Chapter Text
Title: Identity Theft (1/5ish)
Authors: 
goldy_dollar & _thirty2flavors
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Ten II/Rose
Genre: Angst, drama
Warnings: No standard warnings apply, but it does deal with themes of memory loss.
Summary: When the Doctor is injured during an alien attack, he and Rose are left struggling to cope with the aftermath.
Excerpt: The Doctor looked her up and down like he was seeing her for the first time. Rose felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny - he had looked at her a million times before, but never had she felt like he was passing judgment on her.
The van’s tyres skidded along the road as it pulled to a stop. Rose hauled the door open and jumped out, the Doctor right on her heels.
They landed in a scene of chaos.
Flames engulfed a nearby shopping centre as people ran screaming out of its burning entrance and flooded onto the street. Downed power lines were strewn across the ground while a fire hydrant gushed water over the pavement.
The van’s doors slammed shut as the other members of Rose’s team, Jake Simmons and Tim Neil, climbed out behind them. “Jesus Christ,” murmured Tim quietly as he got a good look at the carnage. “Do we know what we’re looking for?”
“No,” said Rose, surveying the scene herself. She paused. “Well, one witness said it looked a bit like--”
Before she could finish, Jake pointed. “There!” he yelled.
Rose followed his finger and her eyes landed on the alien. It stood about a metre high, a small bulbous body supported by five long, wobbly legs. A thin sheen of moisture on its pale, pink skin glistened in the daylight, reminding Rose of the bizarre looking creatures found in the depths of the ocean. Truthfully, Rose thought it looked a bit silly.
“Oh no,” the Doctor whispered.
Right then, the alien moved, taking chase after a man in a suit. Its movements were fluid and swift, despite its strange build; in a second the alien overtook the man and leapt at him, its tentacle-like legs wrapping around his head.
The man fell to the ground, writhing and screaming underneath the creature.
Rose moved towards him instinctively. “Come on - we have to help him.”
The Doctor grabbed her arm. “Rose,” he said, not unkindly, but with a firm warning in his voice. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Tim winced as he watched the man fall still and the alien extracted itself from the limp body. “What’s it doing?”
“It’s feeding.” The gravity of the Doctor’s tone made Rose regret ever thinking the word “silly”.
“There are more of them,” Jake pointed out. He crouched down behind the van and peered out into the sea of screaming people. “Three – four -- at least five of them, Rose.”
“Doctor—” Rose turned on him, heart pounding. “What are they?”
“Squadra,” said the Doctor darkly. “Rose, listen to me.” He surprised her by grabbing her hands. “Your gun, where is it?”
Rose frowned. “My belt. Why are you—”
“Get it out!” he hissed. “Use it—and whatever you do, do not let one touch you.”
His words did nothing to calm the pounding of her heart. For the Doctor to demand she use a gun..... She nearly elbowed him in her haste to unhook it from her gun belt.
“Don’t let them touch you,” he repeated.
“Yeah, I got it,” Rose said. He turned back to survey the wreckage and Rose grabbed his arm. “What about you? You never carry a gun. You’re defenceless.”
“Time Lords have this trick,” he began, but something caught his eye. “Jake,” he murmured.
Rose’s head whipped around. Jake had taken coverage behind the Torchwood van and apparently hadn’t needed the Doctor’s blessing to use his gun. He shot into the crowd, his effectiveness somewhat hampered by his efforts to avoid hitting innocent people. And behind the van, Rose saw the long legs of a Squadra moving towards him.
Rose knew what the Doctor would do a split second before she saw him do it.
“DOCTOR, DON’T YOU DARE—” she said, but it was too late. The Doctor pushed her out of the way and planted himself in the Squadra’s path to Jake.
Time seemed to grind to a halt.
Rose could only watch while, as though in slow motion, the Squadra wrapped its arms around the Doctor’s head and they fell to the ground, the Doctor twitching and convulsing beneath the creature.
“NO!” Rose yelled. She ran towards him, but strong arms wrapped around her waist.
“Tyler,” growled Tim. “You heard what the Doctor said—you can’t let it touch you.”
“I DON’T CARE! LET ME GO!” Rose yelled, pushing ineffectively at the man’s much larger arms. “He needs help!”
At her screaming, Jake turned around. His looked from the Doctor, squirming underneath the Squadra, to Rose, fighting against Tim’s grip. He raised his gun instinctively but hesitated; there was no way to get a clear shot, and he couldn’t risk hitting the Doctor.
“LET ME GO,” Rose hollered, swinging her elbows back into Tim’s stomach. He grunted but held onto her.
“Think about what he said, Tyler,” Tim hissed in her ear. “Fat lot of help you’ll be to him if it feeds on you as well.”
Rose struggled once more against Tim’s arms and then slumped in defeat. Tim’s hold loosened slightly, but he didn’t release her.
Rose’s eyes never left the Doctor. His arms flailed helplessly and his cries of pain were muffled and indistinct. Her stomach twisted itself into such a tight knot that she thought she might be sick.
After what felt like an eternity, the Doctor stopped twitching. With a loud squelching noise, the Squadra removed its arms and released him. It stumbled away from the Doctor as if half drunk and then fell on its side, legs twitching.
Jake reacted immediately—with one click of his gun, the Squadra exploded in a cloud of blood and flesh.
Tim released her and Rose ran to the Doctor’s still form, her hands shaking as she pressed her fingers to his neck. She swallowed back a sob—and then she felt it. A pulse.
“He’s alive!” she yelled, almost laughing with relief. “Doctor,” she said, cradling his head gently on her lap. “Can you hear me? Doctor?”
“ROSE!” yelled Jake. He shot at a Squadra over her shoulder. “We could really use you.”
“Help me get him in the van!” she yelled. She leaned down and pressed her lips to the Doctor’s forehead before whispering, “If you can hear me, I’ll look after you. I promise.”
----
The Doctor stayed unconscious for a very long time.
Rose was oblivious to the bits of Squadra flesh still clinging to her hair and clothes as she held onto the Doctor’s hand. He was lying on a hospital bed in Torchwood’s medical wing, hooked up to all the best technologies this world had to offer. Machines reported his heart rate, his oxygen levels, and his blood pressure at regular intervals.
The steady rise and fall of his chest should have reassured her, but Rose became more anxious with every minute he remained unconscious.
None of the other Squadra victims had woken up yet either.
She squeezed his hand a little more tightly—his skin was warm and dry, and the rest of his body was eerily still. There was no movement beneath his eyelids and he didn’t twitch or snore. Wherever he was, he wasn’t dreaming.
The doctors and nurses who passed in and out to read his vitals and told her nothing helpful. Jake came by with his report of the incident and Rose mechanically signed off on it. Squadra nest destroyed, it read. Minimal casualties reported.
Jackie even popped by for an hour or so, bringing coffee and a hairbrush. She made a few token pleas for Rose to leave and grab a shower and rest, but Rose barely listened.
The Squadra had attacked him right in front of her, and she hadn’t done anything to stop it—to help him. So far his condition matched the other victims’. But he’d told her, he’d said: Time Lords have this trick. But what? What trick?
She sat back in her chair, watching his face and worrying her lip. It had been hours now, and the Doctor’s condition hadn’t changed. The knot in her stomach seemed to be growing tighter by the second, a manifestation of the fear she didn’t even want to consider.
What if he never woke up?
With one hand still closed around his, she reached up, gently running her fingers through his hair. The Sqaudra had left no marks. Aside from the total stillness of his face, he looked fine--completely himself, healthy as ever. Somehow, it made the wait even more agonising. It reminded her of the day he’d regenerated, years and Christmases ago, a stranger lying in her mother’s bed.
Feeling as helpless now as she had then, Rose pressed a kiss to his forehead and then sank back in her chair, drained. She was exhausted in every sense of the word, and though she had no intention of moving from her spot at his bedside, it was becoming harder and harder to keep herself awake. With one hand still desperately holding on to his, she pulled her legs up into her chair and allowed herself to drift into that awkward space between sleep and waking.
And then the Doctor’s hand squeezed hers.
Rose’s eyes flew open immediately, and she nearly fell from her chair in her haste to turn and face him. The Doctor’s eyes were still closed, but as she watched, he groaned quietly and opened his eyes to look at her.
Rose’s relief was immediate, and she couldn’t help but grin broadly and give his hand another squeeze. “Hi.”
She waited for his warm smile of recognition, but the Doctor only blinked at her, his gaze jumping around the rest of the room. “Where am I?” He sat up, tugging his hand out of hers, staring at the machines he was hooked up to, his forehead crinkled in confusion. “What’s going on? What’s...” He looked at her again, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the bits of Squadra still stuck in her hair. “Who are you?”
The question stung more than Rose could have anticipated. She blinked back at him, her grin disappearing. “Doctor, it’s... it’s me.” His expression didn’t change, and -- feeling wholly stupid while doing so -- she added, “It’s... Rose.”
The Doctor didn’t seem impressed with her answer. He looked around the room again, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously. “Where am I?” he asked again. “What’s--”
“It’s Torchwood,” said Rose. She reached out to touch his arm and the Doctor jumped, watching her hand warily. “We’re at Torchwood.”
“Torchwood?” he repeated. Though he sounded incredulous he at least seemed to recognize the word. “Why am I at Torchwood?”
“You...” she began, and then hesitated. The Doctor was still watching her like... like he’d never seen her before. His eyes were wide, and he twisted his body away from her, like he expected her to attack at any second. The heart monitor beside him registered a steadily increasing heart rate. He was frightened -- more frightened than she usually saw him -- and she had no idea why.
What had the Squadra done to him?
“You were hurt,” she said finally, quietly. The knot in her stomach was back. “Doctor, what’s the last thing you remember?”
He opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out. His eyes widened even more, and he backed away from her as much as he could, pressed up against the side of the hospital bed. “What have you done to me?” he whispered finally. And then his voice grew louder, more panicky. “What’s happened? Why don’t I remember anything? What did you do to me?”
Rose watched him wordlessly, feeling like she was in a daze. “I... I didn’t...” she stammered, barely able to comprehend the idea that the Doctor was accusing her of hurting him.
The door to the hospital wing flew open and Jake scrambled in, looking as though he’d just sprinted there. “Rose,” he began, panting, but then he saw the Doctor and his face fell. “Oh.”
Rose twisted in her chair to face Jake, her own fear growing. “Something’s wrong.”
“Who are you?” the Doctor asked immediately.
“Jake,” he said -- like it wasn’t weird at all to be asked his name by someone he’d known for years. “Hi.” He turned to Rose, sending her a meaningful stare. “Rose, I need to talk to you.”
Rose laughed faintly, still feeling as though she was having a very bizarre dream. “I don’t know if you noticed but now’s not the best time.”
“Now is exactly the best time,” said Jake, reaching down to take her arm and try to tug her out of the chair.
“Tell me what’s going on,” the Doctor demanded, looking from one to the other in quick succession. Some distant part of Rose recognized that he was shouting and making demands to mask his fear like he always did -- only this time it wasn’t working so well.
“We will,” said Jake, “once I talk to Rose.” He gave her arm another tug. “Rose, come on.”
Reluctantly, Rose allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.
The Doctor stared at them, and he looked so bewildered and afraid that Rose had to fight the urge to go over and hug him. Something told her he wouldn’t appreciate that right now. “Hold on, you can’t... you can’t just leave me here.”
Rose swallowed, suddenly feeling like she might cry. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “I promise.”
He didn’t look like he believed her.
With a shaky breath, Rose turned and followed Jake out of the room.
--
The door had barely closed behind them when Rose rounded on Jake. Her heart was pounding very hard and she was reluctant to get any further away from the Doctor. “What the hell is going on?” she hissed. “We should be giving him a full physical, not - ”
“Rose...” Jake touched her gently on the arm and she reluctantly snapped her mouth shut. “We did some research. This isn’t the first time the Squadra have come to Earth. They’ve attacked London before, around the turn of the century.”
He hesitated and Rose felt a surge of impatience. The Doctor was alive and he was awake - and Jake had better have a very good reason for keeping her away from him.
“Yeah? And?” she snapped.
“Torchwood managed to stop the attack, but the victims they....” Jake turned apologetic eyes on her and Rose felt her breath catch. “They got this... this form of amnesia.”
Rose stared at him, heartbeat ringing in her ears. She thought about how the Doctor had looked when he woke up - the way he hadn’t recognized her, the confusion and terror on his face. She drew in a sharp breath and managed, “How do you mean?”
“We think that’s what they feed on,” Jake continued gently. “They take people’s memories - their identities, I should say. The Doctor... he’ll remember Torchwood and he’ll know how to work the television remote, but he won’t remember you, Rose. He won’t even know his own name.”
Rose’s knees weakened and she leaned back against the door. “No,” she whispered. “He said, Jake - he said that Time Lords, that they can do this thing...”
She remembered what he’d said - how he’d told her not to let one touch her. He knew, she thought. He knew exactly what would happen when he gave himself up to that Squadra.
“He didn’t remember anything,” she found herself saying. She looked up at Jake, trying not to sound pleading. “He looked right at me and didn’t even know who I was.”
Jake touched her gently on the shoulder. His face was grave. “Rose, I’m so sorry.”
“Those other victims,” she said desperately, “did they get their memories back?”
He shook his head. “No.” She looked away, and Jake continued, “But most of them found a way to carry on - sometimes with their old families, sometimes building new ones. Don’t count him out yet, Rose.”
Easy for him to say, Rose thought. He wasn’t the one whose boyfriend... type... person... had just woken up without his memories.
“And who knows?” Jake said. “That was more than a hundred years ago now. We’ve come a long way since then. If you talk to a doctor, maybe you can...”
“Yeah,” Rose said dully. She leaned her head back against the door, tears momentarily blurring her vision. “Jake, what do I tell him?”
There was a long pause, and then Jake said, “I don’t know. The truth?”
Rose laughed--a broken, hysterical sound. “Oh, right, that’ll go well. ‘Doctor, quick recap. You’re a 900-year-old Time Lord who used to be able to travel in all of time and space but then you grew yourself out of your own hand and now you’re stuck as a human in this world with me. Any questions?’”
Jake shrugged. “Why not? If it was me, I’d want to know everything about myself that I could.”
“Yeah, but you’re not an alien from a parallel universe,” Rose shot back. “We’re not exactly talking about a bloke who moved to the suburbs to settle down with two kids and a dog.”
“Fair point,” said Jake. He paused. “You’ve got to tell him something.”
“I know that,” Rose said. She banged her head back against the door, feeling empty and tired. “I’ll think of something.”
---
Rose didn’t go back in the hospital room right away. She stood outside, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She thought: He doesn’t remember. The Doctor doesn’t know who I am.
The thought made her want to turn around and let someone else sort it out for her. How could they expect her to keep her head around him? Those first few minutes after he’d woken up had been bad enough, but if Jake was right, this could be forever. All those years of history he had. In all her time with him, she’d barely scraped the surface of all he’d done and seen. How could she even begin to give him back any of that? She couldn’t tell him about his people or his planet or what had happened during the war. She couldn’t tell him about his family or any of the friends he’d had before and after her. He had over nine hundred years of memories to catch up on and she barely knew any of them. She knew the Doctor better than anyone else in the universe, but it wasn’t enough.
But right now he needed her. Rose could only imagine how terrifying it would be to wake up and find all your closest thoughts and memories gone. It must be the emptiest feeling in the world.
Taking a deep breath, she nudged the door back open. She found him sitting up, squinting over the monitors plugged in by the bed. It took her a moment to figure out why he was squinting and then she realized - his glasses. He usually kept them in his top right pocket - but of course he wouldn’t remember that now.
Eyes closed, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Then, steeling herself as much as she could, she walked to his bed. “Hi,” she said.
He looked up when she spoke, and the expression on his face broke her heart. Though the earlier panic had faded, she could see the lingering terror and wariness in his eyes and in the tense way he was holding himself, like a cornered animal. He wanted her answers but he didn’t trust her; he wanted to run but he wasn’t sure where.
“Hi,” he said stiffly. He glanced at the heart monitor next to the bed and then down at the IV sticking out of his arm. “What’s wrong with me?”
Rose bit her lip. “Do you.... do you remember anything?”
There was a long moment of silence and he looked up at her, eyes wide and frightened. “No,” he finally whispered.
Rose took a deep breath. “You’re in London. It’s about 2am Saturday morning, the temperature is around sixteen degrees, and your name is the Doctor.”
He absorbed this quietly, his eyes glassy and unfocused like the shock was too much to handle. Rose swallowed hard and looked away - the urge to throw her arms around him was overwhelming. She had to keep telling herself to take it one step at a time. This had to be about the Doctor - it didn’t matter how worried she’d been or how awful it was to look into his eyes and know he didn’t recognize her.
“The Doctor,” he repeated like he was trying the word out in his mouth and fitting his tongue around the syllables. “The Doctor.”
“Yeah,” she said, trying for a smile. “You chose it. I love your name.”
He didn’t smile back. “What happened?”
“You were in an accident,” Rose said. She hesitated and then took a seat on the edge of the bed. He shifted over, looking impatient and uncomfortable. She tried to keep her voice calm. “There were these aliens - Squadra, they’re called. One of them attacked you and.... it fed off you.”
The Doctor stared at her in quiet disbelief. Usually, this was the part where he finished the thought for her or launched into a long explanation about where the Squadra came from and how they could stop them. But he said nothing, and after a moment Rose continued.
“They took your memories,” Rose said, swallowing past a lump in her throat. “Your whole identity, they just.... they took it.”
She bowed her head, pressing her hands to her eyes and taking a few shuddering breaths. It wouldn’t help anyone if she broke down now, right in front of him. But it hit her a little bit at the time that the Doctor - everything about him - was gone. How could she grieve for someone who was sitting across from her? Someone who looked and sounded just like the Doctor and who was very much alive?
“Whoa... hey...” said the Doctor, now sounding distinctly alarmed. “There’s no need to....” He broke off suddenly like something had just occurred to him. “Are you and me...?”
Rose pulled her hands down from her face and managed a teary eyed smile. “Yeah,” she whispered. She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Yeah, we are.”
The Doctor looked her up and down like he was seeing her for the first time. Rose felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny - he had looked at her a million times before, but never had she felt like he was passing judgment on her.
“Oh,” he finally said. “So this Squadra, it.... what? It ate my memories?”
“Yeah,” Rose said dully.
He was growing more and more agitated. “But you can fix it, right? That’s what you lot do, that’s why I’m here.”
Rose said nothing and looked away, avoiding his eyes.
“You can fix it,” said the Doctor. It wasn’t a question.
She could feel the weight of the Doctor’s stare and she shut her eyes, bowing her head. She couldn’t cry now, not yet--
She heard the Doctor suck in a sharp breath, and when he spoke again he was begging. “Please say you can fix it.”
“There was an attack around the turn of the century,” she said finally, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Some people, they... got hurt, like you.” She swallowed. “None of them ever remembered anything from before the attack.”
“No.” With wide, disbelieving eyes he shook his head. “You’ve got to be able to do something, you’re Torchwood, that’s your job.”
“I know.” She forced herself to look at him, the back of her throat beginning to burn. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, you’re sorry?” he snapped. “What good does that do me?” When she said nothing, the Doctor looked away, scowling across the room. There was a beat of silence, and when he spoke again, he sounded on the verge of hysteria. “I can’t be like this forever. I can’t -- I don’t even remember my own birthday, I can’t...”
“Well... we don’t know for certain,” said Rose, her voice wobbling despite her efforts to sound calm and collected. “That was over a hundred years ago now. Technology’s changed, maybe... maybe there’s something...”
But she didn’t sound very confident, and beside her the Doctor hugged his knees to his chest. “Do you really think that or are you just trying to make me feel better?”
He sounded as miserable as she felt, and she reached out, one hand hovering just above his shoulder. She wanted to be able to reassure him, to vow that she would find some way to make it better. He was looking for some kind of lifeline, and she wanted one too.
But she also didn’t want to make promises she couldn’t keep. If there were an easy fix for Squadra attacks, the Doctor wouldn’t have encouraged her so vehemently to use her gun, or thrown himself in front of Jake. She pulled her hand away, folding it in her lap.
“I want you to feel better,” she admitted softly.
His sigh of disappointment was unmistakable, but he gave a curt nod. “Yeah. Well. Thanks, I guess.” He was silent for a long moment, staring off away from her, his shoulders hunched. He looked remarkably small, half-hidden under the sheets of the hospital bed, and Rose thought he’d never looked more human -- or more like a stranger.
“What am I supposed to do?” he whispered eventually. “How am I supposed to...” He trailed off, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I can’t remember anything,” he said desperately. “Where the hell am I supposed to go from there?”
“I don’t know,” Rose said, her voice cracking. Her throat felt tight. “But I’ll help you.” She swallowed, blinking rapidly to try and clear the tears that were fogging up her vision. “I know that doesn’t mean much to you, but I... I know you better than anyone.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll help you, Doctor, I promise.”
He turned to look at her, and with a minuscule smile he said, “It’s ‘Rose’, right?”
The question made Rose feel sick, but she forced herself to smile when she nodded. “Yeah. Rose Tyler.”
The smile faded, and he nodded once. “Nice to meet you, Rose.” Then he looked away from her again, staring out around the unfamiliar room.
Rose watched the back of his head, remembering the first time he’d said those words and wishing he could remember it too. She sniffed, doing her best to ignore the dampness in her eyes and the heavy weight that had settled in her stomach. “Can... can I get you something to eat, or...?”
The Doctor shook his head. He rubbed the tops of his arms, silent for a long moment, before he said, “I want to go home.”
“Yeah.” With a deep breath, Rose wiped at her eyes and stood up. “Me too.”
--
“It’s not very big,” said Rose, stopping in the living room of their flat. “Course, it’s about twice the size of the flat mum and I shared when I was growing up....”
After Rose had showered and signed for the Doctor’s discharge, Torchwood hadn’t put up much protest. The other Squadra victims were beginning to wake up and Torchwood had its hands full. Besides, there wasn’t much they could do for the Doctor and Jake had encouraged Rose to get him into the flat and into his daily life in hopes that it might jog his memories.
The Doctor came to a stop next to her, posture tense and arms hanging awkwardly next to his sides. “It’s nice,” he said vaguely. His eyes roamed restlessly over the kitchen and hallway before settling on the living room.
His gazed stopped on a row of photographs, sitting on the mantel. Without a word, he moved past her, and then bent down to inspect the pictures. Rose swallowed hard as the Doctor’s eyes passed over pictures of Tony, of Jackie and Pete, and then, finally, of the pair of them. There were two photos of them. One taken a few weeks after Bad Wolf Bay, asleep in each other’s arms on her mum’s sofa. And the second, taken almost a year later, grinning at each other outside of Torchwood’s downtown office. They were both covered head-to-foot in alien goo, having just stopped the Yarala from using the Underground to store their eggs.
“That’s my family,” Rose explained. She moved over to stand beside him and pointed to the pictures as she spoke. “That’s my baby brother, Tony, and my dad, Pete. And that’s my mum—Jackie Tyler. And that’s... “
“Us,” the Doctor finished. He paused. “We look happy.”
“We were—are,” Rose corrected herself. She flexed her hand, feeling a pang and then glanced at the Doctor’s empty hand. Could she reach out and take it? Would it make him feel better to know that, as hard as this was, she wasn’t going to leave him on his own?
“That last picture, it was taken at Torchwood.”
“Yeah,” Rose said softly. “I work for them.”
The Doctor glanced sideways at her. “And me?”
She hesitated. “You sort of... you’re more of a consult, really.”
“I consult for Torchwood?” he said dubiously. “That’s my job.”
“Sort of,” Rose said, shifting. “I mean, it’s part of your job, but it’s not.... it’s a bit complicated.”
“Right,” he said dully. He backed away, squinting around the rest of the flat. “What about me? My family?” He tried for a smile. “What sort of parents call their son ‘Doctor’ anyway?”
Rose’s heart sank. She couldn’t tell him the truth—not without explaining the half-alien part, and he’d already taken in so much. And even beyond that, even if she did tell the truth... he’d barely spoken to her about his family. All she knew was that they’d all died in the Time War.
“I wouldn’t know,” Rose finally said. “I’ve never met them.” Off his look, she added, “They’re dead.”
A look of dismay passed over his face. “I can’t remember them,” he murmured. “Who forgets their own parents?”
“That’s not your fault,” Rose whispered, “that’s the Squadra - they’re the ones who took those memories from you.”
The Doctor sunk down onto the nearby sofa, covering his face with his hands, his shoulders slumping. Rose stayed where she was, standing awkwardly over him. The urge to put her arms around him and tell him it was going to be all right was overwhelming - but she had no idea whether he would welcome her comfort.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and then with what looked like great effort, turned his face up towards hers. “What about the rest of my family? Friends? There must be someone.”
Rose swallowed. She remembered what he was like in those early days—all that grief and pain and gruffness from the Time War. And now he would have to go through it all over again. His entire family was gone—and she would have to be the one to tell him.
“I don’t think there is,” she finally said. “You’ve always been....” she paused and then finished, “lonely.”
“I’m on my own,” he whispered, like the enormity of it was too much for him to comprehend.
“You’ve got me,” Rose said, trying to keep her tone light. But her voice cracked and she hastily looked away, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes.
There was a long moment of silence and when she looked back at him, the Doctor was squinting out the window, fingers idly tapping against his knee. He was trying to be stoic, but Rose could tell that he was only hanging on by a thin thread.
Again, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him it was going to be okay. But he was awkward around her at best. At worst, a part of her wondered if he was beginning to resent her. He’d woken up without any memories—and there she’d been a second later with the news that—surprise—they’d been living together for two years. He hadn’t had much of a choice when he’d left Torchwood with her, had he? He’d had nowhere else to go. And nothing but her word that she was telling the truth.
The Doctor broke the heavy silence. “How long have we been together?”
“A few years,” said Rose, relieved to be able to talk to him about something she did know. She smiled gently. “We were sort of... separated for a while, but we found a way back to each other.”
“Separated?”
“It was... complicated.”
“Ah.” He paused. “And we’re not...” he gestured at her, looking faintly embarrassed. “Not married?”
Rose felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. She got that feeling of judgement again—like he was looking for something in her and not finding it. In truth, lately she’d found herself thinking that being married to the Doctor would be nice—not necessary, but... nice. Jackie, of course, could barely go a week without dropping a hint. As for the Doctor himself—Rose had been reluctant to bring it up, in case it sounded too human or too domestic. But she had never had reason to doubt him or what they had together. Marriage would have just been a symbol recognizing what was already there.
“No,” Rose said. “I suppose... neither of us thought we needed to be married.”
The Doctor nodded and Rose felt herself relax a little--maybe she could get through to him after all. Maybe Jake was right--maybe like those other victims, they would find a way to cope and move on with her lives.
The Doctor gave a sudden, loud yawn. Rose flushed--of course he was tired. He’d barely woken up from an alien attack and he’d spent the last few hours racking his brain for any details of the life he’d lost. Anyone would be exhausted in his place.
“You should get some rest,” she said. She looked around--and then the reality of their situation hit her. They lived together in a small London flat with a bedroom that they shared. Her heart sunk when her eyes met his--and she flashed back to what it had been like, that first night when they got home from Bad Wolf Bay. She’d been too awkward and too confused back then to even suggest that they share the bedroom. She felt the same way now.
It was like the past two years had never happened. They had to start all over again.
She searched around for something to say. “Okay, you’ve been injured, you take the bedroom,” she said. “Sorry if it’s a little messy - things were rushed this morning.”
“And where will you sleep?”
She clenched her hands in front of her so he wouldn’t see that they were shaking. “The sofa,” she said. “It’s fine... I mean, I’ll be fine.”
His gaze was suddenly concerned and Rose resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Oh, he would get all noble about the bloody sleeping arrangements.
“You take the bedroom,” he said. He experimentally patted the cushion next to him and then gave her the fakest looking smile she’d ever seen. “It’s no problem.”
“You’re the one who just woke up in the hospital after being attacked by aliens.”
“Yeah, and it’s your flat--”
“It’s our flat,” Rose said, her voice rising. “Ours. And our bedroom too.”
His gaze met hers for the briefest of moments and then he jumped to his feet, pushing by her on the way to the bedroom. She heard him mumble “doesn’t feel like my flat” on the way and she squeezed her eyes shut, heart suddenly pounding. She sank into the sofa cushions after he was gone, trying not to cry.
--