending buttons flying. She fumbled with the buckle of his belt, managing to get it open, moving on to the fastener and zip of his trousers. He struggled with the cuffs of his shirt for a moment, then gave up and left the shirt on as he tugged trousers and pants down far enough to free his erection. Sliding his hands beneath her thighs, he pulled her forward to the edge of the seat and with one swift, sure movement, buried himself inside her with a gasp of pleasure.
Rose whimpered and wrapped her legs round him again, pulling him closer. There was nothing romantic about this joining; it was rough and frantic and deep and hard, and she clutched at him as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, listening to his uneven breathing and the harsh, gutteral sounds that seemed to be dragged almost unwillingly from him. His hands cupped her bottom, lifting her to meet him, his fingers digging almost painfully into her soft flesh, but she couldn't care. Her whole being was too wrapped up in him, in them, in the pleasure that was building deep inside her and growing, bubbling up from her centre toward her heart and along every nerve and fibre.
"Rose," the Doctor panted in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Oh, Rose."
She came apart, shuddering beneath him as the pleasure spilled over and seized her throat and forced from her a long, low, keening cry that seemed to spur him on. Growling something incoherent, he slid one hand up along her back, holding her close as his hips jerked in a sudden spasm. His back arched and he grimaced, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut as he gave a gutteral, gasping moan, every muscle rock-hard, and she felt him swell and surge within her, his whole body quivering in reaction.
After a long moment he collapsed forward, head on her shoulder, panting as he held onto her. She ran her hands over his cotton-clad shoulders soothingly. Her heart was so full she thought it might burst, but there was a faint shimmer of worry beneath it. She knew he'd never intended to take their relationship to this level; if she hadn't caught him at a vulnerable time, this would never have happened. Was this to be a one-off? Would he try to take them back to the relationship they'd had before? Or even worse, would he take her home, back to the Powell Estates and her mother, because he'd crossed a line he'd not meant to cross?
The Doctor raised his head and kissed her again. Softer, this time. His arms loosened, released her, though his hands continued to rest on her hips as he disengaged slowly. Rose unlocked her legs from around him as well, letting them settle to either side of his thighs. Her hands slid down his arms, then back up to rest on his bare chest. She could feel the beating of his hearts under her palms, their rhythm slowing back to normal.
He broke the kiss and looked down into her eyes, brows furrowed slightly. She tensed, preparing herself for whatever he was going to say, lining up counter-arguments in her mind.
"That can't be a comfortable position," he said.
She blinked, taken aback, only just realising that she did indeed have a crick in her neck from the way she'd been leaning against the back of the jump seat. He pulled her up to a much more comfortable position, one hand rising to massage the muscle that had begun to knot. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said, and managed a small smile. "You?"
His eyes closed briefly, then opened again. There was still pain there, but it wasn't the soul-deep agony she'd seen before. "Not quite," he said quietly. "I don't know that I'll ever be. But…" He smiled, and it was a proper smile this time. "At least I know I'm not alone."
The tension left her, and her smile broadened as the TARDIS purred in her mind. "Never," she said, and kissed him.