Chapter Text
If anyone had seen her in that moment, they would have seen a light take form; a phantom come to life. To her it was the opposite: it was the walls of the TARDIS that shaped themselves from the fabric of a new universe, materialising around her. A puzzle of infinite pieces, creating a picture of home. She fell back onto the bed, knowing instinctively that that's where it would be. It was still lovingly made, the pink duvet otherwise unruffled. She hadn't usually made her bed in the mornings; the thrilling life they'd led did not really lend itself to such domesticity. It must have been the Doctor who had smoothed it down when she was no longer here to do it herself.
The room was so perfectly preserved, every detail the same as in her memory- from the positioning of the intricate cabinet to the photo of her and the Doctor which rested upon it- that she thought for a moment that that was where she was. Caught in a dream. Falling through her own mind. The light-headed, hollow-boned lurch she'd felt as she cracked the skin of the universe was the same surreal, floating sensation she sometimes feels before drifting to sleep. But she'd fallen further this time, dropping into a dimension far more wild and unpredictable than her own subconscious. She was where the Doctor was, and she could only hope that life outside the room had been as expertly preserved as within it.
She'd never expected to end up here, within the TARDIS itself. But the ship had seen her floundering in the space between worlds, and had reeled her back to shore. This was where she belonged. Out of all the worlds in all the universes, it was this room and this ship that called to her. A rush of welcome, and a longing that wasn't completely her's soaked into her, energizing after the exhaustion of dimension-hopping. Life: a life she'd lost and a life she was yet to find, drew her upwards and she took her first, tentative step into the corridor outside, seeking a particular vitality that was so new and so familiar.
Metal thrummed beneath her feet and the turn was exactly where she expected it to be, the catacomb of the TARDIS unchanged. That was good. Her room hadn't been relegated to a forgotten corner of its infinite design. The console room was mere steps away.
What will I find there? she thought, one hand trailing along the rivets of the wall. Will he be waiting for me?
The TARDIS didn't answer, but the warmth of the metal against her skin was reassuring. So far the only inconsistency had been her. If the Doctor had changed at all, it would be to grow alongside her. A new Doctor for a new Rose. That was how it had always been. Their synchronicity bridged time, bridged dimensions.
The Doctor was in the console room. His back was turned to her as he fiddled with something, but she could tell that he still had the same face. The same hair. The same agility as he danced across the controls. The same suit, even. But he was not alone.
A stranger was sprawled across the seats she used to sit on, head tilted towards the Doctor. Neither of them had noticed her yet. His appearance shocked her into a stunned silence even though she knew, on a logical level at least, that this was what she had expected. She'd never wanted him to travel alone. And she'd known long before their separation became real that he'd have to continue without her someday. That much was inevitable. The curse of the Time Lords. But beneath it all, beyond both reason and compassion, she couldn't help feeling betrayed. Betrayed by the passage of time; by the concept of change; by her futile, naive, stupid hope that just this once, change would pass her by. Betrayed by the Doctor for living the life he had no choice but to lead.
It was all irrationality and insecurity. The jump to this dimension had opened up a whole new spectrum of uncertainty and if she indulged in it too much she'd find herself dealing in absolutes. But reality was rarely so simple. She had known all along that her return would never be all good- the distress of her goodbyes were testament to that- and it was equally fruitless to assume the worst. She didn't even know if he was staying, or just being dropped off somewhere. It was impossible for life on the TARDIS to seal itself up so quickly or so callously behind her. She'd still fit in here, albeit with a potential adjustment. One person couldn't keep her apart from the Doctor when the walls of universes had failed.
"So, where do you fancy going next?" The Doctor was speaking and it took a moment to come to terms with the fact that the words weren't for her anymore. They sounded different: amicable enough, but lacking the excitement that comes with showing off.
The stranger pulled himself up to stand behind the Doctor and as she watched, still silent, still hidden, she realised that her discomfort went beyond jealousy. There was something off key about the scene before her that was completely outside herself. There was something wrong with the man; the way he held himself, arrogance radiating from him; the way his eyes followed the Doctor, focused and hungry. She caught another glimpse of his face and there was something hard about the way he smiled. Something cruel. He wasn't like her or Mickey or Sarah Jane or any of the company the Doctor usually kept.
"I don't think we have to go anywhere." His voice sounded like she would have imagined it: too slick, somehow threatening though he didn't quite sound as if he was making a threat. More like an offer. "I think we can stay right here." His hands slipped around the Doctor's waist and Rose really would have intervened if she hadn't been so sure that the Doctor would brush him off himself. But he didn't seem to notice quite how disturbing the situation was. He leaned back into the other man's possessive embrace. When he turned his head there was a smile on his lips before they were kissed, and he leaned into that too.
Rose's first instinct was to run, and she did not wait for a second.
-
The clatter of footsteps reached the two Time Lords and the Doctor pulled reluctantly away.
"What was that?"
The Master's hand traced the shapes of his face, his index finger eventually resting against his mouth, commanding silence. "I'll go have a look. You wait here."
The Doctor pushed his arm impatiently away. "As if I trust you to go alone."
"I'm sure it's just one of those robots you like tinkering with. Escaped again. I'll be fine, I'm sure."
"That was the least of my worries." He rolled his eyes and the Master had the audacity to look offended. "Sounded bigger than a robot anyway."
"Fine. You can come too, if you like. We'll probably find it quicker if we split up."
"Oh, there is no way-" the Doctor began, but the Master had dashed off and been swallowed by the curve of the corridor before he could finish articulating his obviously quite pitiful authority. "For Rassilon's sake…"
-
Rose was back in the bedroom, curled fully clothed under the covers. She hadn't known where else to go, and this had always been her refuge. But she'd never had to hide from the Doctor before. Her head whirled and this time the betrayal seemed far more intoxicating. They'd never been exclusive as such, never even been a couple. She forgot that sometimes. But she'd been so sure. On that beach, when he'd said something that started with her name, she had allowed herself to believe, and that belief had never really left. She'd ridden it all the way here. Her eyes found the photo again, her frozen smile taunting her. They'd been so happy. Those days really had felt like they'd turn into forever. She reached over and flipped the frame face down.
The door eased open and she sat up hurriedly, fists clenched in the sheets. Despite the anger and apprehension coiling inside her, the thought of the Doctor seeing her again filled her with a wild excitement.
It was not the Doctor who stepped through the door. The stranger pushed it shut behind him and reached down to click the lock into place, only to find that it had disappeared. "Seems she doesn't want me left alone with you," he murmured, one hand stroking the door jamb. "Now, why could that be, hm?"
Rose could only stare. Up close he looked even more out of place, the cunning in his eyes and the scornful twist of his lip unmistakable. There was nothing good in this man. She may have been afraid of him if she wasn't so distracted by a sudden, seething anger. "Who the hell are you? Get out!"
"Shhh." He had to lean against the door, blocking it with his body. "I just want to talk. So tell me: how did you like the show?"
"What show?" she hissed, mentally running through the items in her room that could be used as a weapon. If he came any closer she'd have no problem using her fists. She kicked the covers off her to be ready to escape, and found herself feeling more vulnerable than if she'd left them on.
"Me and the Doctor." He looked disappointed. "Our kiss. I did that for you. Not impressed? I thought it was rather good. Oh!" He clicked his fingers. "Did you think you were being subtle hiding back there? I could feel you as soon as you got close. You have a truly delightful mind. I'd love to explore it someday."
"Who the hell do you think you are?" This kept getting more distorted, more nightmarish. Perhaps she was dreaming after all.
"I don't need to ask the same of you, Rose Tyler."
Her eyes widened. "How do you know who I am?"
"I've seen pictures." He picked up the photo frame, clearly knowing what it was without having to look, and a shudder of disgust ran through her. He's been in my room. "He's far too sentimental, isn't he?" The picture dropped unceremoniously to the floor, Rose's instinctive gasp punctuated by the cracking of glass. "You must have made quite the impression. So difficult to get him to shut up about you…" He smiled wistfully. "But you don't need to hear about that. He was wrong, of course. You're nothing special. Just another human…" He stepped closer, hand reaching for her jaw, and she took the opportunity to lash out. Her knuckles caught his chin, the sting reassuring her of the accuracy of her blow.
She rushed to the door, her hand reaching the handle before he caught her, one firm hand around each wrist. She struggled against him, managing to at least pull the door open as he dragged her back. "Doctor!" she yelled, panic stealing control of her voice so it sounded a lot less powerful than she'd hoped. She doubted he'd heard. She didn't even know where he was. The man kicked the door shut again before throwing her back onto the bed. She twisted round, preparing to defend herself, but he had taken up his position against the door again, gingerly touching the cut on his chin.
"Don't do that. It won't end well. There'll be time enough later, if you're up for it." He grinned a little. "For now, we're just going to talk. I'm very interested to find out how you got here. Last I heard, you were stuck in a parallel universe." Rose breathed heavily. The door remained obstinately shut; the Doctor remained obstinately elsewhere. She glared at the stranger, and he met her gaze coolly. "I can wait, you know. I led the Doctor on a spectacularly wild goose chase before doubling back. He won't find you. So we can stay here until you starve, if we have to. I assure you I can survive much longer than you can."
"I'm not telling you anything until you tell me who you are." She should have stopped earlier, she realised, as she saw his eyes light up. She should have stuck with not telling him anything full stop.
"We can do that. I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."
Rose glanced at the bulge in her sleeve which concealed the controls for the dimension cannon. It had been tempting her the whole time, itching against her wrist. But she didn't quite trust it. If she left now it may never lead her back. Hopelessness had admittedly clouded around her ever since she'd seen her Doctor in the arms of this monster, but it hadn't penetrated deep enough to convince her to give up completely. Especially as everything warped around her, the situation becoming stranger and stranger. She had to understand before she let herself be reckless. Perhaps this would help with that.
"Fine," she spat. "Who are you?"
His grin became wider. "I'm the Master."
"That doesn't tell me anything!" What had she expected? Ambiguity and heartlessness were all this was likely to lead to. So much for understanding.
"Tough. My turn. How did you get here?"
"Dimension cannon." The words without context were vague enough for comfort, just a fancy, sci-fi-esque title, and she had no intention of giving him context.
"What's that?"
"My turn." She couldn't help the slight rush of vindication. Anything to make this interrogation more bearable. "What species are you?"
"Time Lord." There was a smug superiority within his voice, something she would have expected from the species. If he was one. Which, obviously, he wasn't.
"No you're not." Counting on honesty would have been foolish, but this was such surface-level deceit that it was almost laughable.
"I'd let you feel my hearts if I didn't think you were going to attack me again."
"The Doctor's the last of the Time Lords. There is no one else. You think I don't know that?"
"He was wrong. It happens. If you stopped worshipping him you'd realise it happens quite a lot. Now shut up. What's a dimension cannon?"
"It's a… thing." She wasn't trying to annoy him- although it was a lovely side effect- she just wasn't sure how to describe it in scientific terms. "I don't know. It lets people travel through the cracks between universes."
"I already know that!"
"Well I don't know how to explain it!" She probably should not have admitted that. "Why don't you just ask the Doctor?"
"Because if he knew, I'd know." He spoke slowly, as if explaining to a child. "Also that would mean finding him, which would be tedious right now, and I'm not letting you escape so easily. My turn-"
"Hold on! I didn't ask you anything."
"You just did."
"That doesn't count!"
"Who created the dimension cannon?"
"If you are a Time Lord, how did you escape the war?"
"You first."
"No!"
"Fine!"
A stubborn silence fell upon them. The Master- if that really was his name- stared fixedly at his own reflection in his shoes and Rose glanced awkwardly around the room. God, where was the Doctor? Her heart continued to pound. The danger didn't feel immediate while they were both trapped in this peculiar game, but it was there. Simmering. Palpable. Her wrist felt heavy. She focused her attention on the weight, reminding herself that that was what mattered. She could not let him find the watch. If he did, she'd have to use it and neither of them would be very happy about that.
"There was a watch," he muttered suddenly, and she swore her heart stopped beating. "It altered my biology. I lost my memory." Her sigh of relief must have been audible but he didn't remark on it. "By the time I was myself again, the war was over. Alright?"
"Torchwood made it. On the parallel world."
"Torchwood?" He rolled the word around his mouth. "Should have known. Troublesome little bastards, aren't they?"
"Uhhh…" She ignored him. "How did you meet the Doctor?"
"We grew up together." He caught her shocked expression, and she tried to return to neutrality, lest he enjoy it too much. "Oh yes, I've known him far longer than you have." He moved on before she could speak. "What does it look like, then?"
She shook her head, still trying to process what he'd said. The only lifelong companion the Doctor could ever have. The exception to the rule, while she merely enforced it. She did not want to think about it, so she let his incessant curiosity distract her from her own. "Back on the parallel world, there's a big computer that controls dimension hopping. That's all it is." It wasn't a lie, exactly.
"You can't control it? Can't go back?"
"I don't want to go back."
"That's not what I asked."
"Well, you shouldn't be able to ask anything. I haven't had my go yet."
"Fine, fine. What do you want to know?"
"Do you…" She swallowed, already regretting her insistence because now that he'd let her ask something, she'd have to do it, and the only questions that presented themselves were ones she did not want to know the answers to. But what she wanted to know, and what she felt she had to know were two separate collections, and she would have to start working through the second one sometime. Her mind drifted back to the kiss she had stolen a glimpse of, or rather the kiss that had been performed for her benefit. If it had been a performance at all. That, she did not know, and did not want to, and that was probably why she asked. "Do you love the Doctor?"
His head relaxed against the wood of the door and he smiled slightly, his gaze fixed on some point behind her. "Ask something else."
"Didn't know we could skip questions."
"I could kill you right now." He spoke so lazily that it must have been deliberate. "Ask something else."
"Alright…" The question formed easily in her head, an obvious successor. It tasted putrid in her mouth. "Does… do you think…" She gave up. "Why does the Doctor stay with you?"
"You're asking if he loves me?" The Master laughed and any acclimatisation she'd undergone crumbled beneath the sound. She felt more out of place than ever. It was all so surreal, and yet so distinctly real that it made her head hurt. "How quaint. We're so much more complicated than you could ever understand. Oh, and I'll answer your next question too. Yes, you should leave before you find him, because he will not want you back."
"I-" His answer hadn't been as destructive as it could have been, though the last part bit into her. At least she did not really believe it. He was the last person she should be taking relationship advice from.
"One last question. Mine." He smiled again, showing so many teeth that it was practically a snarl. He sounded impatient, his voice clipped and harsh and she realised that the equality and cooperation she felt they'd been naturally building towards had been completely manufactured. This had been a game to him: not just the exchange of questions but her, and the way he'd treated her. Coaxing answers from her with exchanges and peace and strategic surrenders. Now the game was over. "What is it you're so fascinated with on your wrist?"
The moment was now, if it was going to come at all. She wouldn't even need to pull her sleeve back; she knew where each button was. One second and she'd be gone. The TARDIS would fade away around her, and maybe it would reappear when she came back, and maybe it would not. Maybe it would never align so perfectly with her timeline again. She could not do it. Didn't even move to try. The Master was still watching her, eyes full of fire and arrogance and she thought of how pathetic she must look to him. She wondered if the woman he saw was weak enough to give in, or if he expected a fight. She swallowed, and her face fell into a perfect picture of dejection. "I'll show you, if you like."
He nodded his affirmation and she took a step towards him, fumbling with her sleeve as she tried to pull it up. She hesitated, distracted by her exaggerated clumsiness. "Oh, hurry up." He strode towards her, reaching for her arm, and while his attention was focused on her wrist her foot kicked up to hit him squarely between his legs. He doubled over and that split second was all she needed to rush out into the corridor. She set off at a sprint, headed vaguely towards the console room though she could tell that the layout had changed again. She turned a corner at random, and collided with the warmth of the Doctor's chest.
She felt nothing but anonymous flesh and cloth at first, and jolted backwards, fearing that the Master had caught up with her. But when she looked up, those startled eyes had a warmth and kindness in them that could only be the Doctor's. She couldn't help but melt into him, clutching the back of his suit like a lifeline. As long as she held him, she could never be lost. He held her just as tightly, letting her collapse into him although he must have had overpowering doubts.
"Rose?" he whispered, as if a sudden noise would shatter her image into fragments of imagination. "You can't be here…"
"But I am." Her voice was weak. She could hear the tears within it. She'd been brave for so long. It would be good to let go for once. "I came back."
"Oh, Rose…" he winced. "That's not possible."
"It is. Really. Look." She let go reluctantly, bringing her arm round so he could see the device strapped to it. "We made this thing. Sort of a dimension cannon. So I could come back." He inspected it, intrigued, scared, hardly daring to hope. His fingers ran across the display. "Careful. It's still active, for now."
His hand trailed off it, following the curve of her wrist until he found her hand. Closed his fingers around it. "You really did it… You're brilliant, you are. Come here." He pulled her back into his arms and she smiled into his neck, his touch so exhilarating that if he hadn't been holding her up she may have collapsed. For a moment, the Master and the kiss disappeared and all that existed was her and the Doctor and the rise and fall of each other's chests.
"Oh, don't tell me I missed the touching reunion. How disappointing." The safety that had cocooned her mind withered and fell away, and her heart sank with it, dropping into her stomach with a sickening lurch. The change in the Doctor was instantaneous, his eyes hard and furious. His arms left her as he moved to confront the Master, placing himself as a shield between them.
"You knew about this?"
"Of course. I've been taking care of her for you."
He whirled around to face Rose again, his expression softening. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Fine. Just…" She shook her head, hands fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. "I didn't expect…"
"He didn't hurt you?"
"Not really."
He relaxed a little, though the concern in his eyes didn't fade. "Good. That's good. How long have you been here?"
"I don't know. About an hour."
"Oh, of course…" His eyes widened. "The footsteps… That was you. You were so close. Didn't you see me?"
"I'm sure she saw enough." The Doctor froze, memories flitting past his mind and when he found the right one he seemed to deteriorate, crumpling in on himself. A man with the knowledge that a point had been reached, a point of no return and a crossroads all at the same time. Rose saw the conflict in the way his shoulders tensed and his wounded eyes met hers while his body tilted away. Torn between her and the Master: comfort or confrontation.
"Get out." He turned towards the Master, though he did not meet his eyes.
"And where exactly do you expect me to go?"
"I don't care. Just get out of my sight."
He shrugged and slunk away, though Rose remained on edge. It felt like he was still just around the corner. Maybe, if she stayed, he always would be. And if he wasn't it would feel like he was. She shuddered.
"Rose?" The Doctor's gentle hands were on her upper arms, barely touching her. There was a vacuum between them and it was keeping them apart. "I can explain. Please. Can we sit down and talk?"
She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "'Yeah… Suppose so." She stepped away, moving towards the console room. His footsteps echoed behind her, though she didn't look back. She sat on her usual seat, realising after a second that it was where he had sat. She was filling his space. But it had been hers before it had been his. She was not the outsider. Or maybe it had been his before hers, before they'd even left Gallifrey. Before she'd even been born.
He opted to lean against the console a few feet away, hands flat against the coral, anchoring himself. "I didn't know you were there."
"Yeah, I figured." She felt a spark of frustration in the clouds of misery within her, because it was a bit of a pathetic excuse, really. She wanted him to tell her that he loved her. That he still loved her, and it had all been something of a misunderstanding. But perhaps that wasn't it at all and he was trying to placate her with things she already knew. He was hardly forthcoming and she didn't exactly blame him for that, because she didn't know where to start either, but she hadn't thought she'd have to. "Who is he then, the Master?" She couldn't quite say the name seriously; it was perhaps the most ridiculous part of this whole unreal affair.
"He's… an old friend, though he's quite determined to be my enemy. Right now he's meant to be my prisoner."
"Prisoner?" Out of all the possibilities, she'd never considered that. "That's what you do now? You take prisoners?"
"I had to." His voice had a low finality to it that she recognised. She'd heard it when he spoke of the Time War, or told an invading species that if they didn't leave now, he'd ensure their extinction. "I had no choice."
"What happened?"
He took a long, deep breath and she could tell that whatever was coming was difficult to share. "What always happens. He had a plan to destroy Earth, except I couldn't stop him."
"Oh my god… You mean-" She felt her skin turn to ice. The implications of what he'd said were unthinkable, but the thoughts came anyway: horrifying, dystopian images flowing behind her eyelids. Her planet in ruins while she sat oblivious in a parallel world, eating chips.
"No! I reversed it, in the end. Everyone's fine. But I couldn't let him go. Not this time. He'd gone too far. And I couldn't leave him on Earth because I didn't trust them not to hurt him. Or he them. I doubt they'd have been able to hold him long, anyway. The only safe place for him was the TARDIS."
It was all so good, so righteous, so Doctory. She had heard this self-sacrificial talk before, and seen him react to it, and she knew that what she had seen before was not that. He was holding back, out of protectiveness or shame, which were both very Doctory too, but it was futile right now, and really quite annoying, because he had promised her an explanation, and now he was giving her anything but. "Is that it?"
"What?"
"You're telling me you're just keeping him here to protect the planet?"
He understood what she meant, and looked away. "He's a Time Lord, Rose. I thought they were all dead. I thought he was dead, and that I killed him. But he's not, and… I can't lose him again."
"Do you love him?" She probably sounded bitter. Because she was, because this was all going wrong and because it was him who had begged her to listen and now it was her who had to beg for answers, and she just wanted to know. She knew what it meant for him to find someone of his own species. She'd wanted him to feel less guilty, to allow himself a little forgiveness for what he'd had to do. But she didn't want it to be in the shape of a murderer, and she didn't want to feel like this. Like she'd been a substitute, a stand in for a role the original had since returned to, and now the Doctor was living their forever with somebody else.
"It's more complicated than that."
"Yeah, that's what he told me too."
"Did he?"
"He said it was too complicated for me to understand. Nice to know you feel the same."
"I didn't say that."
"No? Then why don't you explain, like you said you would?"
"I have explained."
"No, you haven't!"
"I'm sorry." His shoulders fell, head shaking in defeat. "It's not too complicated for you to understand. It's just… well, too complicated for me to understand, I suppose."
She didn't really accept that, because no matter how confused he was, there was no way he was less confused than her. "When he was kissing you, you looked happy."
"Rose, you have no idea how lonely I've been since you left."
"Really?" She wasn't in the mood for this, though she couldn't deny she thawed a little beneath the words. She pocketed the sentiment away for later, if they ever got through this. "You think I haven't been lonely? Why do you think I came back? Doesn't mean I've been going around snogging every serial killer I can get my hands on."
"It's not like that! He was so different when we were young. He was brilliant-" He stopped abruptly and Rose was glad he did, because she wanted to hear this even less. "I just haven't given up on him."
"So you did love him? When you were young."
"Yes."
"And when we met? Did you still love him?"
"When we met I thought he was dead." It didn't answer her question. Or perhaps the omission was answer enough.
"But if he wasn't? Oh, never mind, I've already seen what happens when you know he isn't dead."
"I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"For what, Doctor? You meant it when you kissed him. So you can't say you regret that-"
"I regret making you think I don't…" The words were falling out his mouth but he stopped suddenly, choking them back. "For making you think I'd choose him over you."
"You wouldn't?"
"No. Never."
She softened under the earnestness of his declaration. "Alright. I still don't really understand what's going on here, but I suppose I accept your apology."
"Yeah?" He broke into a grin so dazzling that she couldn't help but mirror it.
"Yeah," she replied, and when he held out his arms she stepped gratefully into them. It was lovely to lie here, pressed against his chest, their argument sated. It was such a temporary sort of peace and she clung to it all the harder for its fragility. The future was as uncertain as ever and everything she'd thought would bring assurance seemed determined to betray her. Even her own room no longer felt safe.
"What's gonna happen to us now?" she murmured into the comfort of the Doctor's shoulder. It felt the safest place to ask, here where it felt like nothing could hurt her so long as she didn't let go.
"I don't know," he whispered back, and squeezed her tighter.
"'S not like you…"
"We'll figure it out. Together."
"Together," she repeated, and the word tasted like honey in her mouth.
-
Initially, the Master had found it amusing to place himself in Rose's room after the Doctor had sent him away. He'd half expected them to come back here, which would have been a fun little punchline to the whole thing. They refused to accommodate him, however, so he sat in a silence that was growing more sullen by the second. Everything here felt like it really belonged to her, like she'd really lived here. Not just lived, of course, he knew that already, but integrated herself into the ship like an infection. The photo he'd smashed was bad enough, and further inspection revealed a whole album tucked into the corner of her wardrobe. Hundreds of photos. Hundreds of planets she'd visited with him. She had accessories and souvenirs from dozens of cultures. She was a time traveller, the same type as the Doctor: idiotic romantics who really treasured the experience. He flicked through the album, distaste curling the corners of his mouth. He didn't think he had one single photo with the Doctor. Had never wanted one. But if they both died today, only one of them would have left such a physical mark.
He threw the album back into the wardrobe and took to staring at the walls instead. The shade of pink was slightly infantile, slightly nauseating. It reached right up to the high ceiling and spread evenly across it. There was no way she'd painted it herself; the TARDIS must have done her decorating for her. Even after all her time away the room was fresh and clean and he swore he could smell perfume. He always had, ever since his first curious glance into the room the Doctor sometimes frequented and sometimes shied away from. It was as if, at any given moment, she'd just walked out a few seconds ago and would walk back in any time now. Pitiful, really.
The room provided for him was perpetually dark and dingy, and felt like it got smaller sometimes for no particular reason. "I like it that way," he said aloud, as if the TARDIS cared, or believed a word he said.
He pressed his foot into the broken glass still strewn across the floor, grinning as he heard the larger pieces shatter again. He pushed the shards further into the carpet with the ball of his foot and that, at least, brought him joy until he had to spend the next ten minutes picking slivers of glass from the grooves on the bottom of his shoe.
So this was it, he supposed. They were always torn away from each other, in the end, if one or both of them didn't pull away first. But they hadn't this time; that was the unsettling thing about it. They'd found a sort of rhythm in coexistence. Not domesticity, not quite, not yet. But mutual understanding. Which he sometimes exploited, just to get on the Doctor's nerves, but it would truly be worrying if he didn't and hell, the Doctor got on his nerves too. Perhaps that was what made it all bearable: a comforting dissatisfaction for him to fall back on. He wasn't enjoying life with the Doctor and he could prove it, to no one but himself but that was all that mattered. The situation was not a choice and he could be certain that, if it ever became one, he knew what choice he'd make.
That time may well be now. His role in the Doctor's life had shifted over the past few hours and he found himself having to share his pedestal. He was no longer all the Doctor had and, really, that was what it had always been about. Captain Jack and Martha had lapped up all that bull about protecting the universe from him because they hadn't known, or hadn't quite appreciated, how desperately, awe-inspiringly lonely the Doctor was. It was easier for them to see this as a duty, he supposed, because they were meant to be the Doctor's friends and how could he be lonely when he had them?
Rose Tyler was the same. Self absorbed. Arrogant. Spouting the same save the Doctor bollocks. Meaningless. Temporary. Human. She could not offer him any sort of lasting solace- although he didn't intend to either, actually, but the Doctor could at least have the dignity to recognise that he could, if he wanted to, and she could not. She couldn't offer intelligence, or excitement, or fear, or any of the things that the Doctor treasured about the Master. She was nothing special, and yet he couldn't seem to see that. The way he'd gazed into her eyes; the way he'd jumped to protect her like some romantic hero; the way he'd never fucking forgotten her even when she seemed forever lost. In a way, she'd always been there. The rotting apple in the barrel of their relationship, spoiling the rest. She'd been a ghost before, one only the Doctor could see. Easily dismissed with physical touches and hard kisses.
And now she was here, and they were off somewhere, together, while he was alone in her room, an imposter in the space she'd filled night after night. He didn't know what to think. Didn't even know what made it so difficult, the thinking, because surely it should all fall into place rather nicely. They could drop the act now; the Doctor had what he thought he wanted and he'd be free to go and relapse into the ecstasy of conquering new worlds. It was all very promising, and as close to his vague hopes as it was possible to get, considering that his desires were just as ambiguous as the Doctor's. He had his choice.
Did he? A choice suggested two equally possible options, and the ability to decide for himself. The option to leave had certainly opened itself up, obvious and tempting. The option to stay was beginning to look rather remote and he suspected it may even be met with criticism. How could he stay on the same ship as her, after all? His record with the Doctor's other devotees was hardly exemplary. And he'd imprisoned her once already, within minutes of their first meeting. Their first meeting had been the imprisonment, in fact. If she did stay- and it was looking likely that she would, because the Doctor could easily puppy-dog-eye his way out of the betrayal of their kiss- he'd be nothing but a danger to be disposed of as discreetly and safely as possible. For now, anyway. He knew he'd be back to torment and complete the Doctor, long after she'd died. He always was. But it was now that was bothering him, because there was something belittling about the whole thing. If he left now it would not feel like liberation. Eviction, perhaps, would be a better word. He could always speed up the inevitable, indulge in the depravity they expected of him, and kill her now, but he expected it would achieve much the same result.
He did not want to leave the Doctor in this way, or any way that wasn't completely on his own terms. Perhaps, in the end, this was just another form of war, and there was nothing the Master loved more than victory. He could impose his will onto his companions until they bowed beneath it and along the way, he'd figure out exactly what it was he was trying to win. A new adversary was just another opportunity, after all. A gift, if he chose to make it one. Having the Doctor was easy, mundane. It was winning him that was fun, and he had done that over the past few months, even if the lines of who owned who were a little blurred. Now the turmoil was over, the fluctuation of their power struggle keeping neatly within silently established limits, and he longed for chaos again. Corrupting the Doctor all over again. Losing his grip was a necessary part of the process, because how can you feel the thrill of regaining something you've never lost? And he had an extra piece now, to move or sacrifice at will. So long as he just stayed on the board, the game would continue.
He could no longer smell the perfume. The ship's expression of her disapproval, presumably. He found it most encouraging.
-
Rose was sitting on a tall stool on the other side of the kitchen, fidgeting with the cup in her hands. She looked so natural there; her presence like a soft sigh as the room settled into what it was meant to be. The Doctor hadn't been here much since they'd been separated, preferring the impersonal, not-quite-homely kitchen that had shown up elsewhere in the ship. This had been her place: her palace of kettles and chips, and being here without her felt incomplete. He alone wasn't enough to fill the space left by their laughter and companionship. Everything had been empty without her. Even him.
She took a quick sip of the tea he'd made.
"How is it?"
"Perfect." Her smile was delightful, but fleeting and her thoughts seemed to close in on her again as soon as she broke eye contact. Her eyebrows furrowed. The cup twisted in her hold.
"You alright?"
She glanced up again. "Yeah… Ish. Just can't stop thinking about how different everything is. I felt so lost, y'know, out there in space, in different universes… and I thought that once I got back here everything would make sense. But it's like I'm still falling- haven't quite made it home yet."
He felt his hearts clench viciously, guilt and discord caught in his veins. The guilt he was used to, because he seemed to trail fragments of misery- his own and others- behind him wherever he went, each choice he made leaving cruel splinters which poked through his skin. The discord he wasn't so well acquainted with, because they usually shared a grounding synchronicity. He wanted to find her hand in the fog of her disenchantment; to carry her back home. But he didn't quite know how to do that, because he was already home. It wasn't a journey they could make together; he was relegated to the sidelines, confined to whispers of encouragement. Wait for her to land. And he would, no matter how long it took.
"Coming home is sometimes harder than leaving. Things change quicker than you think. You change, too, and not always in the same way. But there'll always be a place for you here, Rose. You'll find it and… it may take time. But that's okay."
"Yeah… Guess it's a good thing we're in a time machine, then."
"It has its advantages." They smiled at each other and the Doctor thought that no matter what changed, this would always be home to him. Her smiling at him, and him smiling back.
It didn't last long. It couldn't, yet. With so much uncertainty clogging the air around them, even one constant was too much to hope for.
"And the Master?" Rose asked, and the Doctor felt something within him crumple. It was all about him, in the end: the centerpiece all the cacophony orbited. "Is he staying?"
"I don't think so." His voice was calm, because this was nothing more than the verbal manifestation of the doubts and conflicts that had roiled within him every day since the Master had joined him. At first he'd made an effort to maintain the spirit of incarceration, with cuffs that would shock him if he wandered too far and the like. But the Doctor's desire to save the Master from harm had always overpowered the Master's desire to save himself, a fact which was known and fully exploited, and the Doctor found himself chasing the Master around more than anything. In the end, all that really served to confine the Master was convenience. He stayed with the Doctor, humouring him, simply because he had nowhere better to be at that particular moment. The Master's whims are the most volatile condition in the universe, and he knew it could never last for long. All he needed was a minor disturbance, and Rose had provided one more chaotic than he could ever have hoped for. "He doesn't like to share."
"Can you really let him go, just like that? Isn't he dangerous?"
Dangerous? Oh, yes. And the person most in danger was her. He doesn't like to share. They were the worst kind of conflict: a classic light against darkness affair. There was no compromise to be made there, no cohabitation. If he reached within the secret recesses of his mind, he'd find that he loved them both so much, for completely contradictory reasons. A way past his grief, and a way back through it, through to the other side. Rehabilitation and redemption. Light and darkness. Two sides of a coin, and a coin can only ever land on one side.
"We can keep an eye on him. Now that I know he's alive." He didn't feel as confident as he sounded, but he would not upset her with the truth. She didn't need to be reminded of the brutality on the other side of the wall. "And besides, I don't think I stand much chance of stopping him, if he really wanted to leave. He's the most stubborn bastard I've ever met. Complained for weeks when I bought bread from the wrong planet."
Rose giggled, the tension sufficiently diffused. It was too late, and too confusing, to address the complexities of the situation right now. He needed time to think, to reminisce, to hope. To justify the decision he felt he'd already reached.
"I'm tired." Rose stood, stepping over to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm gonna get some rest. It's been a long day."
"Yeah, alright. Goodnight, Rose." He swallowed, irrationally disappointed when the pressure of her touch left him. "I'm so happy you're back."
She paused for a moment, considering. "Yeah, me too." That brilliant grin crossed her face, and then she was gone. He downed the rest of his own tea and moved to follow her out. He stopped in the doorway, looking back into the empty room. This once, the silence felt comfortable.
-
The Master was waiting for him when he entered his room; he could hear the steady breathing before he even closed the door. It was not unexpected. Their lives had intertwined in ways that had at first seemed unpredictable, and now had become routine. There were days when they avoided each other completely, preferring the stoic solitude of echoing corridors to any sort of company, pleasant or otherwise. But there were also days, and nights- particularly nights- when they found that the comfort of each other's presence was a kinder sort of solitude. They could lie beside each other and feel alone, but not abandoned; their deep understanding of the other becoming an extension of the self. Words were unnecessary.
He stepped towards the Master's calm, defined figure, little more than a silhouette in the dim light, a shadow come to life. The darkness painted itself across his face with an artistry only light is capable of, shaping the inherent cruelty there into something soft and vulnerable. It was here, like this, when the Master was made beautiful by being hidden, that the Doctor knew just how precious he was to him. He ran his hand gently over the other Time Lord's hair, watching his head tilt upwards to accommodate his touch. Their eyes met. No words. The Master's slim fingers caught his other hand, clasping it close to his mouth as he gazed up at him with such earnestness in his eyes that the Doctor felt he had no choice but to look away. The edges of the room had melted into this artificial night. The grip on his hands became tighter as the Master dragged himself up into a standing position. He felt his body connect with his in infinitely subtle ways. The nudging of their feet against each other felt incidental. Neither was responsible. Neither was to blame. They sought each other out subconsciously. The Master's fingers coaxed his attention back with a light caress on his cheek. His eyes wandered back reluctantly, his gaze anchoring itself to the dark pools of shadow where the Master's eyes should be. He lost himself in the tiny glint of light he found there. Their fingers were still entwined, their slow heartbeats synchronised. The Master's lips were so close to his, brushing against him once: so soft it was almost imperceptible, so fleeting it was almost accidental. It was the Doctor who turned it into a kiss.
It was the last night they'd ever spend together- or, failing that, the last night they'd spend together in these bodies- or, failing that, the last night of this act in the epic of their lives. Nuances aside, there was a grave finality to that kiss, and it surged within the Doctor like fire. He knew he'd lose the Master, and there was such luxury in that: the knowing. He was aware, of course, that he'd lose Rose and everyone else he'd ever loved, and it made him shy away from them, so terribly afraid of getting burnt. Yet as the Master's body moved against his, he realised that what he didn't take now, he'd never have. When a thousand potential future tragedies condensed into one absolute certainty, the future no longer mattered. All they had was tonight, and what they made of it. The Doctor allowed himself to indulge in the pain and the loss, and it made the Master's touch exquisite.
The kiss became more forceful, the Master's ferocity lingering on the edge of demanding and desperate. The Doctor no longer knew whether he was giving or taking. He didn't care. All he was doing was losing himself, and he was doing it well.
-
The Master did not always leave afterwards. He did not tonight. Light had long since deserted them, but the shift of sheets across the Doctor's back reminded him of his presence in the bed behind him. He didn't bother turning; he would not have been able to see anything and this felt less personal anyway, even if it made no real difference. Coldness was what he needed right now.
"I know you won't stay," he whispered into the darkness. He didn't know quite what he wanted. Confirmation, probably, which he didn't quite want because he really didn't enjoy the necessity of losing the Master, but the thought of not getting it terrified him. There was no right way out of this, but he'd wandered recklessly in anyway; he always did. He needed whatever this would lead to. He needed to know. His voice was meek, his words more so. Framing his own demand as the acceptance of a demand the Master had not yet made seemed far more fruitful. He knew how the Master's mind worked; how to defeat him by giving in.
"I won't? Why ever not?" His voice was muffled by sleep, though it did not hide the condescension. The Doctor regretted this midnight discussion already. The lilt of confusion and cunning in the Master's tone was an invitation, and he did not want to go.
"Because you can't."
"Do you want me to stay?"
"No."
He heard the rustle of sheets and felt himself tilt backwards as the Master's shuffling towards him caused the bed to dip. He felt breath on the back of his neck, and the next word was whispered right into his ear. "Liar."
He wasn't, actually. There were any number of more complicated questions the Master could have asked which would have required him to lie, or admit uncomfortable truths. But this, without traps or nuance, barely skimming the surface of his thoughts and motivations, was easy. That was good. He needed easy right now. Everything was so confusing, so out of reach; if he didn't have easy he'd have nothing at all.
"Just leave before I wake up." He ignored the accusation. He had nothing to prove. "The TARDIS will let you go."
"You don't trust me with the girl." Cold fingers drew a flinch from him as they traced circles on his upper back. His breath shook a little as the Master's thumb slipped beneath his shirt, his attentiveness disturbingly gentle. "Have you forgotten why you locked me up here in the first place? Time was, you were protecting the whole universe from me," he murmured, the sleep gone completely from his voice. Warm and cruel and enchanting. "And now the universe can fend for itself, hm? Could it be that our sanctimonious doctor is nothing more than a hypocritical bastard after all?" He kissed the Doctor's skin: still tender, still kind. His lips felt like forgiveness. "Don't worry, Doctor. You don't have nearly as much control as you think you do. Nothing that happens will be your fault."
He drew away from the hypnotising ministrations at that. If it hadn't been a threat, it had been the suggestion of one. He didn't want their last night together to be like this: pretences and hints and insincerities. "You won't find her." The TARDIS would see to that, he knew. "Don't even try. Just go."
"Well, don't be like that. Look at us. Lying in bed together. You've never had me like this before. I've never had you like this before. Come on Doctor, why don't we enjoy it a little longer?"
"I'm giving you a choice." He was determined to be unrelenting. Unfeeling. He knew what he was giving up and he knew what he was gaining and there really was no need to discuss it further: neither with the Master nor himself. "Take it."
"And if I make the wrong choice?" He was close again, his warmth all-encompassing, his hand resting on the Doctor's side. The stroke of his thumb was infuriatingly comforting.
"Then the choice will no longer be yours to make." Plainly speaking the subtle implications. He refused to hide in the same unspoken understanding. It was too intimate.
"I see." He flexed his fingers, his hand finding its way beneath his shirt and wandering across his chest. His body touched the Doctor's back, the contact light, so light that he could have squirmed away from it easily. Teeth grazed his ear. "And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?"
"No."
"What if I promised really hard not to hurt her?" The edges of his nails left dents in the tender skin above the Doctor's left heart.
He tensed, feeling his shoulder blades press further into the Master's chest. He hated this. Temptation. Deception. The inability to distinguish. A choice motivated by fear, not reason. "I wouldn't believe you."
"Ah, you're a hard man to please, Doctor."
"And you're not exactly famed for keeping promises."
"Why should I, if there aren't consequences? But if I broke this promise, what would you do? Kill me? I don't want that." He wouldn't kill him. He didn't think anything could drive him to that. Only a despair so deep and hopeless it drowned out everything he was and everything he wanted, and he didn't want to think about that. He would never forgive him though; he knew that. He also knew that the Master was so very accomplished in breaking his limits, thoughtlessly brushing over every line he adamantly drew in the sand, stepping over it with a quizzical what now expression on his face and the Doctor would have to sigh and resign and redraw the line a little further along, and see the Master's footsteps approaching before he'd even lifted the stick. This was different. He knew that in a way he didn't know anything else. The Master had crossed every single line he'd ever set, and yet none of his cruelty had even come close to the thoroughness of the devastation that had shattered him in the few seconds between Rose's hands slipping from the lever and Pete catching her. He was still picking up the pieces. If the Master killed Rose it would become all there was. One moment overshadowing centuries of history together. And when they met again, the blanket of devotion and kinship would not protect him and then, perhaps, the Doctor did not know what he would do.
"It's not enough."
"It's all I can offer. You're not really working with me here." He was chiding him, which really didn't feel fair, especially after his patient self-assuredness earlier. But the only way to escape this position of inferiority would be to fight back, and betraying his own resolution would not exactly be empowering either, so he accepted it. "Now, I don't like Rose. I think she's weak, and irritating and I certainly wouldn't intervene if she were to get captured. But she's human, and she'll die soon enough without my help and, quite frankly, all the shit you'd give me if I hurt her wouldn't be worth it. So I swear, I won't lay a finger on her and if I do, you have my full permission to cut it off, or do whatever you want with me. Happy now?"
He didn't want to respond, even internally. He wanted a brick wall of a mind where he could settle into the corner of his own certainty and ignore the faint thrumming of persuasion outside. Didn't it sound good, though?
"You make things so hard for yourself." Sympathy was not a welcome development, because the Master was making him feel like he needed it. Maybe he did need it. "You don't always have to choose. You can have it all. I can give you everything you want."
"You have no idea what I want," he snapped. The Master always seemed to know things about him, and sometimes that made them true. And sometimes he was just wrong, but he'd never accept that. He didn't want what the Master made him want. Putting his needs into the hands of his oldest friend without expecting their manipulation by those clever fingers would be plain old naivety, and he was past that now.
"Then tell me. I'll take you at your word," he began, and then added, in a frustrating reminder that he did usually know exactly what the Doctor was thinking: "Even if I don't believe you."
The instruction corrupted his passivity; he could be an active participant in his own salvation or destruction- his choice which- and even silence would be a choice this time, in the favour of destruction.
"I want…" he swallowed, letting himself pierce the surface of the thoughts he'd tried all night to leave well alone. Just one step would get him lost, or overwhelmed. "I want her to be safe. And I want you to be safe. I just want to stop worrying about everything all the time. I don't want to fight myself…" He listed everything as it flickered past, his voice monotone, trying not to register what it all meant. He hated peeling himself apart like this. He couldn't even blame the Master; he'd accepted the invitation to do it himself. "I don't want to have to choose."
"I can give you that." He sounded so sure. No choice but to believe him. And the Doctor really did want to. Desperation over reason. He kept getting worse, didn't he?
"And what's in it for you?" One last hopeless bid. Making this less about him; shifting to a subject he didn't know so damn little about.
"You are." There was amusement in his voice, and sincerity. And the Doctor just couldn't stop believing him.
"Alright. Fine." He caved in, and he couldn't quite tell who the sigh of relief hanging in the air belonged to. "We'll work something out tomorrow. But if you've lied to me, I will never forgive you for it." It was said more for his own peace of mind than any hope of intimidation. A last, pathetic attempt at control.
"I know. That's the whole point." The hand left his skin, and lips briefly returned to the back of his neck. "Goodnight, Doctor."
"Goodnight, Master."
-
So, that was one half of his mission over and done with, at least. The Doctor had been reluctant, still clinging to all the wrong ideas, but he'd inevitably fallen into place. He always did. The Master knew exactly how to twist him, bending his mind back over itself until he eventually coincided with whatever the Master thought was right, and then he could gently pull the breaks on their hectic ride. There was still Rose though, the loose wheel on the wagon, capable of dislodging the entire carefully constructed apparatus of the Doctor's mind. She was not predictable; not even in the predictably-unpredictable way in which he and the Doctor operated. Humans didn't tend to stray far from the norm though, and that was all she was, really, once you stripped away the pedestal the Doctor had placed her on to let her fall. He could deal with her.
In a perversion of the Doctor's original plan, it had been he who had woken up alone, the sheets beside him ruffled but empty. The dull brown suit which seemed perpetually sown onto the Doctor's skin was no longer scattered in a careless pile at the foot of his bed. He got dressed in silence and padded down to the kitchen. The tray of eggs was full and he cracked one into a pan, thought for a second, then added another. He set down the plates, let the toaster do its work, served up the meal and sat down to eat. He was only on his third bite when she appeared, charmingly vulnerable in her tired haze and pink dressing gown.
Her face creased with irritation as her eyes fell on him. Not who she'd expected to see, he supposed. She turned to leave, but he was not going to let her do that. They had business together, and he wanted to get it over with as painlessly and privately as possible, before her and the Doctor's misgivings had time to bleed into each other.
"Good morning Rose," he grinned amicably at her and she glanced back, confused by his sudden change of spirit. He didn't explain himself; all he needed was her attention, not the satisfaction of her curiosity.
"Where's the Doctor?" She took a step into the room. Storming off then would have been impolite and childish, and returning his greeting would have suggested naivety. He thought she'd struck a nice balance.
"Messing about in the console room, I expect. I haven't seen him since last night." He didn't know if she'd catch his implication or not. Perhaps it was better if she didn't; it would sour the mood and ruin this chance at reconciliation, and he didn't know how many chances he had left. Still, he couldn't resist. He waved at the chair across from him as a distraction and an invitation. "Sit down, I've made you some breakfast."
"What?" She stared at the plate of eggs and toast; clearly an obstacle she hadn't prepared a proper defense against.
"We're going to be living together from now on. May as well get on with each other." He spoke matter-of-factly, neither suggestion nor threat in his voice. She did not really know him. He had no reputation, aside from the most-likely-vague warnings of the Doctor, to bolster him up, and none to lead her astray. She had no reason not to believe him. Yesterday had been nothing more than one bad day, if that was what he made it.
"We are not living together."
"Alright, alright," He held his hands up, taking care not to be too patronising. "But we are both going to live on the TARDIS. Unless you'd like to leave, of course." He gestured to the chair again. "Sit down. I won't bite. Ever." He continued eating, not looking directly at her. The table was large enough, and the angles awkward enough, that if he did move to attack her she'd have ample time to get away, standing or sitting. Perhaps she realised that too because she dragged the chair out from under the table and sat down. She didn't tuck it back beneath the table, though. "I mean that. I made a promise to the Doctor that I wouldn't hurt you, and I intend to keep it."
"Well, as long as the Doctor trusts you…" Sarcasm laced her tongue and she raised her eyebrows, looking away. A shame, really. She was missing all the sincerity he was taking great pains to pour into his expression.
"I'd like to come to an agreement with you too," he admitted leisurely. He needed this, he really did, if only to placate the Doctor. He wanted her to hope that he meant it, but not trust his words wholeheartedly. The distinction was important; he did not want to seem dependent on her approval. She must be caught between doubt and surrender- though veering on the side of surrender- and the ambiguity was where he hid. "That's why we're here."
"And why the hell would I do that?" She met his eyes, and he furrowed his eyebrows in a particularly expressive show of earnestness, before relaxing them and leaning back in his chair. Her question could not be answered by kindness, because that would stray too close to weakness and besides, she would suspect that this was all a mockery- as he told himself it was- if he was too forthcoming.
"Do you have any other choice?" he sneered, the hints of a smirk touching the corners of his mouth.
"Well, I must do, or you wouldn't be askin' this at all," she retorted, and he shrunk beneath the truth of the observation. Perhaps sometimes it hurt to be so in control all the time: relying on her for anything was bound to arouse suspicion. She should not realise, as he had just now, that it was he who had no other choice. He smoothed over his defeat, allowing his smile to grow and prove to her that the silence following her words had been his choice, and not something imposed on him by circumstance or uncertainty.
"What is it you want then? War? You can't have that. You can't have a one-sided war, and I refuse to fight you." He shook his head a little. He'd never weaponised pacifism before. The moral high ground turned out to be quite comfortable. "So what are you going to do?"
"I don't want a war," she snapped. Appearing less righteous than the Master was something none of the Doctor's friends could stand. In trying to exceed him she'd ended up stepping closer.
"There, you see. We understand each other. Now, I won't kill you and you won't try to kill me, alright?" Put in those terms, she could hardly refuse, and yet she seemed infuriatingly unwilling to accept either. It was no longer a question of real emotions and complications; just the drama of life and death, which was so much easier to deal with. She wasn't agreeing to his complete integration into her life- at least, she didn't realise it- merely acknowledging what they both already knew: that she would not kill him. She glared at him, searching his face, and he tried to show her what she wanted to see. He needed her to trust him just enough to get them through the next few days, until the Doctor got so used to their new situation that he neither questioned nor fretted over it. It all hinged on the Doctor. The Doctor and him. All he was doing with Rose was humouring her own sense of self-importance. She chewed her lip, melting from animosity to uncertainty. She really did not want war. She'd give in. If he gave her a little nudge. Let her think she was taking things into her own hands. "Unless you'd like something else?"
She lifted a piece of toast and took one small bite, chewing slowly. He gave her time. After a few seconds she swallowed and looked back up at him. "Yeah, actually. Stay out of my room."