Don't Blink - 36/?
Title: Don't Blink - 36/?
Characters: Ten, Rose
Summary: AU. What if Rose had stayed through Doomsday and was the one to end up in 1969 with the Doctor? How would they get back to their proper time? Would they want to?
Rating: PG
Beta: nattieb
My beta, nattieb, is just the best. She makes time to read these chapters over and has wonderful insights about changes that could be made. She pointed out that while the police were calling the Doctor "Mr. Smith", earlier in the story they were being introduced as the Doctor and Rose Tyler. I went back and changed Smith to Tyler for the sake of continuity. Also, it definitely suits the Doctor to have the police use the wrong alias, given what he now knows about Torchwood tracking down all references to him.
(ch 1) (ch 2) (ch 3) (ch 4) (ch 5) (ch 6) (ch 7) (ch 8) (ch 9) (ch 10) (ch 11) (ch 12) (ch 13) (ch 14) (ch 15) (ch 16) (ch 17) (ch 18)
(ch 19) (ch 20) (ch 21) (ch 22) (ch 23) (ch 24) (ch 25) (ch 26) (ch 27) (ch 28) (ch 29) (ch 30) (ch 31) (ch 32) (ch 33) (ch 34) (ch 35)
“Mr. Tyler?”
The Doctor was aware of DI Cutler speaking, but he couldn’t make out whether the man was annoyed, concerned or indifferent. He didn’t care. The painful memories had exploded out of hiding, unexpectedly and without hesitation, and the pain and suddenness of it all had left the Doctor momentarily stunned.
Now he forced himself to fold up all those memories, to fold them up into little pieces and try to force them back into the boxes at the back of his mind, where they usually remained.
“Mr. Tyler,” Cutler said again. With the shock wearing off, the Doctor could hear definite annoyance in his voice.
The Doctor made himself focus. “I didn’t kill that man,” he said quietly. Gallifrey burned behind his eyes. The consequences of what he had done threatened to choke him and for a split second he was that man again, the one in black leather who was so overwhelmed by guilt that he wanted to die, again and again and again until there were no more regenerations waiting for him.
“So you’re not a killer.” Cutler watched him closely, and the Doctor stared at him, trying to frame a reply. Would he have spoken in a prudent manner? Talk until he talked himself right into a padded jail cell trying to explain? He wasn’t given the chance to find out, because a knock on the door drew Cutler’s attention away.
“What is it?” he demanded irritably.
DI Rogers poked his head in. “A new development. See you a minute?”
“Right this moment?” Cutler said in annoyance.
“Yes.”
Cutler sighed, suddenly looking like what he was, a very tired public servant. “Of course.” Cutler glanced at the Doctor. “I’ll be right back.”
The Doctor stood where he was, gripping the back of the metal chair tightly and forcing himself to breathe slowly. He was furious with himself. He never, ever let the past affect him so deeply.
He needed to go. He needed to get the TARDIS back and get out of 1969, get out of a too-small flat and this too-small room, away from humans who had no problem living out the same small adventures each and every day.
A feeling like claustrophobia swept over him, and though he’d been managing to keep his feelings of rage and panic against his enforced stay in this decade in the same boxes as his memories of the Time War, he could pretend to himself for only so long.
The Doctor was a moment away from walking out the door and back to the flat to get Rose. A small part of him knew that this would cause chaos with the police and could send up red flags to UNIT and Torchwood, and he didn’t care. The pent-up anger welcomed a fight against Torchwood.
He didn’t move, only shifted his balance slightly from one foot to the other, preparing to take that first step to the door. He was prepared to do it and damn the consequences.
But the door opened before he could move any more, and standing there was a man in a dark-blue suit and blue tie, holding a briefcase and wearing a cautious look on his face, and the novelty of this person calmed the Doctor’s anger and returned him to sanity as quickly as sanity had fled just moments before.
“Hello, Mr. Tyler. I’m Peter Stanton. I’ve been hired as your solicitor.”
“I’m sorry?” the Doctor said automatically.
“I’m your solicitor.”
The Doctor watched the newcomer come in and close the door behind him. “I don’t have need of a solicitor.”
“Probably not,” the man agreed smoothly, “from what I hear regarding the current witness. But I’m here regardless.”
“Why?” the Doctor asked baldly.
“I work at the law firm of Trevellyn and Stanton,” the solicitor said, as if that explained everything.
The Doctor continued to stare steadily at him. “Trevellyn and Stanton?” he asked, stressing the second name.
Stanton cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “My grandfather,” he said modestly.
The Doctor slowly took his chair again. “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Stanton?” The Doctor crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back. He wished he’d thought to grab his coat - the room was on the cold side.
Stanton motioned to the table. “Do you mind?”
The Doctor waved a hand expansively. “Be my guest.”
Stanton sat in the other chair and peered at the table. He made a face of distaste and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “I was asked to come down by Mr. Trevellyn.” He carefully wiped at the table before setting his leather briefcase down on it and returning the handkerchief to his pocket.
The Doctor waited for further explanations, but none were forthcoming. It seemed like that sort of evening. “Who’s that?”
“Jeffrey Trevellyn. The Honorable Jeffrey Trevellyn,” he added when the Doctor didn’t so much as blink in acknowledgement.
The Doctor was running through the list of his acquaintances. The name was not familiar.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Does he sometimes, er... go by the name “the Doctor”, by any chance?” It wouldn’t be surprising if one of his earlier selves had caught wind of this somehow and sent help.
Stanton was looking extremely puzzled. “Jeff Trevellyn. One of our junior solicitors. I was told that he is a neighbor of yours. He spoke with your wife earlier. Someone called Rose? She said you’d been brought down for questioning after someone accused you of murder.”
The Doctor barely heard what he was saying. “Rose. Is Rose all right? Has something happened?” He started to stand up.
“She’s fine, Mr. Tyler. Jeff sent me to assist you.”
With the roar of worry for Rose fading away, he was able to focus on what the man was saying.
“Sorry, did you say that Jeff is a solicitor?”
“Yes. His father started the firm with my grandfather.”
“I had no idea,” the Doctor said mildly. “And an honorable, as well?”
“Not something he likes to bandy about very much,” Stanton said briefly. “He only joined the firm two years ago. As a favor to him, I agreed to come down and speak to you. He says you’re innocent.”
“I am.”
“Everyone says they’re innocent,” Stanton’s face hardened for a moment. “But Jeff seemed especially insistent. So is there anything I ought to know?”
The Doctor was getting impatient with all of this nonsense. “Apparently some poor bloke was killed in my building. Some upstairs neighbor that I’ve never seen before fingered me as the one who did it - with no proof whatsoever, I might add. And here I sit.”
“Yet you’ve not been arrested and charged with anything.”
“Well, it’s been on the word of another person who lives in my building.”
Stanton snorted. “Oh, I heard about her. The station will be talking about that one for a while. So she saw you and accused you of offing the man upstairs?”
“Pretty much.”
“Ridiculous.” Stanton muttered. “If there were any proof you’d have been arrested by now.”
Now there was a cheery sentiment, the Doctor thought.
“I’ll just wait with you, if that’s all right. They’ll be back to let us know what’s happening.”
“I thought I’d at least merit further questioning.” The Doctor heard the pique in his own voice and mentally slapped himself. Did he want to be arrested?
“Well, there’s no point in wishing to become a murder suspect, is there?” Stanton popped open his briefcase. “Mind if I read for a bit?”
“Not at all.”
In another time Stanton would have flipped open his mobile phone and begun reading something online. Tonight he took out a thick sheaf of papers and started to read, his eyes swiftly moving down the pages.
The Doctor forced himself to relax in his seat, focusing his mind on images Rose. He felt a faint thread of anxiety for her. There was a murderer on the loose somewhere, and she was alone.
Two hours and fifty-seven minutes passed before Cutler returned to the room.
“Mr. Tyler. You are free to go.”
The Doctor stared at him. “I am.”
“Mrs. Maddock may have been mistaken in accusing you. Someone has just confessed to the murder.”
The Doctor stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“You’re joking,” Stanton said at the same time.
“No, I’m not. A friend of the victim. An argument gone wrong, apparently. He came in to confess. The department sincerely apologizes for any inconvenience.”
Ordinarily the Doctor would have made a smart comeback. In this instance, though, he was almost paralyzed by the need to leave without making any sort of impression. Leaving the timelines intact was of the utmost importance, and he wouldn’t leave them intact if Torchwood found him. He couldn’t let them find him, he couldn’t let something happen to Rose.
“Oh,” was all he said. “Well.”
Stanton cleared his throat. “Very good. Thank you.”
Cutler was gone without another word. Stanton stood up and gathered his things. He held the door open for the Doctor and looked surprised to see him still sitting in the chair.
“Are you coming?”
“Yes,” the Doctor said slowly. “Sorry. It’s been rather a long night.”
Outside the room Stanton turned to the Doctor. “Good luck to you. I’m glad this worked out in your interests.”
“Thank you for coming down at this hour, Mr Stanton.” The Doctor shook his hand. “I appreciate it, even if you came for no reason.”
“Quite all right. Feel free to call if you ever have need.” Stanton handed the Doctor a business card and left. The Doctor watched him walk down the hallway, pausing to exchange some good-natured insults with an officer before leaving the station.
On his way past the front desk Rogers appeared from a doorway.
“Mr. Tyler. If you could just sign a few papers for us?”
“What sort of papers would I need to sign?” he asked warily.
“Just here at the front desk.” Rogers escorted him to the front area and motioned to the female officer stationed there to hand over a folder.
The female officer wore a bored look on her face as she held out a pen. The Doctor took the pen from her. As she got a good look at him she stood up straight and smiled, transforming from a tired woman in her forties to a woman ready to attract a man’s attention.
Rogers rolled his eyes.
The Doctor didn’t notice any of it. He was looking the papers over. Just general acknowledgments of police procedures. He scrawled something illegible across the dotted lines, eager to do whatever was necessary to be able to leave the police station.
“Have a good evening.” Rogers took the papers and vanished.
The female officer gave the Doctor a sympathetic smile. “That witness was dead drunk,” she confided in a low voice. “She couldn’t pick out her own identification when they asked her to.”
“She didn’t look drunk to me.” The Doctor frowned.
“Oh, the good ones never show it, do they? She’ll spend the night here - poor old thing fell asleep in her chair as they were questioning her.”
“Will she be all right?”
She snorted. “Oh, her type’s hard to kill, don’t worry.”
He smiled briefly at her and wondered why she blushed. “Thanks.” He turned to leave the front desk and nearly collided with a uniformed officer.
“Oops! Sorry,” he said, taking a step back.
The officer grunted but didn’t reply. It said a lot about the police department that the Doctor was not really surprised by this show of rudeness. As the officer walked down the hallway he passed by a stretch of unlit wall - the light was out above his head. Despite the darkness, the man seemed to glow.
Watching the Doctor walk away had been one of the most awful things she’d ever had to do. Despite his words to her, she grabbed her keys, ready to head to the police station, but something stopped her.
Neighbors had disappeared. A man was dead upstairs. He had begged her to stay where she was. The impulsive side of her nature fought her, but she managed to subdue it. Things weren’t the same here. They weren’t visiting this time and place, they were trapped here. She could not act the way she used to, no matter how badly she wanted to.
Rose peeked out the door, unable to stop. A uniformed officer stood at the foot of the stairs, letting through only other officers and tenants who could prove they lived on that floor. He nodded to Rose.
“Miss.”
“Hi,” she said, and closed the door, taking care to lock it.
The phone rang, and she rushed to pick it, only to be disappointed that it was Jeff.
Jeff demanded to know what was happening - he’d been talking to an officer on the street when he saw the Doctor walk out, escorted by the DIs. Rather than try and go back inside, he’d gone to the pub on the corner.
The pub’s background noise made it hard to hear him, but Rose told him everything that had happened, trying not to cry.
“Mrs. Maddock says she saw him that night.”
“Mrs. Maddock!” Jeff all but yelled down the line. “Mrs. Maddock is a gossip and a drunk,” Jeff said firmly. “Even Mrs. MacMurray has complained about her. She’s just doing it to get attention.”
“Who accuses someone of murder just to get attention?” Rose demanded, sniffing back her tears.
“Don’t worry, Rose.” Jeff’s voice got firmer, somehow, and more confident. “I’m going to ring a couple of people. Stay inside tonight.”
“He didn’t want me to go down there.” She hated how pitiful her voice sounded.
“Well, of course he didn’t.” The tone of his voice suggested that he didn’t know why she would ever think that was a good idea. “The station’s no place for a woman. I’ll take care of it.”
Seething at the suggestion that a woman couldn’t handle things on her own, Rose rang off. Her annoyance with Jeff was a welcome distraction from her panic, and she nursed it for several minutes.
The night grew later, and the television service shut off for the night. With nothing else to do Rose went to her bedroom to lie down and listen to the traffic. She knew she would never sleep that night.
He was there when she woke up. Rose pushed back the covers, blinking at the light coming in from the window. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and mascara still caked her lashes. Remembering what had happened, dread filled her and was about to jump out of bed and run to the police station, no matter what time it was.
Some slight movement stopped her before she’d even sat up. The Doctor was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, still dressed in the clothes he’d had on when he left the flat the night before. He sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed on her.
The breath left Rose’s lungs in one long rush. Tears of relief filled her eyes. “You’re back.” She got out of bed and walked swiftly over to him, sliding onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms, opened to welcome her, closed back around her. She felt him let out a deep breath and rest his head against hers.
“I was so worried,” she mumbled against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “They found the killer and let me go.”
“They did?” she said, still muffled against the fabric of her shirt.
“Yeah.” He was not inclined to go into more details. At the moment, he wanted nothing other than to simply sit with her, to feel her, alive and breathing in his arms.
But Rose abruptly pushed him away and stood up.
“You stupid bastard!” she snarled, hitting his arm as hard as she could.
“Ow!” He grabbed his shoulder. “What’d you do that for?”
“What for? What for?” Her voice rose with each word, and she looked around wildly for something to throw at him. “You left me here thinking they were gonna charge you with murder! The mighty Doctor couldn’t be bothered to let me know what was happening! At least you could have woken me when you came home!”
“You looked tired,” he said feebly, and that fueled her rage again.
“You, you-” She looked around for something hard enough to crack his impossible skull. Left with no options, she lifted her hand to smack him again. The Doctor, still sitting down, raised his hands to block his face.
Rose’s hand tangled in the chain she wore, and she grasped the little heart lock and key and started to pull.
“No!” The Doctor leapt up to stop her. “Not those.” His hand covered her fist, wrapped around the charms.
Rose sagged suddenly. “You’re making me daft,” she muttered, as exhausted as if she hadn’t slept at all. She sat down on the bed, rubbing at her face.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I was afraid of what would happen if they found out who I am.”
“Oh, you are such a jerk,” she said wearily.
“Rose?” He looked at her worriedly, but she suddenly didn’t want to listen to him, didn’t want to accept an apology. She was so, so tired.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so alone,” she said quietly, looking at her hands. “I’m in the wrong time, and there’s no TARDIS to take me back home or keep me safe. It’s just you and me, and you walked away and left me alone and I had no idea what I would do if you never came back.”
He was shaken to the core. He never meant for her to be so frightened. “Rose, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I only meant to be gone a short while.”
Her laugh was a mirthless one. “What, five and a half hours?”
He made a quick movement but checked it. He’d been an ass on that space station, had treated both her and Mickey far too cavalierly. Is that what she thought had happened last night?
“I wanted to get back to you as soon as I could.” What had seemed so reasonable now sounded only lame. Why hadn’t he asked to call her to let her know what was happening?
“What do I do if you leave one day and don’t come back?”
He stared at the top of her head, utterly out of his depth.
She gave her head a slight shake, as if she wasn’t surprised by his lack of a response. “I have to get ready for work.”
He watched her walk out of the room, his hands stuck in the pockets of his trousers. This was why he didn’t like domestic affairs. Only this time it was all his fault.
Thirty-seven
Characters: Ten, Rose
Summary: AU. What if Rose had stayed through Doomsday and was the one to end up in 1969 with the Doctor? How would they get back to their proper time? Would they want to?
Rating: PG
Beta: nattieb
My beta, nattieb, is just the best. She makes time to read these chapters over and has wonderful insights about changes that could be made. She pointed out that while the police were calling the Doctor "Mr. Smith", earlier in the story they were being introduced as the Doctor and Rose Tyler. I went back and changed Smith to Tyler for the sake of continuity. Also, it definitely suits the Doctor to have the police use the wrong alias, given what he now knows about Torchwood tracking down all references to him.
(ch 1) (ch 2) (ch 3) (ch 4) (ch 5) (ch 6) (ch 7) (ch 8) (ch 9) (ch 10) (ch 11) (ch 12) (ch 13) (ch 14) (ch 15) (ch 16) (ch 17) (ch 18)
(ch 19) (ch 20) (ch 21) (ch 22) (ch 23) (ch 24) (ch 25) (ch 26) (ch 27) (ch 28) (ch 29) (ch 30) (ch 31) (ch 32) (ch 33) (ch 34) (ch 35)
“Mr. Tyler?”
The Doctor was aware of DI Cutler speaking, but he couldn’t make out whether the man was annoyed, concerned or indifferent. He didn’t care. The painful memories had exploded out of hiding, unexpectedly and without hesitation, and the pain and suddenness of it all had left the Doctor momentarily stunned.
Now he forced himself to fold up all those memories, to fold them up into little pieces and try to force them back into the boxes at the back of his mind, where they usually remained.
“Mr. Tyler,” Cutler said again. With the shock wearing off, the Doctor could hear definite annoyance in his voice.
The Doctor made himself focus. “I didn’t kill that man,” he said quietly. Gallifrey burned behind his eyes. The consequences of what he had done threatened to choke him and for a split second he was that man again, the one in black leather who was so overwhelmed by guilt that he wanted to die, again and again and again until there were no more regenerations waiting for him.
“So you’re not a killer.” Cutler watched him closely, and the Doctor stared at him, trying to frame a reply. Would he have spoken in a prudent manner? Talk until he talked himself right into a padded jail cell trying to explain? He wasn’t given the chance to find out, because a knock on the door drew Cutler’s attention away.
“What is it?” he demanded irritably.
DI Rogers poked his head in. “A new development. See you a minute?”
“Right this moment?” Cutler said in annoyance.
“Yes.”
Cutler sighed, suddenly looking like what he was, a very tired public servant. “Of course.” Cutler glanced at the Doctor. “I’ll be right back.”
The Doctor stood where he was, gripping the back of the metal chair tightly and forcing himself to breathe slowly. He was furious with himself. He never, ever let the past affect him so deeply.
He needed to go. He needed to get the TARDIS back and get out of 1969, get out of a too-small flat and this too-small room, away from humans who had no problem living out the same small adventures each and every day.
A feeling like claustrophobia swept over him, and though he’d been managing to keep his feelings of rage and panic against his enforced stay in this decade in the same boxes as his memories of the Time War, he could pretend to himself for only so long.
The Doctor was a moment away from walking out the door and back to the flat to get Rose. A small part of him knew that this would cause chaos with the police and could send up red flags to UNIT and Torchwood, and he didn’t care. The pent-up anger welcomed a fight against Torchwood.
He didn’t move, only shifted his balance slightly from one foot to the other, preparing to take that first step to the door. He was prepared to do it and damn the consequences.
But the door opened before he could move any more, and standing there was a man in a dark-blue suit and blue tie, holding a briefcase and wearing a cautious look on his face, and the novelty of this person calmed the Doctor’s anger and returned him to sanity as quickly as sanity had fled just moments before.
“Hello, Mr. Tyler. I’m Peter Stanton. I’ve been hired as your solicitor.”
“I’m sorry?” the Doctor said automatically.
“I’m your solicitor.”
The Doctor watched the newcomer come in and close the door behind him. “I don’t have need of a solicitor.”
“Probably not,” the man agreed smoothly, “from what I hear regarding the current witness. But I’m here regardless.”
“Why?” the Doctor asked baldly.
“I work at the law firm of Trevellyn and Stanton,” the solicitor said, as if that explained everything.
The Doctor continued to stare steadily at him. “Trevellyn and Stanton?” he asked, stressing the second name.
Stanton cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “My grandfather,” he said modestly.
The Doctor slowly took his chair again. “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Stanton?” The Doctor crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back. He wished he’d thought to grab his coat - the room was on the cold side.
Stanton motioned to the table. “Do you mind?”
The Doctor waved a hand expansively. “Be my guest.”
Stanton sat in the other chair and peered at the table. He made a face of distaste and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “I was asked to come down by Mr. Trevellyn.” He carefully wiped at the table before setting his leather briefcase down on it and returning the handkerchief to his pocket.
The Doctor waited for further explanations, but none were forthcoming. It seemed like that sort of evening. “Who’s that?”
“Jeffrey Trevellyn. The Honorable Jeffrey Trevellyn,” he added when the Doctor didn’t so much as blink in acknowledgement.
The Doctor was running through the list of his acquaintances. The name was not familiar.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Does he sometimes, er... go by the name “the Doctor”, by any chance?” It wouldn’t be surprising if one of his earlier selves had caught wind of this somehow and sent help.
Stanton was looking extremely puzzled. “Jeff Trevellyn. One of our junior solicitors. I was told that he is a neighbor of yours. He spoke with your wife earlier. Someone called Rose? She said you’d been brought down for questioning after someone accused you of murder.”
The Doctor barely heard what he was saying. “Rose. Is Rose all right? Has something happened?” He started to stand up.
“She’s fine, Mr. Tyler. Jeff sent me to assist you.”
With the roar of worry for Rose fading away, he was able to focus on what the man was saying.
“Sorry, did you say that Jeff is a solicitor?”
“Yes. His father started the firm with my grandfather.”
“I had no idea,” the Doctor said mildly. “And an honorable, as well?”
“Not something he likes to bandy about very much,” Stanton said briefly. “He only joined the firm two years ago. As a favor to him, I agreed to come down and speak to you. He says you’re innocent.”
“I am.”
“Everyone says they’re innocent,” Stanton’s face hardened for a moment. “But Jeff seemed especially insistent. So is there anything I ought to know?”
The Doctor was getting impatient with all of this nonsense. “Apparently some poor bloke was killed in my building. Some upstairs neighbor that I’ve never seen before fingered me as the one who did it - with no proof whatsoever, I might add. And here I sit.”
“Yet you’ve not been arrested and charged with anything.”
“Well, it’s been on the word of another person who lives in my building.”
Stanton snorted. “Oh, I heard about her. The station will be talking about that one for a while. So she saw you and accused you of offing the man upstairs?”
“Pretty much.”
“Ridiculous.” Stanton muttered. “If there were any proof you’d have been arrested by now.”
Now there was a cheery sentiment, the Doctor thought.
“I’ll just wait with you, if that’s all right. They’ll be back to let us know what’s happening.”
“I thought I’d at least merit further questioning.” The Doctor heard the pique in his own voice and mentally slapped himself. Did he want to be arrested?
“Well, there’s no point in wishing to become a murder suspect, is there?” Stanton popped open his briefcase. “Mind if I read for a bit?”
“Not at all.”
In another time Stanton would have flipped open his mobile phone and begun reading something online. Tonight he took out a thick sheaf of papers and started to read, his eyes swiftly moving down the pages.
The Doctor forced himself to relax in his seat, focusing his mind on images Rose. He felt a faint thread of anxiety for her. There was a murderer on the loose somewhere, and she was alone.
Two hours and fifty-seven minutes passed before Cutler returned to the room.
“Mr. Tyler. You are free to go.”
The Doctor stared at him. “I am.”
“Mrs. Maddock may have been mistaken in accusing you. Someone has just confessed to the murder.”
The Doctor stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“You’re joking,” Stanton said at the same time.
“No, I’m not. A friend of the victim. An argument gone wrong, apparently. He came in to confess. The department sincerely apologizes for any inconvenience.”
Ordinarily the Doctor would have made a smart comeback. In this instance, though, he was almost paralyzed by the need to leave without making any sort of impression. Leaving the timelines intact was of the utmost importance, and he wouldn’t leave them intact if Torchwood found him. He couldn’t let them find him, he couldn’t let something happen to Rose.
“Oh,” was all he said. “Well.”
Stanton cleared his throat. “Very good. Thank you.”
Cutler was gone without another word. Stanton stood up and gathered his things. He held the door open for the Doctor and looked surprised to see him still sitting in the chair.
“Are you coming?”
“Yes,” the Doctor said slowly. “Sorry. It’s been rather a long night.”
Outside the room Stanton turned to the Doctor. “Good luck to you. I’m glad this worked out in your interests.”
“Thank you for coming down at this hour, Mr Stanton.” The Doctor shook his hand. “I appreciate it, even if you came for no reason.”
“Quite all right. Feel free to call if you ever have need.” Stanton handed the Doctor a business card and left. The Doctor watched him walk down the hallway, pausing to exchange some good-natured insults with an officer before leaving the station.
On his way past the front desk Rogers appeared from a doorway.
“Mr. Tyler. If you could just sign a few papers for us?”
“What sort of papers would I need to sign?” he asked warily.
“Just here at the front desk.” Rogers escorted him to the front area and motioned to the female officer stationed there to hand over a folder.
The female officer wore a bored look on her face as she held out a pen. The Doctor took the pen from her. As she got a good look at him she stood up straight and smiled, transforming from a tired woman in her forties to a woman ready to attract a man’s attention.
Rogers rolled his eyes.
The Doctor didn’t notice any of it. He was looking the papers over. Just general acknowledgments of police procedures. He scrawled something illegible across the dotted lines, eager to do whatever was necessary to be able to leave the police station.
“Have a good evening.” Rogers took the papers and vanished.
The female officer gave the Doctor a sympathetic smile. “That witness was dead drunk,” she confided in a low voice. “She couldn’t pick out her own identification when they asked her to.”
“She didn’t look drunk to me.” The Doctor frowned.
“Oh, the good ones never show it, do they? She’ll spend the night here - poor old thing fell asleep in her chair as they were questioning her.”
“Will she be all right?”
She snorted. “Oh, her type’s hard to kill, don’t worry.”
He smiled briefly at her and wondered why she blushed. “Thanks.” He turned to leave the front desk and nearly collided with a uniformed officer.
“Oops! Sorry,” he said, taking a step back.
The officer grunted but didn’t reply. It said a lot about the police department that the Doctor was not really surprised by this show of rudeness. As the officer walked down the hallway he passed by a stretch of unlit wall - the light was out above his head. Despite the darkness, the man seemed to glow.
Watching the Doctor walk away had been one of the most awful things she’d ever had to do. Despite his words to her, she grabbed her keys, ready to head to the police station, but something stopped her.
Neighbors had disappeared. A man was dead upstairs. He had begged her to stay where she was. The impulsive side of her nature fought her, but she managed to subdue it. Things weren’t the same here. They weren’t visiting this time and place, they were trapped here. She could not act the way she used to, no matter how badly she wanted to.
Rose peeked out the door, unable to stop. A uniformed officer stood at the foot of the stairs, letting through only other officers and tenants who could prove they lived on that floor. He nodded to Rose.
“Miss.”
“Hi,” she said, and closed the door, taking care to lock it.
The phone rang, and she rushed to pick it, only to be disappointed that it was Jeff.
Jeff demanded to know what was happening - he’d been talking to an officer on the street when he saw the Doctor walk out, escorted by the DIs. Rather than try and go back inside, he’d gone to the pub on the corner.
The pub’s background noise made it hard to hear him, but Rose told him everything that had happened, trying not to cry.
“Mrs. Maddock says she saw him that night.”
“Mrs. Maddock!” Jeff all but yelled down the line. “Mrs. Maddock is a gossip and a drunk,” Jeff said firmly. “Even Mrs. MacMurray has complained about her. She’s just doing it to get attention.”
“Who accuses someone of murder just to get attention?” Rose demanded, sniffing back her tears.
“Don’t worry, Rose.” Jeff’s voice got firmer, somehow, and more confident. “I’m going to ring a couple of people. Stay inside tonight.”
“He didn’t want me to go down there.” She hated how pitiful her voice sounded.
“Well, of course he didn’t.” The tone of his voice suggested that he didn’t know why she would ever think that was a good idea. “The station’s no place for a woman. I’ll take care of it.”
Seething at the suggestion that a woman couldn’t handle things on her own, Rose rang off. Her annoyance with Jeff was a welcome distraction from her panic, and she nursed it for several minutes.
The night grew later, and the television service shut off for the night. With nothing else to do Rose went to her bedroom to lie down and listen to the traffic. She knew she would never sleep that night.
He was there when she woke up. Rose pushed back the covers, blinking at the light coming in from the window. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and mascara still caked her lashes. Remembering what had happened, dread filled her and was about to jump out of bed and run to the police station, no matter what time it was.
Some slight movement stopped her before she’d even sat up. The Doctor was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, still dressed in the clothes he’d had on when he left the flat the night before. He sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed on her.
The breath left Rose’s lungs in one long rush. Tears of relief filled her eyes. “You’re back.” She got out of bed and walked swiftly over to him, sliding onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms, opened to welcome her, closed back around her. She felt him let out a deep breath and rest his head against hers.
“I was so worried,” she mumbled against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “They found the killer and let me go.”
“They did?” she said, still muffled against the fabric of her shirt.
“Yeah.” He was not inclined to go into more details. At the moment, he wanted nothing other than to simply sit with her, to feel her, alive and breathing in his arms.
But Rose abruptly pushed him away and stood up.
“You stupid bastard!” she snarled, hitting his arm as hard as she could.
“Ow!” He grabbed his shoulder. “What’d you do that for?”
“What for? What for?” Her voice rose with each word, and she looked around wildly for something to throw at him. “You left me here thinking they were gonna charge you with murder! The mighty Doctor couldn’t be bothered to let me know what was happening! At least you could have woken me when you came home!”
“You looked tired,” he said feebly, and that fueled her rage again.
“You, you-” She looked around for something hard enough to crack his impossible skull. Left with no options, she lifted her hand to smack him again. The Doctor, still sitting down, raised his hands to block his face.
Rose’s hand tangled in the chain she wore, and she grasped the little heart lock and key and started to pull.
“No!” The Doctor leapt up to stop her. “Not those.” His hand covered her fist, wrapped around the charms.
Rose sagged suddenly. “You’re making me daft,” she muttered, as exhausted as if she hadn’t slept at all. She sat down on the bed, rubbing at her face.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I was afraid of what would happen if they found out who I am.”
“Oh, you are such a jerk,” she said wearily.
“Rose?” He looked at her worriedly, but she suddenly didn’t want to listen to him, didn’t want to accept an apology. She was so, so tired.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so alone,” she said quietly, looking at her hands. “I’m in the wrong time, and there’s no TARDIS to take me back home or keep me safe. It’s just you and me, and you walked away and left me alone and I had no idea what I would do if you never came back.”
He was shaken to the core. He never meant for her to be so frightened. “Rose, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I only meant to be gone a short while.”
Her laugh was a mirthless one. “What, five and a half hours?”
He made a quick movement but checked it. He’d been an ass on that space station, had treated both her and Mickey far too cavalierly. Is that what she thought had happened last night?
“I wanted to get back to you as soon as I could.” What had seemed so reasonable now sounded only lame. Why hadn’t he asked to call her to let her know what was happening?
“What do I do if you leave one day and don’t come back?”
He stared at the top of her head, utterly out of his depth.
She gave her head a slight shake, as if she wasn’t surprised by his lack of a response. “I have to get ready for work.”
He watched her walk out of the room, his hands stuck in the pockets of his trousers. This was why he didn’t like domestic affairs. Only this time it was all his fault.
Thirty-seven