Chapter Text
Rose dreams, sometimes.
She understands why, all of them do. Mum and dad, gran and great-granddad, and…the Doctor. Yes, the Doctor, that’s his name. She doesn’t forget it anymore, but these days he answers to ‘uncle,’ too.
He shows her the stars she’s seen in her nighttime wanderings, tells her tales of travelling with mum. It’s a big puzzle trying to connect the dots of their memories, but they have a long time ahead of them to get the facts straight.
It’s not perfect. There’s a vein of that age-old grief in each of them, even dad feels its sting. He knows what he almost lost, what he almost failed to gain. Rose still wakes up panting and Donna still meets her at the table with a cup of tea, and more often than not the Doctor is already sitting down waiting for them.
Rose doesn’t need perfection, though. She never has. She needs love and understanding just like any other kid, and she knows that fumbles come with the territory.
They’ve always been a family, but now they’re complete.
Sunday dinners on the patio with Aunt Mel, sneaky trips through time and space with the Doctor. Hours and hours of the gentle murmurs between great-granddad and an alien who uses both his hearts to love and hold tight. Their house always seemed big, especially in recent years with the bills piling up, but she knows it’s because they were waiting for one more person. It’s a bit too loud, mum and the Doctor’s endless teasing and laughter, but that’s what headphones are for. Rose wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.
It’s the Doctor’s turn to walk her home from school. She doesn’t need a chaperone anymore —if mum has taught her anything then it’s how to take care of herself— but she finds she likes the company. He's a bit like a puppy still getting used to walking on a leash; he’s learning how to take it slow and mind the people in his path. Rose finds herself having to grab his hand most days, if only to keep him on track.
He’s leaning up against a lamppost across the street when the last bell rings. Her friends aren’t sure what to make of the whole affair, an offhand, ‘oh, that’s just the Doctor,’ doesn’t clear much up when they ask about her changing home life. But it’s true, it’s just the Doctor, the missing piece of their lives. She feels like she’s known him forever, and he’s admitted to the same. Rose shouts a vague goodbye to her classmates and takes off towards him.
“Here comes trouble,” he greets. Rose snorts, he’s taken to the effortless embarrassment of guardianship with alarming ease. He’s even toting the hideous mug that she bought him a few weeks back, white with blocky red lettering spelling out ‘Dad Joke Fuel.’
“You couldn’t have left that at home?” she asks, just to see him light up like the sun at the mention of home.
“‘Course not, it’s a gift from my niece! I’m sure you know her, she’s about…yay tall,” he says, holding his hand up to the top of her head, “too smart for her own good, owes me money actually, now that I think about it.”
“Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell. But if I do find her, I’ll make sure to tell her that her stingy uncle is trying to shake her down.”
The Doctor throws his head back and cackles. It echoes down the street, smacking off the buildings and rounding back on them. She loves that laugh, even if it does draw inordinate amounts of attention. Rose tucks under his arm and giggles as he desperately tries to avoid spilling tea down his shirt from the jostling. He fails, but he tightens his arm around her anyway.
It’s sunny for once, warm and comfortable. They take the long way home, and she thinks it’s fitting.
They’ve been taking the long way home for a long, long time, but they got there in the end.
Mum is still settling in from work when they burst through the front door, Rose hot on the Doctor’s heels. He dives through the kitchen and unsuccessfully attempts to hide his lank behind Donna, holding her shoulders and jerking her around like a shield.
“Do I even wanna know,” Donna says, entirely unimpressed with both of them.
“He stole my wallet!”
“I didn’t steal it!” the Doctor yells. Again, a bit too loud. “I was…borrowing it, here.” He tosses her wallet back to her and Rose thumbs through the notes in it, finally nodding when they’re all accounted for.
Donna pulls his arms over her shoulders until he has to stretch over her like a backpack and hisses in his ear, “Would you like to explain why you stole my daughter’s wallet?”
“Borrowed,” he whines. “Anyway, I didn’t take anything. I…reverse burgled her.”
“Hah!” Rose shouts. There’s a small slip of blank paper tucked behind her student ID, one that excites her nearly as much as it horrifies mum. She backs up as Donna steps forward, locking eyes with the Doctor still clinging to mum’s back. He nods. She nods. She books it out the back door, grinning as mum unleashes hell on him.
Rose runs and runs and runs, but she’s not running from anything. That’s never been the Noble way, something they’ve been working on teaching the Doctor. She’s running because she can, because she’s fast and happy and loves the way the wind sweeps through her hair. She’s running because she has a place to return to, one that she knows will wrap her up in a hug and tell her off in equal measure.
She’s running because she has psychic paper and she lost her library card, but the paper stuck into her wallet will do just fine. It’ll say the right name without any fuss, without any stress, and will follow her as she grows up and learns some less wholesome uses for it. Rose inaugurates it with glee in the here and now as she reaches her daily limit on checked out materials.
Dad’s cab is parked on the kerb when she finally gets home, her bookbag stuffed with CDs she definitely isn’t going to burn to her computer and the rattiest Terry Pratchett novels she could find. Rose knows how to spot the diamonds in a library; the violently well-loved and repaired books feel the best in her hands.
“I’m back,” she says, wincing at the loud shush mum sends her way. She follows the line of mum’s gesticulating wooden spoon to the sofa to find the Doctor napping on top of her napping dad and shakes her head fondly.
There’s something…interesting, simmering on the stove, attended to by mum and the eternally perplexed expression she wears when attempting to cook. Rose isn’t thrilled about the way it plops off of the spoon and back into the pot, but at least it’s a palatable colour.
“You’re in trouble, missy,” Donna murmurs without a hint of a threat in her tone.
“Mmm, sure. Need any help?”
“No, no I’m almost done. Why don’t you wake up the boys and have them set the table.”
Rose does, and they grumble and groan and gripe but they set the table for four with a care normally reserved for Michelin dining. Supper is…interesting seems a touch too mild, but Rose sticks with it to save mum any stress.
It’s not perfect. Rose doesn’t need perfect, though. She just needs this.