Fic: You've Got to Hide Your Love Away (14/17)
This isn't exactly the homecoming the Doctor had imagined.
He stands in the middle of the Torchwood parking lot, listening as Jack and Pete discuss Rose's disappearance, watching quietly as they volley questions back and forth like some sort of verbal tennis match.
He's not worried. Well, not much anyway. This is Rose Tyler they're talking about. The girl who faced down Daleks and Slitheen, helped save the world too many times to count, and still managed to keep a smile on her face and a laugh in her voice. She's more than capable of taking care of herself, even if she is a little jeopardy friendly.
Yes, he's curious as to where she is exactly, and he's more than a little disappointed that she's not here, but he doesn't understand why her absence is worrying Jack as much as it is.
Pete's obviously not convinced either. “It's not like she hasn't swanned off before,” he says. “She could be out having drinks with Martha and Gwen for all we know.”
Jack shakes his head. “Martha's on assignment in Malaysia remember? And Gwen and Owen are working.”
“Mickey or Jake then...oh wait, right. Malaysia.”
“Another co-worker perhaps?” the Doctor interjects, sticking his hands in his pockets.
“Rose hasn't exactly made many friends here, Doctor,” Pete sounds apologetic. “She gets along with everyone just fine but never really talks to anyone outside of work.”
He doesn't want to hear that. Doesn't want to think that she was hurting even a fraction of the amount that he was. He'd much rather believe that she was living the brilliant life he's always known she was capable of.
But, for some reason, it doesn't come as a surprise, not with the way she's been acting since that first day he found out she was back.
“Could she have gone for a walk?” he wonders, looking from one man to the other.
“It's nearly three in the morning, Doc,” Jack's voice is laced with sarcasm as he glances at his watch. “For some reason, I doubt she decided to take a stroll.”
The Doctor raises an eyebrow at his tone but before he can say anything, Pete swoops in again. “Why are you so concerned about her, Jack? She's a grown woman who can take care of herself. I've seen her overpower men more than twice her size.”
Jack's eyes flash with anger. “I'm not worried about her being able to defend herself. I have complete confidence in her defense skills.”
“Then what are you worried about?” the Doctor asks, almost afraid of the answer. There's a haunted look in Jack's eyes and a tightness in his jaw. Suddenly, the fear that something may have gone very wrong while he was away overwhelms him.
He turns a questioning gaze to Pete, who merely shrugs. “She's been having a bit of a tough time of it lately but I thought she was sorting it out.”
He's projecting an attitude of nonchalance but the Doctor can tell the concern is starting to rise up in Pete too. He has the uncomfortable feeling that there are things they aren't telling him.
“Wha--”
“Today's the anniversary.” Jack's eyes widen suddenly. “I just now realized. Three years to the day since the battle at Canary Wharf.”
That changes things a bit.
“Right.” He swallows hard and looks around, searching for inspiration. “Here then? Torchwood? Doing paperwork she needs to finish up before some big, important board meeting tomorrow?” He looks to Pete hoping he'll remember some last minute project she had to finish before morning.
Pete shakes his head. “Doesn't mean she's not here though. I'll call security and have them check her office.” Pulling out his mobile, he furiously dials the number, no longer trying to hide the fact that he's beginning to worry as much as Jack is.
She has to be here, the Doctor thinks. And, if not here, then someplace else safe...though where that could be so early in the morning he's not sure. But she is safe somewhere. He just doesn't know where yet. She is because...well, because the alternative is unthinkable. Not after he's come all this way to see her again. Not after he's finally admitted to himself just how much she means to him...
“We'll find her,” Jack says, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I promise.”
He doesn't respond, can't, even. Pete's call is coming to an end and it's obvious from the way he's frowning that it didn't go well.
“She's not at her desk, and her office is locked tight,” he tells them, pocketing his phone. “I asked them to check all the surveillance cameras for the last twelve hours. At the very least, we can track her movements before she left here.”
But that leaves them virtually at square one again. Tracing her with Torchwood's limited capabilities...
But he has his own way of tracing her, doesn't he? “Where's the TARDIS?”
Pete gives him a confused look, but Jack understands immediately. “Same place you left her, third floor storage room. Do you need any help?”
The Doctor doesn't respond, he's already halfway across the parking lot by the time Jack finishes his question.
~~~
Sprinting through the halls of Torchwood with an urgency born of concern, he tries not to over analyze the situation too much. No, Rose hasn't been seen since yesterday morning before heading off to work, but that doesn't mean something bad has happened to her. It's three in the morning and her bed hasn't been slept in, but that doesn't mean she's in some sort of trouble.
Skidding to a halt, he just manages to avoid plowing over some poor, befuddled lab assistant carrying a tray full of beakers. Mumbling a quick apology to the worker, he regains his balance and crosses the short distance to the lift, punching in the floor number repeatedly as though such an act will open the doors faster.
The ride in the lift is, thankfully, short and sweet. Pausing just outside the doors, he turns his head left and right, trying to get his bearings. The last time he was here, the last time he traversed these halls, he was more than a bit distracted. Not like he's doing any better now.
His concern for Rose's welfare increased substantially after Jack pointed out the date. The Doctor should've realized, should've known...but then again, how could he have?
Canary Wharf. Three years to the day. Three years since that awful day when they lost each other.
Choosing the hallway to his left, and hoping it's the right one, he starts off at a jog. He doesn't want to have another mishap like the one downstairs but he needs to get to the TARDIS. With no other leads, the only hope of finding Rose before something bad has the chance to happen lies within his ship. He can track her from there, figure out exactly where she is, and save a whole lot of time. Time Jack and Pete are wasting outside, arguing about where she could be.
Where is that room? He seems to recall Jack saying...what? Communications room, check. Then...one, two, three doors down! That's it, he realizes with a triumphant grin. Hurrying the last few feet he's running now. Then he's there and he's ripping the door open and there she is: his beautiful ship.
Pausing for just a moment, he runs his hand over the familiar wood-like facade, saying hello. There's no time for more than that though, he has far more pressing matters to deal with right now. Thankfully, he knows his ship understands. They may not be able to communicate on a level that humans can understand but there is still a connection there. A connection that imparts feelings and emotions on a slightly telepathic level.
And, right now, he feels a general sense of urgency.
With a quick flick of his wrist, he inserts his key in the lock, turns it and then flings the door open. The slight squeak that he's never seen fit to fix is music to his ears as he hurries inside. The lights in the console room are dim, almost non-existent, an energy saving function that implements whenever he is away for an extended period of time.
He whips his coat off and tosses it onto one of the coral struts surrounding the room, making his way quickly to the console. As he does so, he makes a mental request for more lights and then stops dead in his tracks.
~~~
Pete's gone home to help in the search there when Jack gets the call.
Security footage from eleven hours ago shows Rose entering the storage room where the TARDIS is and she hasn't come out since. Knowing how precarious her state of mind has been these last few weeks he's not about to take any chances.
Unsure of what the Doctor might discover when he finds Rose, Jack breaks into a run.
~~~
Finding Rose, as it turns out, is not quite as difficult as he feared. Whether or not she is actually safe, is another thing altogether.
She's slumped over on the floor, next to the jump seat. Either unaware of his presence or completely unresponsive, he can't quite tell and is, honestly, afraid to find out. She doesn't appear to be breathing, but then again, she could just be asleep.
The Doctor takes a hesitant step forward, closer to her. Her head is down, hair obscuring her face, and though he knows that he needs to reach her, he's suddenly frozen to the spot.
What if she's...
Then, suddenly, she moves. Slowly, groggily, and he knows now, revels in the knowledge, that she has merely dozed off. But his relief is short lived. The instant she raises her head, eyes aimed directly at his face, he knows something's not right.
There are large, dark circles under her tear stained eyes. She looks like she hasn't slept well, if at all, in days. But more concerning than that is the way her shirt is hanging off her shoulders as though it's a few sizes too big. She's always been fit, all that running for your life will do that to a person. But this is something else entirely. This is verging on malnourishment.
“Rose...” his voice comes out a ghostly whisper.
“Stay back,” she keens.
He has no idea what's going on here, no clue what's wrong with her but there's a building concern that this isn't just about her not wanting to see him. With arms hanging limply at his sides, he begins to slowly close the distance between them. He doesn't want to frighten her, so he keeps his movements slow and precise.
“Rose.”
She jumps anyway, slamming her head into the strut behind her in the process. He jerks forward, meaning to help her, to make sure she's all right, but the terror in her eyes stops him short.
“No! Get away,” she screams and she's looking at him like he's some sort of a monster. Like she expects him to attack her at any moment.
He watches as she struggles to her feet and he realizes that she can't quite control her limbs properly. Lurching, stumbling, nearly falling back to the floor, she looks like a marionette whose puppet master is either completely uncoordinated or inebriated.
And that's when it hits him. The odd smell when he first entered the TARDIS, Rose's bloodshot eyes, her unkempt appearance...and now he notices the empty, glass bottles near her feet, the ones she's nearly stepped on with her bare feet twice during her animated attempt to stand.
She's the one who's drunk.
He moves in closer, reaching out a hand to help steady her, but she jerks her arm away quicker than he would have thought possible. She begins to moan, low in the back of her throat, as if she's in pain, backing away from him as quickly as she can.
“No,” she whimpers. “You’re not real! You’re dead and you’re not real and you can’t touch me!”
~~~
Her head is dizzy and her body shaking, too much wine and frightening hallucinations that suddenly talk will do that to a person. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she understands that this time, this him, is different. But the affects of the alcohol are too strong and all she sees, all she knows, is that she needs to escape.
Snapping her eyes from him to the door and back again--amazingly quick considering her current state--she gauges the distance, makes the decision that, if she just runs fast enough, she can out-maneuver him. The door to the TARDIS is hanging wide open, so she doesn't have to deal with that inconvenience. She'll have to give him a wide-breadth though or he'll grab her...can he grab her? He's never been more then a vaporous image before; no substance, no voice. But she heard it, heard him call her name not once, but twice. If he suddenly has vocal chords, then can he have hands for grabbing too?
She doesn't know and she doesn't want to find out.
He's moving forward again, getting closer. His face looks so real and yet, at the same time, so like the one that haunts her dreams. And it hurts, oh how it hurts! She can't do this, can't suffer through these visions anymore.
Body tense, she sidesteps away from his grasp, a graceful motion, all things considered. She doesn't even give it a second thought as she darts across the grating to the open door and freedom.
~~~
Jack arrives just in time to hear yelling and the sound of bare feet slapping against the metal grating of the TARDIS floor. Pushing the door open, he rushes inside, and straight into a hysterical Rose. She's frightened, her body a brick wall of tension slamming into his, and it's obvious, when she starts pummeling him with her fists, that she doesn't recognize him.
“Rose, it's me.” He dodges the blows and grabs her by the wrists, holding her at arm's length, willing her to look at him. “It's Jack.”
She stills, bloodshot eyes flitting across his face, and his gut clenches at the fear simmering inside of them. “Jack?” she gasps in surprise, hands falling to her sides.
Legs trembling, she looks as if she's about to collapse in front of him. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her tight to his chest. He's never seen her this drunk before but he has a feeling that the alcohol pumping sluggishly through her veins is not the only thing going on here. That it's not the cause of her furiously shaking body and hiccuping sobs.
“What happened?” he asks, eyes meeting the Doctor's, searching for an explanation.
Sliding his hands in his pockets, the Doctor regards Jack with a level gaze. “She's drunk. Thinks she's seeing ghosts.”
Rose flinches at the sound of his voice. She turns to look over her shoulder at the Doctor while shifting her body closer to Jack. Her hitching breaths begin to trail off as wariness settles into her shoulders and steals over her face. Voice as quiet as a mouse, she confesses, “It's the Doctor.” She swivels back around, an earnest look in her eyes, her fists clenching in his jumper. “He's here, behind me. But how can he be? He's dead. Right? He's dead and gone because of--because of me.”
She braves another quick look over her shoulder and the tears she had just managed to stop, begin to flow freely again. “I keep--I keep seeing 'im. Everywhere I go, he's there. But he's not. Not really.” Resting her head against Jack's shoulder and closing her eyes, she breathes out heavily. “He won't leave me alone, Jack. Make 'im go away.”
There's a pregnant pause as Jack tries to take this in, eyes alternating between the woman in his arms and the man she seems to think is an illusion. At his confused, look the Doctor merely shrugs, exuding an air of calm. Underneath his well-practiced facade there is tension, and his face, though studiously neutral, has a look of hardness about it.
What the hell is going on here? What does Rose mean, he's following her everywhere?
And then Jack remembers all those times he's caught her looking nervously over her shoulder. The slight widening of her eyes as she stared down an empty hall, startled by nothing that he could see. The way she'd cock her head to the side as though something, some sound, had caught her attention. His questions, concerns, all brushed aside with a wave of her hand and a fake smile. Nothing, she would say. It was nothing.
But when she started to drink more regularly, more than a casual after dinner drink here, or a glass of wine there, Jack knew something was wrong. And now he knows he was right to worry. Whether she's been drinking because of the hallucinations or hallucinating because of the drinking, he's not sure.
“Oh, Rose,” he whispers into her hair. “You've been seeing things these past few weeks, haven't you?” Sighing, he runs his hand down her back. “Listen, honey, you're not hallucinating now, not this time.” He takes her face in his hands, leaning down to look her in the eye. “He's not dead. He made it back, Rose. He escaped from the Wraith and he's back. It's really him. The Doctor's here.”
There's just the tiniest spark of hope in her eyes, hidden behind the despair and the pain and the shadows. She swallows thickly, darting glances from his face to the door behind him. “No,” she insists, but her confidence is waning. “It's not really him, Jack. It never is.”
“But it is him, Rose.” Taking her firmly but gently by the shoulders, he turns her resistant body around to face her nightmare. “Look at him. He's really here.”
The Doctor simply stands there, staring back at her for a moment, watching. A myriad of emotions churn in his dark orbs before finally settling on happiness. He holds up a hand in a wave, face breaking out into a huge grin. “Hello.”
Rose whimpers, stepping back, her hand seeking Jack's. “But...but how? The...the Wraith--”
“Long story,” the Doctor tells her, stepping forward a few paces, yet remaining far enough away that he isn't going to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already is. “Plenty of time to talk about that later though. Right now...I think, maybe, we could all use some tea?”
~~~
The Doctor watches Rose as she folds trembling hands around her mug of tea, blearily looking around the TARDIS kitchen. Ever since she was confronted with his reality she's been avoiding his gaze. She doesn't seem to quite believe that she's here and he's here and it's really him. She's afraid to believe in the hope that he's here with her. He's caught her looking at him half a dozen times when she thinks he isn't paying attention, and each time her eyes have scurried away as soon as he took notice.
Jack is right beside him, watching her just as closely. Like the Doctor, he doesn't seem to want to let her out of his sight, not even for a second.
Too little, too late, the Doctor thinks, a little unkindly. Where was Jack when Rose was drinking herself into oblivion, seeing things that had obviously had her frightened out of her mind? What part of 'be there for her' didn't he understand?
“That stuff's amazing, Doc. It actually, literally reverses the affects of the alcohol?” Jack's lips curl up into a devilish smile. “Got a few team members who could use some of that stuff.”
The Doctor turns to face him, watches as Jack's gaze slips back to Rose, who is now staring into her warm mug, studiously ignoring the both of them.
In the five minutes since she started drinking her tea, laced with the Staycitol the Doctor put in it, she's gone from really drunk, to just plain drunk. Five minutes from now, she'll be completely sober. And then...?
The Doctor sighs, bobbing his head back and forth as he considers Jack's question. “Yes. Well, no. It's not like she's slowly getting un-drunk. Her blood alcohol levels are already non-existent. Have been since about...oh, thirty seconds after her first sip.” He rubs tiredly at the back of his neck, wondering how she'll react once she's no longer able to hide behind the booze. “She's better now,” he assures Jack and reassures himself. “The alcohol in her system has been eliminated. But it happens so fast that it takes a while for her brain to catch up with her body.”
And then what? Will she continue to insist that he doesn't exist? Still think him an illusion? Jack said she was just as prone to imagining things while not under the influence. Even if she does realize that he's not a figment of her imagination, will she want to see him?
A hand reaches out and grabs his, squeezing it reassuringly. “She'll be fine, Doctor. You'll be fine.”
The Doctor slips his hand free of Jack's, shoving it into his pocket. He swallows hard, not daring to look in the Captain's direction, focusing instead on Rose. She's looking better already. Her hands are no longer trembling and her skin, though still a bit pale, is a more normal shade of pink. That's good. Course it is. But what about her mental health? He's still worried about how she's going to react to him once she's completely sober.
Will she scream and yell like the last time she saw him? Turn her back on him and walk away, without a backward glance? Or will her face light up, tongue poking out from between her teeth?
He knows which reaction he'd prefer. The happy one. Complete with a nice Rose Tyler hug. Is that too much to ask for? He hasn't enjoyed the warmth of her embrace in years and he's really missed it. Missed her. Her smell, her voice, her smile. The smile she--
Doesn't matter though. Not right now.
He realizes she's beginning to drift off, unable to fight off her weariness and lulled by the quiet of the TARDIS. She's only just barely staying upright in her chair and her eyes have a glazed look to them.
The Doctor's not the only one who's noticed, and before he can do so, Jack rushes to her side as she rests her head on her arms and begins to snore. “Must be tired,” he smiles, running his hand down her hair.
“You think?” The Doctor glares at him incredulously. “Jack, she's exhausted.”
Jack gives him a questioning look.
Nodding angrily in Rose's direction, he closes the distance between them. “You can't tell me you haven't noticed the dark circles under her eyes? Haven't noticed that she obviously hasn't been sleeping?”
Brushing Jack's hands away from her in annoyance, he mumbles, “then again, you didn't exactly do much paying attention while I was gone, now did you?”
He ignores Jack's sharp intake of breath and kneels down beside Rose. Bracing her head against his chest, he wraps one arm around her back and places the other under her legs, gently lifting her.
“What're you doing?” Jack asks.
The Doctor rolls his eyes, irritated. “She can't sleep on the table, Jack.”
“Maybe I should--”
Sidestepping Jack's arms, the Doctor passes by him without a second glance. “No, Jack. I think you've done quite enough.”
With a shove of his shoulder, he opens the kitchen door and enters the hallway, heading for Rose's bedroom.
Chapter Fifteen...