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***
Rose followed the screams down the blue, darkened corridors to the flight deck. There, she was greeted by a flummoxed Mickey and a tense Doctor stood motionless in front of the time portal.
“They knew I was coming. They blocked it off.” The Doctor said as he leapt from the control switches beside the window. Rose looked through, to see the people cowering in the court ballroom, held hostage by clockwork robots in Eighteenth Century disguises. She was slightly confused at the circumstance.
“I don't get it. How come they got in there?” Rose asked as the Doctor brushed passed her, picking up a circuit board along his way to the main console. He scanned blueprints of the ship’s design, his frustration bubbling higher.
“They teleported - you saw them,” he circled the room and scanned the monitor output on the far wall. “As long as the ship and the ballroom are linked, their short-range teleports will do the trick.”
Right, the things built into the droid’s arms, that living people did not have. “Well,” she raised her voice above the panicking courtesans over the audio link, “we'll go in the TARDIS!”
The Doctor paused momentarily, surprised that the comment had come from her and not from Mickey, before coming back to the main console. “We can't use the TARDIS, we're part of events now,” he reminded her, his voice as gentle as it could be under the circumstances. He had exhausted the options on the main console and went searching for another panel to try.
“Well,” Mickey piped up, not knowing where to look, “can't we just smash through it?”
That, the Doctor had expected. Granted it was Mickey’s first trip into space, but surely his Internet games had taught him about being in it. “Hyperplex this side,” he gestured toward the wall, “plate glass the other,” he pointed his sonic screwdriver to the mirror of the time window. “We need a truck.”
Mickey hesitated in pointing out the obvious. “We don't have a truck.”
“I know we don't have a truck!” the Doctor bellowed, making Mickey flinch and step backwards. Rose straightened her stance, troubled by the Doctor’s outburst, but unafraid to speak.
“Well, we've gotta try something!” she implored. The Doctor turned to face her, fiddling with loose parts in his hands. Rose had promised Reinette, who was now addressing the ballroom under droid guard, that the Doctor would come and save her when she was in need. Rose watched her command the space and unconsciously kicked at large debris on the floor. The Doctor noticed.
“No,” he said quietly in his naturally light lilt, “smash the glass, smash the time window, there'd be no way back.” He dropped the useless gadget back on the console. Absently he rubbed the inner corner of his eye and sniffed. There had to be a way. Something simple, overlooked. So simple that even the droids did not think it important. He watched the droids advance on Reinette, culling her speech. He caught Rose staring at him, her shuffling feet disturbing the smaller debris.
He stilled then, his face captured with mouth slightly open, eyes passive with the realisation of inevitability. The timeline had to be preserved. That included putting everything in its rightful place. He spun around with an agreeable smile, “Mickey, go into the TARDIS and get Arthur the horse,” he instructed. Mickey looked relieved to be acting out a plan and ran through the blue doors. Right, that was the carrot element, now for the sticky part. “Rose,” the Doctor enquired over his shoulder, not ready to face her fully. “Remember before I regenerated -“
“I’m coming with you,” she stated. He turned at that, fear spliced with anger darkening his irises; freckles standing in hard relief against the paleness of his skin, the life and colour being drawn away in taught lines. She had advanced and now stood squarely against him, looking up in defiance. He swallowed hard against her resolute gaze.
“No, you’re not,” he retorted. His hands enclosed her forearms fully and held them at her sides. “The blue and purple buttons on the left of the plate above the big block of silver switches,” he was losing her and pressed lightly, “in the panel to the left of the Master Dematerialisation Switch,” he spoke quickly to prevent pain from seeping through, “if you press and hold them together then pull the switch, it’ll take you home.” He felt the realisation and incredulity flow through her that was about to show. “You and Mickey will be safe.”
Rose’s eyes widened in shock and she shook her head slightly in disbelief. She would not accept this as goodbye. “Here is safe,” her chin gestured to the abandoned room behind him, “once you break the glass the droids can’t come back, can they?” Her tongue peeked out at the corner of her mouth, daring to form a small smile against the odds. “Besides, we’ve faced worse together.” He loosened his restraint and she bounced her arms a little against her sides, rocking slightly on her feet to gain on his height.
The Doctor bent his knees slightly to look up into her hopeful, hazel eyes. “Rose,” such fearless innocence, “you won’t win against time”. She seemed to understand his plight, and tears threatened to well up inside her. He lifted a slender hand to caress her young face but at the sound of approaching hooves instead raked it through his hair. He straightened up, “I’ll find a way back here.” Mickey struggled to open both doors of the TARDIS with one hand, so the Doctor took the reins to lead the horse through. He tightened the girth strap and mounted the horse, taking him into a trot down the long corridor. Mickey bounced in anticipation of the plan’s climax, but Rose put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him back out of the corridor’s path.
The honour bound white Knight, garbed in pinstriped coat of arms, turned on his whinnying noble steed and galloped toward the window, a stoic impression across his face. The momentum had to work – they did not call it horse power for nothing - otherwise Rose would witness another Regeneration. Time would be wounded, too.
***
Rose and Mickey stood amongst shards of glass, staring at the interior wall of the spaceship where the time window to the ballroom used to be. Mickey had taken considerable steps back as the Doctor charged passed them. Now he took stumbling steps forward in his wake, confused as to how the plan had unfolded.
“What happened? Where did the time window go? How's he gonna get back?” The rising panic in his voice betrayed his bravado gesturing behind her. Rose did not stir; she remained still, mute to his questions. A single tear fell unbidden down her cheek, the only sign of her inner grief. He said he would never leave her, and she had believed she was special. She’d slept only twice since then. She understood his duty to Time, but she couldn’t help thinking he’d gone for personal reasons, too.
“Has he left us stranded here?” His tone became more sombre. “Oh my God, he has, hasn’t he? He’s gone and left us.” The echoes in the lasting silence fuelled Mickey’s insecurities as they ran unchecked through his mind. Maybe the Doctor wasn’t a hero after all. Maybe this was the common reality Rose omitted from her tales to him and her Mum. His thoughts took a more cynical twist. Maybe he used Rose to cover up his failures, only unlike Jimmy Stone it was all about image, not money. She wasn’t even getting any bed action with him. He was getting it with famous women throughout human history instead.
“The amazing Doctor!” he snarled sarcastically in his cockney accent. Rose twitched her head, but her gaze was still transfixed where the Doctor had disappeared. “I told you so,” he said finally with some relish. Still she didn’t turn around. He snorted indignantly, his normal forgiving patience exhausted. “A little convenient, don’t you think? Finding the right window - that was right under our noses - when it was a one way ticket?” the provoking continued. What did it matter? They were going to die here. The air smelt charred with death. “Just think, right now he’s adding Madame De Pom Poms notch on his belt along with all the others,” he sounded very pleased with himself, a gallows humour. He smiled maniacally in anticipation of her turning around, “You could even smell her on ‘im, all heavy perfume and pomegranates and stuff.”
She remained still. Limp almost, as if her skeleton was the only thing keeping her upright. Mickey shut up in concern. “Rose?” he asked, coming to stand in front of her. Only her eyes moved to look at him. They were glazed over; dulled, like she was lost in memories. This was new. Maybe the Doctor had her under some alien spell. His large hand covered her petite one, a callous thumb pressing into her palm, “How’s he gonna get back, huh?” with soothing voice and familiar touch he tried to bring her into reality, to make her see sense. Her skin felt cold and wet. Not damp wet, he noticed. But wet wet. He looked down to see small blood trails pooling between their flesh. “God, Rose!” he exclaimed. She’d been standing right by the mirror when it smashed.
His alarm over her safety finally made her focus on him, then at the life seeping from her arm. It didn’t hurt, she couldn’t really feel it. “It’s nothing, just a scratch,” she reassured, moving her lower arm to get a better view, “or two.”
“Rose, that’s not nothing!” he laughed a little at her bravery, but the seriousness never left his face. He looked around, but there were no cloths for bandages, no symbols on boxes he could recognise as First Aid. “Come on, the TARDIS has gotta have something for this,” he cradled her injured arm and stood his broad form right behind her, “must do, what with all the dangerous things you got up to with ‘im.” She smiled weakly and with that he ushered her into the blue police box.
***
Although Mickey was new to the ship, the TARDIS guided her remaining charges to the medical bay without incident. Once there he went to lift Rose to sit on the examination couch, but she protested vocally and leaned against it instead. She did let him examine her scratches though, knowing his mechanic’s first aid training had kicked and he wouldn't stop fussing until it was over. He dabbed her arm with a nearby cloth to clean the blood away. There were only a few small shards of glass embedded in her pale skin and he looked around for tweezers to pull them out. Mickey was lost amongst the array of blank cupboards and stacked apparatus; for someone who claimed to be a Doctor, the medical room organisation left a lot to be desired. But he found something handheld that could grip and pull. Rose sucked air between her teeth at his clumsiness; she could certainly feel it now within the small, shallow tears. Not wanting to suffer the upcoming antiseptic, Rose pulled him back by his shoulder.
“There’s a better way,” she said kindly, not wanting to dim his spotlight. “It’s called a dermal regenerator,” they were big words to him, “it sort of heals scratches on your skin.” She pointed with her good arm to a small drawer and he fetched out a palm sized, slightly rounded instrument. “You kind of put it over your hand,” she gestured loosely, “curl your fingers and it turns it on.” Sure enough a blue light emanated from the underside and Mickey grinned boyishly at his new toy. It was a bit of a turn on. He bathed Rose’s arm in an azure glow and watched fascinated as her skin knitted back together. Back under normal light it was as if she had never been hurt. Although very pleased, Mickey was a little disheartened that there was nothing to kiss better.
It didn’t stop him from planting a big, sloppy one on her arm. Rose shrieked and he grinned at her response. The following swat and push on his bald head instantly killed the mood. She looked at him sternly to show that she really was not interested, but his scolded puppy look earned him a hug. Her physical closeness was soothing against the alien surroundings, albeit brief comfort as a pat on the back signalled its end. They rested against the couch side by side, Mickey leaning slightly into Rose’s shapely form.
“He’s left us stranded,” Mickey murmured the obvious into the silence, “and we can’t fly the TARDIS without him.”
Rose took in a big breath and shifted uneasily on her perch. “That’s not true,” she said quietly. Mickey thought it was only about his latter statement and was confused.
“But I thought like, the whole universe ripped apart if you did?” He had moved to stand in front of her, shifting his weight in his hope and confusion.
“Apparently not,” she maintained. The revelation that she could in fact fly the TARDIS without universal destruction was very new, and she was having a hard time recalling how she’d flown it in the first place. It gave her a blinding headache every time she had tried to remember. It hurt in other ways as she remembered the Doctor telling her how to go home, pressing just beneath her surface. She wondered if he was safe, how long it had been for him, trapped where he did not belong.
“Well, come on then,” Mickey went to grab her hand and she pulled it away. He was puzzled and upset at her behaviour. He figured it was just her hormones. “He left us here, just you an’ me,” he reminded her. Maybe she would take the hint. “Let’s go home.”
Home, she snorted. Having to get a job to make money, smile insincerely at customers and eat baked beans on toast day after day after day. She felt claustrophobic at the thought and lifted from her resting place. “I don’t really remember how,” she lied and walked out into the corridor. Well, she did remember, but it seemed too easy compared to the energetic ministrations the Doctor flew the TARDIS with. Mickey had trouble keeping up with her as she returned to the console room, his fitness lacking compared to her adventure toned body.
He clumsily clutched her upper arms when he caught up with her by the exit. “Come on, look at the panels,” he pointed behind them at the rotor, “help you remember.” With his need to act he managed to tow Rose back to the console. Mickey began pointing to switches in encouragement and resisted a sexist comment that it couldn’t be that hard if she could do it. His fingers fell short of contact as an oppressive, invisible force prevented them from coming any closer. Mickey let go of everything and backed away, trying to keep a sense of bravado though he was freaked out. He looked to Rose to ask if this was normal, but all cheeriness stopped when she turned to answer him.
“I’m not leaving without him.” She pinned him with her eyes and was frightened by what he saw there. Jackie Tyler fussing over Sunday lunch seemed tame in comparison; Rose really did love the Doctor. He was crestfallen, yet Mickey could see she still cared for him and he let her go out into the space ship to resume her waiting. He wouldn’t have been able to stop her anyway. He was patient, but he knew the Tyler stubborn streak.
Mickey thought of joining her, but the TARDIS felt more secure to him than the stilled silence out there. He was hungry, but Rose might need him if the droids came back, so he hovered around the doorway, counting the hours. Eventually he ventured out, never straying far from the entrance, leaning on things as his legs were not used to taking his weight for this long. The droids had evidently used the chairs for spare parts and no surface looked inviting to sit on. He kept up a mantra of the speaking clock and asking “how’s he gonna get back?” The one question he thought that Rose might listen to - to see sense - as the hours ticked silently away.
***
Rose ached. She ached in her thighs and hip bones and lower back from standing in the cold for hours in a thin t-shirt and tight jeans. But it did not bother her. She could not explain it; she felt okay, like wherever the Doctor was she knew he was safe. His plan must have worked. She did not have any memories of history class where Madame De Pompadour had been decapitated by clockwork robots. Assuming her memories would change if things had not worked out there. Well, assuming she would notice a change, like there would be two sets of memories. Unless time travel made you immune to that sort of thing. Oh, now her head hurt too. She smiled quietly to herself. She really had done too much travelling with the Doctor if she thought about things like that. She pictured the Doctor’s previous form, balding head and battered leather jacket, grinning daftly at her while his eyes showed that he was proud.
Would her first Doctor have left her? He had asked her to go with him, twice. He would have done anything for her to keep her safe in the end. Even in the face of the Daleks - his greatest fear - he'd plucked her right from the middle of their fleet. He had sent her home against her will, and she had found a way back to him. Then he had changed his face. Rose bit a little on her lower lip. Had Sarah Jane seen him Regenerate? One of the first things he had asked in his taller and thinner shape with big hair was whether she wanted to go home. Later that day when she believed that it really was her Doctor, he had asked again if she wanted to be with him. It was her choice. It was always her choice as to where she wanted to be. Right now she wanted to wait for him; she believed he would find a way back.
Where was Captain Jack when you needed him? This was his time, the fifty-first century. Maybe he was in a training ship for the 'Time Agency' and would be flying past the window any minute now. She figured not, as Jack didn't seem to recognise her when she first met him in World War II. But he was an excellent con man at the time. Ouch, there was that headache again for trying to make sense of time. Still, she looked up through the observation window that the Doctor had opened when they had first arrived and looked at the stars. She wondered if it was the Milky Way she could see, or whether it was the galaxy in-between Earth and here. She was mesmerised and tingled just beneath her skin causing Goosebumps. Not at the view - although very pretty - but the nagging sense that the Doctor was doing the same, just looking up and biding his time. She rested her hand against her stomach and brought her fingertips together, as if she should have been holding something.
A sound broke her reverie. It came from the next room, the one with the fireplace time portal. Mickey had heard it too and both of them looked to the doorway, listening for ticking sounds that meant droids were on board. Instead they heard the Doctor’s manic glee as he stepped through the doorway and saw that Rose, the TARDIS and Mickey were still there.
The Doctor was a very lucky man. He never broke his deft strides from the fireplace into Rose’s arms as she met him halfway across the room. He held her tightly, slightly bent over with his arms in the middle of her back so their upper torsos pressed against each other. His head was fitted snugly next to hers within her arms. She had waited for him and he smiled unabashed out of Mickey’s eyesight. “How long did you wait?” he wanted to know. She seemed physically tired and her arms strained to stay above him.
“Five and a half hours!” she exclaimed giddily with relief. It could have been down to the alcohol on his breath too. She could feel the bounded energy in him and it seemed to bring her to life. Her arms ached though and she unclasped her hands from around his back and slid them down his arms.
He gently took Rose’s arms into his hands again and pulled his head back to look at her. “Great, always wait five and a half hours,” he said, the emotion largely lost as his widened eyes took in how tired Rose really was behind all that mascara. Her eyes seemed merry to drink in his vision like a child who had waited up all night to see Santa, only with a faded tear.
Rose had a sense of déjà vu as he left her again, but only as far as Mickey. Her arms followed languidly after him but she sobered slightly as the Doctor seemed to go to hug Mickey. Whatever the Doctor had been doing in Eighteenth Century France he quickly shrugged out from it and shook Mickey’s hand instead. Mickey seemed to have a little more faith in the Doctor on his return. “Where’ve you been?” she asked. She was waking up more now as she noticed the Doctor was not relaxed; there was something else to do.
“Explain later,” he patted Mickey on the shoulder in the direction of the blue doors. “Into the TARDIS,” Mickey did not hesitate and disappeared, “be with you in a sec,” he said without looking at either of them. With that he dashed back to the fireplace, crouched down to the flames and called out to Reinette. His plan had worked, then. Rose watched him disappear as the fireplace rotated and rested her hands in her jean pockets, too stiff to follow him. She knew he would be coming back this time, but she did not know how long she would be waiting in the darkness.
***
Rose did not have to wait very long before the Doctor returned via the fireplace. She had so many questions such as why the fireplace portal still worked. He smiled sincerely, if quietly at her thirst for knowledge. He placed his hand in the small of her back to gesture her into the TARDIS as he explained the dodgy connection making the fireplace portal offline when the link with the ship was severed, and its dodgy nature meant they could hear Reinette calling to them when the droids attacked, like it connected to all the times in her life. Yet there was something missing in his timbre as they entered the console room. Before Rose could ask any more questions the Doctor had lifted his coat from the stand by the door and disappeared outside with a brief "wait here"
As it turned out Mickey had only ventured to the other side of the room in an open space away from the console and the walls. Rose went to stand by him with a reassuring smile and they stood in amicable silence before the Doctor returned. Rose asked the Doctor the big question that Mickey would have done if he were braver: why her? The Doctor answered in his usual wordy way but without a smile and without really paying attention to his ministrations at the console, either. Something was wrong.
“Are you alright?” It came out higher pitched that she had anticipated, a knot catching in the throat as she spoke.
The Doctor looked up and smiled briefly though he could not hide the pained look on his face. “I’m always alright,” he answered quietly before looking down at the controls again. Rose knew that look. It was the look that said he was too late to save somebody. What had happened when he had disappeared into France again? She did not have the chance to ask him as Mickey pulled loosely on her arm.
“Come on, Rose,” Mickey said solemnly, seeing the Doctor wanted to be alone. “It's time you showed me around the rest of this place,” he was still nervous about what the TARDIS could do to him if he wandered alone. Rose hesitated in following him, not wanting to leave the Doctor alone while he looked so vulnerable. Mickey tugged again and she yielded to his need, but looked over her shoulder at the Doctor idly flipping switches until they were out of the console room. It seemed to be taking a long time for the TARDIS to shudder into the time Vortex.
The tour of the TARDIS began again in the kitchen through Mickey eating beans on toast with his usual gusto. Rose picked at her food, not really knowing what she craved. Mickey cleared her plate, too. Next stop was the wardrobe as Mickey had not yet had chance to bring clothes on board. He wore the same set of clothes for days on Earth, Rose knew. That included underwear and she shuddered at the memories. Mickey could not resist a suggestive comment about the Doctor having a wardrobe that extended over four floors and his memories of Captain ‘innuendo squad’ Jack. On their way back to Mickey’s bedroom they walked passed an open door to a room Rose had forgotten about. The shiny surrounds of television monitors lured Mickey in. Various screens and projectors that Mickey recognised from Twenty First Century Earth concealed the organic walls of the TARDIS and he relaxed. He was in his element and plonked himself down into a cinema-style seat. He picked up a remote control and pointed it at the largest screen. The football 2006 World Cup flickered to life in surround sound and Rose rolled her eyes. Seeing that Mickey would be alright on his own now she left him to it.
***
Rose headed into her own room and flopped on her bed. She relaxed a little into the purple cotton sheets before realising quite how much she ached. With a loud sigh she slipped off the bed and stripped off her clothes on the way to her personal bathroom. It was not until she was down to her briefs that she noticed blood, menstrual blood, and it was somewhat of a relief. Not that she had done anything to warrant worrying; the TARDIS seemed to wreak chaos with her cycles and neither a Patch nor the Pill settled them so she had stopped using both. Rose liked having what blessedly seemed like months between periods yet not so much the unpredictability. She had wanted to soak in the bath tonight but settled for a shower instead. She removed her make up and the crinkled perm from her hair with practised ease and gently cleansed her skin with White Lily shower gel. Having patted her hair dry, combed the knots from it and slipped on plain black briefs with sanitary protection, she decided the small blemishes on her face could wait until morning and wrestled underneath the bedcovers in search of sleep.
She did not find it. Between her irregular temperature, the memory of the Doctor in pain playing through her mind and the bloated feeling, she knew sleep would not come. Rose kicked off the duvet in frustration. She wanted chocolate. And company. And tea. Camomile tea, that was good for reducing bloating. A shiver pointed out that clothes would be a good idea, too. Rose struggled off the mattress and into loose satin pyjamas. Despite the light of the TARDIS in the corridor causing her to squint, she smirked to herself that by luck her dressing gown matched the set of navy blue nightwear.
She made her way to the kitchen, put the kettle on and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. Rose wondered what type of tea the Doctor would like as she pinched loose leaves into her mug. Her overtired brain could not handle the sheer choice of tea on offer and sprinkled camomile into his mug, too. Tea would not solve everything but the thought was there. Rose found the good chocolate and placed it in her dressing gown pocket before making her way to the console room with mugs in hand. She was surprised the Doctor was not tinkering in there as he normally did while she slept and that concerned her. The floor grating nipped at her bare feet as she went to look at the monitor and concentrated. Where is he? She thought loudly hoping the TARDIS would show her. A broken image of a dark room with books and an old fashioned fireplace quickly appeared in front of her. Rose frowned a little. She knew it was a library but did not remember which one. Her eyes widened at a throb in her temples as intuitive directions pressed into her mind. The TARDIS was not usually this strong with her; it was like she worried for the Doctor, too. She set out to the right library. As long as Rose travelled with the Doctor he would not have to be alone.
***
The Doctor sat on a high backed, soft leather sofa in the library. It was dark save for the low flames of a replica Nineteenth Century fireplace and a crescent moon waxing high above through an observatory window. Both bathed the low mahogany table and sofa situated close to the fire, which blocked light from the rest of the room. The Doctor’s long legs were stretched out across all three seat cushions and an open tome rested on his thighs. The gilt edged paper had yellowed slightly from age but the ink upon it was fresh and clean. The Doctor had sketched a likeness of Reinette as he had last seen her alive, crouched down and looking through the fireplace. With his horned rimmed glasses and a pen that shed a varying blend of purple and orange ink as he wielded the ornate nib he had been careful in detail. He enjoyed the tactile sensation in this body, even down to the stains on his slender fingers and sealed lips as the pen had inevitably ended up in his mouth. The image seemed animated in the flickering firelight as it danced amongst the pearls on her heavy silk dress, as it had done in reality. The play of the many seeded stars was in contrast to her poised etiquette even when they were alone together.
The Doctor took her parting envelope from his inner jacket pocket and turned it slowly in his hands before placing it in the slip he had made beside her figure. He hesitated in touching the image though not for spoiling the lines. She belonged to Time. Madame De Pompadour was a woman of ambition and took what she wanted, when she wanted. His lips, when in Rome. His memories, not hers to take. With the knowledge of his past, she had designs to spare his loneliness through the severity of human rituals, to make him dance though she was destined to love another. History would remember her for her exploits. He would remember her for mercifully giving him back to the heavens. In his relief he had forgotten the loose connection of the fireplace portal and for her remaining years she had waited for him, hoping he would visit. In one revolution her life was over. He swallowed and rested his head on his fawn overcoat that he had placed over the back of the sofa. How many of those who had known him failed to take on the one adventure he could never have? It had only been one day since he had been reunited with and again lost Sarah Jane Smith though he took comfort she was now alive. While most decided to leave him just the thought of finding them all to see if they lived their own life hurt too much and besides it was their choice.
He closed his eyes, threw his head back over the chair arm and took in a deep breath. It had meant to pre-empt releasing the pain but instead it was filled with Lotus and camomile, and life sustaining blood. It had a much better cleansing effect and his eyes opened to see Rose’s upside down, silhouetted face. “Rose,” he squeaked. He was very happy to see her but the alignment of his throat made speech difficult. He made quick work of removing and pocketing his glasses, shifting his legs off the end seat, bringing his plimsolls to the floor and placing the now closed book on the table. Rose handed him a mug and came around the table to sit in the space he had cleared for her, knees pointed towards the fireplace as she loosely tucked her feet under her legs away from the wood inlay floor and settled her mug in her lap.
She looked to the book that was decorated with interlocking circles, the same ones as the post-it notes stuck to the console monitor only this time she could read it. “Five hundred year diary?” Rose asked, not sure if it had translated right given the poor lighting and that this was the first time the TARDIS had deciphered the ornate symbols for her. Even the Doctor seemed surprised and hid his proud smile behind sips of tea. Judging by the creases the book seemed to be about a third full. Rose wondered many things, like how old he was, how well he kept his diary, how many diaries he had, why he wrote when he had the technology of his ship. After whetting her throat she spoke, “Am I in there?” She had a cheeky smile and looked at him, his eyes twinkling at her in the firelight. He smiled warmly as his lips formed "of course" before he took another light sip. Rose followed his actions albeit slower, “Sarah Jane?” The Doctor barely nodded as his smile waned and he gulped down the rest of his tea. Rose looked down into her mug at the settling tea leaves, “Cleopatra?” she dared to glance up. His face was shadowed to her as he put his mug on the table. As he leaned back he folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his armpits. Rose swallowed a lump in her throat that tea could not shift and looked at the book. She had already seen the answer to her next name but wanted to see if he would tell her, “Reinette?”
The Doctor would not be judged by the human courtship standards of any century. How he had noticed the attention she paid to her appearance when Mickey was around. His voice was calm, “How many people have you cared for in your short years?” Along the soft leather he felt her shift uncomfortably, drawing her legs closer to herself. Through the darkness he caught the corner of her eye with his gaze and brought her attention to him. He was not challenging her; instead he wanted to see what she could understand.
Her mouth worked but nothing came out. The world seemed to disappear when the Doctor looked at her like that, from behind the mask. There had been no-one in her life, just the expected teenage crushes, the popularity contests for Jimmy Stone. Mickey had been safe but nothing special. Her life before the Doctor seemed mundane. The depths of his eyes seemed accentuated as his face was split between fire and moonlight. She saw in them the intense burning for all the people who had now paled in his past. Her body relaxed a little. It didn’t matter how many; they were all special to him, and she was no different. A quiet smile graced her lips. In his way he lo-
Rose gasped, grimaced and pressed a hand into her lower abdomen. Before her name had fully left his lips he had unfurled, sat up and lifted her tea cup away as it threatened to ruin her pyjamas. The Doctor’s eyes searched over her to find the source of her pain. He could still smell the faint metallic tinge of human blood but saw no staining on her clothes or between her fingers. “Stupid ape biology,” she muttered into his hairline, he was sitting that close. He looked up into her eyes with naive curiosity. “Stupid female ape biology,” she clarified, and he mouthed a silent oh as realisation dawned on him. Nothing life threatening, quite the opposite. Another beginning of a repeated cycle, each with the potential for something amazing, something life giving. “Not Mickey,” she added, poking her tongue between her teeth as she smiled. His face lit up at that, amused at the prospect of Mickey being useful. He was the boy who did not belong; not on Earth, not on the TARDIS. Although the Doctor’s temporal instincts indicated he had the potential, Mickey was yet to realise it. Rose pulled a bar of chocolate from her dressing gown pocket and gave half of it to the Doctor. He sniffed it, realised the calibre and bit off a large piece, savouring the experience on his tongue.
Rose watched the Doctor’s tongue roam his mouth with some amusement as he leaned backwards. Maybe the Doctor appreciated the chocolate as much as she did at the moment. She was more discreet, breaking off a square and melting it into the roof of her mouth. “While you were gone,” she swallowed, “Mickey had you pegged as some kind of Intergalactic Playboy.” It seemed even sillier now. She couldn’t smile properly so finished off her tea to clear her mouth, “Casanova in Space.”
“Nice man,” the Doctor enunciated around the chocolate. “A revolutionary in personal equality for women,” he swallowed and placed the remaining chocolate in his mouth. “Very misunderstood, terrible circumstance,” he said nonchalantly as he threaded his hands behind his head and shifted slightly. Rose chuckled quietly to herself, the tiredness coming forward now her mind and body were finally easing.
She leaned her head on the back of the sofa. “What happened, while you were gone?”
“Oh,” the Doctor remembered he was going to explain. “Well, I smashed the very expensive mirror in the main court room,” he began with his normal enthusiasm, “luckily no-one was injured the other side.” He noticed Rose touched her arm as she cradled it in her lap. “I told the droids the obvious and that I wasn’t winding them up,” he knew Rose would have liked to have heard that the first time and he was rewarded with a smile. “Destroyed the advanced technology, although,“ he mused, “it could be what inspired them to make the clockwork chess player.” The reference was lost on Rose as her eyes fluttered shut. He focused in the middle distance as he murmured, “Sat down to dinner and had these people try to measure me for courtesan robes until I excused myself to go look at the stars.”
He felt a nudge in his thigh and looked down to see Rose’s toe. Her sleepy laugh drew his attention to half closed eyes and her tongue poking slightly between her teeth. “You doing domestic?” her amusement was infectious and tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You couldn’t stand one Christmas dinner.” He watched her stretch out her legs in the narrow space between him and the back of the sofa, turning slightly so she now leaned away from the waning fire. Through the comfortable silence sleep found her. “Can I learn to fly the TARDIS?” she asked quietly as she slipped from consciousness. She finally rested her eyelids together and whispered, “Someone’s gotta look after you.”
The Doctor was pleasantly lost for words. There she was with no interest in mechanics or selfish desire to wield superior technology but instead she wanted him to be safe. Pride swelled within him. By the time he thought yes Rose’s breathing had evened out and her lidded eyes flickered as they discovered dreams. It must have been rude to stare at her while she slept. He would not teach her like last time. Not that he had taught her, but her fragile system would not remember embodying the Time Vortex. Although he would willingly give another of his Regenerations for her he quite liked this body. The natural bond she had formed with the TARDIS was strong enough to begin intuitive meditation, if she wanted to try. But for now she needed rest. Slowly he sat up so not to rouse her and pulled his overcoat from over the back of the sofa. He draped it over her and carefully tucked the material around her shoulders and under her waist. The latter caress drew a comforted sigh from her lips as he sat down on the end cushion. He placed her feet under his loose shirt tails to help regulate her body temperature through his own. Without disturbing her he easily reached for the book on the table and opened it across his thighs again to a clean double page.
For the first time with these eyes the Doctor began to sketch Rose in her unmasked beauty.
~~~~~