Chapter Text
Rose was having dreams. Flowing scenes of her Mother and Mickey finally letting her go and live her life with the Doctor. Rose was having nightmares. Broken images of Daleks and darkness, deafening melodies and blazing lights. Rose was not afraid of the dark, but she was terrified of the absent life and extinguished hope that shadowed her subconscious.
Ever since she had made progress with her meditation to feel the TARDIS humming, to learn how to fly her, the dreams had started to come. At first she dismissed them; Daleks scared even the Doctor, yet she thought them all to be dead. Then she thought they were premonitions, but the Doctor didn't sense anything malevolent coming. Rose had never told the Doctor what she saw at night; it seemed silly, childish almost. She dismissed them again as just dreams - what intuition could she really have? But they felt so real.
The cold sweat that clung to her skin, however, was very real and it came in the burning aftermath of images that woke her, shaking and afraid. She gulped in the cool air of her room and loosened her grip on the bed sheets, her fingers aching with tension. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness of her bedroom and her pulse calmed in her chest.
As she blinked away the fatigue, a Dalek shot at her. Reflexively she threw a hand up to shield herself. She cautiously opened her eyes again to the nothingness of her room. Each flutter of lashes took her back to an audience of Daleks backed by deep blue. This wasn't the cold metal of the Dalek fleet ships. This was... the Game Station.
The Doctor lay prone on the floor. Rose winced at the pain in her temple but managed to keep her eyes open. Her fingers soothed her scalp as she ran a hand through her hair to clear her face. It had to be real, how else could she taste the metallic tang of blood or smell the stench of death? These had to be the memories that she'd never been able to recall, buried deep so long ago.
The night the Doctor sent her home. The day the Doctor changed his face.
She got out of bed, resolved to find out what exactly had happened in between.
***
The Doctor was on the opposite side of the time rotor as Rose entered the control room. In the twilight she manoeuvred her way to the chair before he even noticed her. He graced her with a warm smile before turning his attention back to the console; it wasn't unusual for Rose to come and watch him work at night. Though most times she curled up in the jump seat or at least sat down, tonight she hovered by the chairs instead. He looked up again and could see questions in her eyes.
“I've been having dreams,” Rose began. The Doctor gave her a small, lopsided grin and carried on working. “Nightmares, really bad ones,” her voice lost conviction; the Doctor was listening but most of his concentration was on the TARDIS. She touched the console and felt a compassionate melody thrum through her palm; it was like in her dreams and it strengthened her. “I've been having memories of the Game Station with Daleks on board and how you looked before, before -” the words died. She had his full attention now, yet his expression was still unreadable.
“How long have you been having these ‘dreams’?” he asked seriously, and Rose let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She was relieved that the Doctor believed her at least.
“Since we've been doing that karma meditation,” the Doctor hid his grin, that wasn't the proper term but didn't see the point in correcting her. “Now I can feel the TARDIS,” she clarified and played her fingers above the console. “But I don't remember properly. It’s broken pictures.”
The Doctor stroked his hand down the panel in front of him. The realization of the influence was sharp and clear; the turquoise light of the rotor flickered across his face and he looked resigned to telling her.
“I can't sleep,” she tried to make light of it.
“We can't have that now, can we?” the Doctor followed, adding a lightness to his own tone. He rolled down his shirt sleeves and buttoned them, signalling the end of his work, before smoothing down his tie, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets and coming to stand near her.
His tone now reserved, he said, “There’s a way I can help you remember.”
Rose chewed at a thumbnail, concerned with the lack of spark in the Doctor’s voice and eyes, “Is it dangerous?”
“No,” he instantly reassured. After a pause he slowly added, “You may not like what you see.” He held out his right hand to her and she took it willingly, pressing their palms together as their fingers wrapped around each other. The contact was comforting and secure. He picked up his pinstriped suit jacket off the railing and Rose matched his pace as he led her through the familiar organic corridors of the TARDIS and back into her bedroom.
***
Rose could not imagine how the Doctor could help her remember in the dimmed light of her bedroom. Sure, this is where she slept and thus when the memories came, but there was nothing special about her room.
“Memories are fragile,” he said, seemingly sensing her thoughts as he discarded his jacket on a chair and led her towards her bed. “You will only remember what your mind can hold on to.” They sat on the purple duvet cover, knees bumping together as they turned to face each other. “But memories can fade with time, or change if they are influenced by another person.”
“You can be in my mind? Like the TARDIS?” Rose sounded surprised and loosened her hand from his. She was a little worried about the foray into her private thoughts; he might see other things in there that he didn't want, even after all they had been through together.
“Only if you want me to be,” he reassured and squeezed her hand. “Picture a door, barring the memories you don't want me to see”.
She nodded and he brought his index and middle fingers to her temples to feel for trigger points while his remaining digits cradled her skull. Rose watched the concentration in his face; it was weird to be touched like this, such intimate care for something so serious. She shivered at the tingling his ministrations caused and he pulled his hands away.
“This may hurt. It may wake up other forgotten memories, too.” Even in their proximity the Doctor sought her eyes for confirmation, “Are you sure?”
She took his hands from the space between them and guided them back to her temples. With a gentle smile the Doctor pressed lightly with his fingertips, letting his eyes slide shut. Rose took a deep death and followed suit.
***
It was black, so black, and she could feel herself twisting and turning with unnatural speed. “I've got you.” The Doctor’s voice was a comfort in her mind and grounded her onto the grated floor of the console room. Everything around her was dimmed yet she could feel the satisfying thrum of a song and an amazing urgency within her. She felt the Doctor on the opposite side of the entrance, consumed by hopelessness. Such empty sorrow. The doors and her heart opened and the emanating light touched him, her first Doctor, protecting him from the unsettled and lonely darkness that was filled with Daleks. Why was he so concerned while she was at peace? “I looked into the TARDIS. And the TARDIS looked into me,” her wise words flowed in soft tones. A blue bolt fired, and with her palm she returned it back through time to the Dalek, yet both remained unharmed. “I am the Bad Wolf,” she intoned. Her voice mingled with another, “I want you safe, my Doctor.”
Rose found herself back in the console room but the décor was unfamiliar; dark wooden boards concealing a metallic time rotor with ornate seals of entwined Ouroboros. The man she knew but with different features desperately tended to the console as the whole room shook and warning lights glared from the panels. On the monitor she saw a Utopia planet corrupted under temporal stress before being ripped apart, the first casualty of the Time War. The chasm in space was filled by fleets of Dalek ships. Rose watched her Oncoming Storm as he bowed his head in silent grief. She felt a disembodied pressure on her temples and then she was pulled back to the Game Station.
The voice and words of another said, “You are tiny. I can see the whole of time and space - every single atom of your existence, and I divide them.” Rose pitied the Daleks for their own insanity, caused by their own unnatural flesh. The burning light in its crescendo surged through her and into them; it was a tainted existence and she was glad for the end to their suffering. The Time War had ended, such contented bliss. Rose shook as she fought for control of her body and mind from the melancholy truth. Oh God, she'd committed genocide!
***
Rose pulled back but instantly longed for the Doctor’s touch. She felt dirty and swiped her hands against her pyjamas to get rid of the stains of blood that only she could see. Her breathing stuttered through choking tears. She blinked as the vivid light of her memory denied the dimmed reality that surrounded her. “I'm sorry,” Rose pushed the words out from her constricted throat, refusing to look at him.
The Doctor captured her wrists in his hands, stilling her movements; the grip was slick from her tears. He understood now the difference between the will of the TARDIS and the will of Rose. Rose was compassionate, even to the great exterminators of the Universe. He tilted her chin up with slender fingers and drew her eyes to his, to help her see he wasn't angry; he was proud, so very proud. Realising Rose didn't need mere words of forgiveness, he pulled her into his tight embrace. He wrapped one arm across her back while the other cradled her blond hair, and his lips rested on top of her head. Tears pricked the Doctor’s eyes at remembering the fall of Arcadia, at the intimacy he had unwittingly shared with Rose. Her breath was warm and moist in the crook of his neck. He wouldn't take the memory from her; if anything Rose was comforted by the familiarity of the act despite the content. He felt her hands splay slightly and rub his shoulder blades seemingly unconsciously as her breathing calmed; his mole tingled in response. But this was not the extent of her memory of the Game Station.
“You gave up the power,” he said wistfully, before lifting his head off of hers and releasing her from their hug. He brought his hand from cradling her head to cup her cheek and brushed away the traces of tears. Rose looked into his eyes and saw the natural spark had returned. She became aware that there was more to recall from that time, but had not yet fathomed being witness to the final casualty of the Time War. She nodded her consent, closed her eyes, and the Doctor replaced his hands. Together they re-entered her memories.
***
The diminuendo song in her mind left behind a furious radiance beyond her control. The Doctor was no longer prone on the floor but stood before her, still such frightening distance. “My head,” her words trembled with fear at the pressing of death, a power she could not rid herself of, “...it’s killing me.”
The Doctor’s voice was kind and understanding, “I think you need a Doctor.” He took her hands in his worn ones and looked deep into her eyes, a beacon of searing passion saving her from drowning in liquid heat. Time held out as slowly he leant down to press his lips against hers. She gave herself to him, his touch and his life. He lifted the burden of universal knowledge from her, and it paled as she was engulfed in the Doctor’s life-sustaining love. Rose fell, sated into the Doctor’s arms.
She could still feel his lips, their thin curvature aligned with hers, a whispering touch. “You kissed me,” she smiled in awe. It was unbelievable, and for a moment Rose supposed she'd dreamt it, until she opened her eyes to the reality of her nose gently rubbing against his. Her face was still enclosed in his slender hands, and several moments passed before he opened his brown eyes and adjusted to the small distance to find hers; such a spark in proximity yet at such great depths behind his passive recluse. It offered her thinking space until a truth sank in.
“I killed you!” Rose tumbled backwards in her retreat from the Doctor, and she pressed herself into the TARDIS walls to maximize the distance between them. Her body hurt from the impact, and her heart grieved for the loss of her first Doctor. The only time he'd kissed her, such purity and honesty, and she'd killed him. “The kiss of death,” Rose mumbled as she fought back tears.
“The kiss of life, of renewal and rebirth,” the Doctor said calmly. Rose swore he sounded happy and glanced up to see his tall, thin form resting on her bed. She had made him change into a youthful man, though she had seen he still carried the same old nightmares. He held his right hand out to her, the one that had regenerated - the one she had caused to change in the first place - and he wiggled his fingers invitingly. Behind her the walls soothed as if there was nothing to be sorrowful for. Rose couldn't move on from things as fast, so she went to the Doctor and the security of his touch. He smiled with huge warmth as their hands mingled and something tugged deep down that made her want to do the same.
The Doctor watched her retake her place at his side. She was dealing with this woken knowledge brilliantly. He didn't anticipate her wanting to go home anytime soon; the regeneration itself supported that theory. He hoped. But there were unresolved thoughts in her mind that he wouldn't push her to question until she was ready. Hopefully he would be able to answer them, too.
The first question came from her furrowed brow, “How come you died but I didn't? I thought your body was superior to a human.”
“The time vortex flowed through you and the TARDIS,” he began to explain. “There was only ever a small part of it inside you at any given time. It was only when you started to take control that it started to burn you from inside your mind.” In response to her nod, he added, “I absorbed all of it and manipulated it back into the TARDIS, where it belongs.” Her face returned to its youthful rest. That was all the explanation that was necessary, but he found more earnest words following, “I had to, to save you.” Her lips parted in surprise. “It was my fault you ended up like that; I sent you home to protect you, and look what happened.”
There was something in the Doctor’s voice that said he hadn't done it because he was honour bound. “No, it was my fault,” Rose said intently, “I looked into the TARDIS. It was my choice.”
They both went to protest at the same time until their joined hands squeezed together in understanding, and a comfortable silence ensued. Listen to them, they sounded like an old married couple. She hadn't just thought that, but the lighter tone made her smile. “Can't get rid of me,” she tried to laugh but the seriousness of the act that brought her to him played closely to her chest. “Won't be flying the TARDIS like that again.”
The Doctor did laugh endearingly at those words and he put its mirth into his eyes and a sincere smile. He opened his shoulder to her and she shuffled along the bed into his embrace. His frame was deceptively soft around her, not the hard worn edges they had been before he changed; all natural browns now, his hair, eyes and clothes. Still a streak of steeled blue about him, though; the loneliness she had seen within him and his place in the universe. She inhaled deeply, and his scent loosened the nightmare’s grasp on her heart. She didn't want to let go.
“Sleep with me.”
The Doctor tensed, and Rose lifted her head to look at his raised eyebrow. Evidently some Twentieth century colloquialisms were not lost on the Doctor, and she found it funny. “Not like that,” the Doctor relaxed somewhat, “I mean hold me, tonight.” She smiled wryly, “My shelter from the Storm.” Rose held his eyes; maybe it was a good thing he hadn't started being carefree right now, but his delayed response was slightly unsettling. She briefly wondered if she had asked something terrible and he was going to take her home. Then he got up off the bed and loosened the knot in his tie, smiling ever so slightly. The times she had imagined the Doctor undressing in her room, none of them had such a lead in. But those thoughts were far away tonight as she slipped under the duvet cover and left room for him.
He made quick work of unbuttoning his cuffs, removing his plimsolls and tie, and placing them with his jacket before returning to Rose’s bed. Chivalrously he lay on top of the covers behind her; there was little spare space, and he went to put his hand on top of her hip. Rose captured it from the air and pulled his arm around her waist instead, twining their fingers and sandwiching his hand between her own and her stomach. He shuffled closer to her and she pressed back into him sealing any space away.
“Rose,” the Doctor said casually, “you need a bigger bed.” He felt her chuckle through him, and soon after her breathing evened out and harmonised with the pulse of the TARDIS.
Rose did not seem to be having any nightmares. If her contented smile was anything to go by, she was having happy dreams, save for the odd frown. The Doctor resisted the urge to see for himself what was entertaining her. It was amazing how open she was. He thought of leaving to get his diary to sketch her like this, or maybe get his long overcoat as that had a comforting effect on her and was not prone to fidgeting like he was. At his attempt to slide off the bed, Rose whimpered and squeezed his hand so he could not get free without waking her; she fell onto her back in the space he had created, and the Doctor found himself virtually lying over her with their joined hands resting over her abdomen. Even through the covers the Doctor could rule out one particular type of dream that was making Rose smile. Rose really needed a bigger bed.
His thoughts became more sombre. The one part of the Game Station he had dreaded her remembering was giving Captain Jack life; the memory was intact but yet to surface, and it could wait. The TARDIS hummed agreement. Now the Doctor began to etch the contours of her face to his mind; the heartfelt tears that lay bare on her cheeks, the bold curvature of her lips, the strong life that beat through her fragile skin just to be alive. Such honesty his Honour prevented him from being, but he could experience the Universe through her; Rose had given him a new lease of life. Satisfied he had committed this moment to memory, he closed his eyes to meditate.
They weren't adrift in thoughts, they had found each other.
~~~~~