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In another universe, he watches over her like a guardian angel.
Years before they meet – properly meet, him grabbing her hand in that store, tugging her behind him as he fights off plastic and she is silent but noisy with energy, caution, an unfiltered intelligence as she peppers him with questions in that elevator. No, it is years before that moment. It is summer and she is spinning around a fountain with a boy he never saw when she was with him. Probably Jimmy Stone, although he does not care enough about him to walk up and ask. Besides, he may mess up the timeline if he did. Wibbly wobbly as it was.
And she is happy – that big grin that made her eyes squint, tongue between her teeth, skin and expression and her just radiating joy. Jimmy also seems happy, laughing along with her before pulling them both to a stop. Spoilsport. He can see the same word on Rose’s lips. The two always knew each other too well, whether they knew it or not.
Because at this point, she has no idea who he is, but he has known her for two whole lifetimes. She does not know his name – his moniker, his title – she has not even seen his other face. The face before, the one in the shop, the one that first kissed her in the name of salvation. God, she was brave.
Did she know it?
Did the girl sprawled out on the fountain, one leg on top of Jimmy’s, hand buried in a paper bag of chips, did she know just how brave she was? That she would save the world twice, that she would show more care and empathy for the creatures in the world than any name remembered in history? Because that stung, that horrible names like Davros and Van Statten were immortalised, written down in archives and story books, believed or not. Who would write down Rose Tyler? Who would hold the unsung hero in such reverence as all the villains were?
A flock of pigeons startled, flying past him as though he had personally offended them. He watched them without flinching, far too used to any kind of conflict to know when he needed to act. A couple of nearby onlookers had jerked their heads towards him, but none found him interesting enough to keep their gaze on him. Funny, he had saved them all at least once. Or would save them. Or saved them with a different skin. Difficult to really know. Once you have saved them so many times, it gets difficult to remember the order.
He watches her lean over and kiss Jimmy Stone. The Doctor does not feel jealous. But Jimmy Stone does not know just how lucky he is.
He turns away for just a moment, looking at a mother and daughter buying ice cream. The daughter is young, bright blonde – like Rose’s when she dyed it herself that one time. The mother is also blonde, although her own roots are showing just a little. She buys the girl an ice cream – strawberry ripple or something, pink and white and gooey – and the two walk away.
What ice cream did Rose like?
Because that is what the Doctor did – he remembered when no one else did. No matter what it was – the names of the people who slipped out of his grasp, the exact frequency to break glass, the Bad Wolves spraypainted onto every surface in his peripherals. But not even he could not remember something he never learned.
Was her favourite ice cream not important enough to learn? Should he have taken her to that little shop right there, learned whether she preferred vanilla or chocolate? Could he have seen her nose wrinkle at the cold, the same way it did when her chips had too much vinegar on? Did she even like ice cream, or was she more partial to ice lollies?
What other things had he never learned about her?
What was her favourite book to read? What colour did she think she looked best in? Did she have any childhood scars from playing sports? Did she enjoy sports, or did she find it too manly? Were there any hobbies she wished she picked up – or did she have any hobbies which he did not already know? Could she knit, sew, crochet, or embroider?
If she could meet the TARDIS, what would she say?
If she could have any job in the world, what would she be?
If she could be anywhere in the world, would it always be with him?
Rose laughs loudly – that laugh – and the Doctor readjusts his position against the lamppost. He loved London architecture in this period. Sure, everything was dirty, and the sewers desperately needed a reroute. But the curling iron and the pretty fountains, carved stone pillars and flowerbeds. It was kind, urban but still containing roots of decoration and whimsy.
If she could live in any house, could he live with her?
She had mentioned that, once. Joking – half joking, looking away under her long lashes and blushing cheeks – about getting a mortgage together. About settling down together. Like humans, like normal, boring humans. Like a couple of humans, getting jobs and finding a house and scraping by the rent. Like a couple. Like an actual couple.
Jimmy Stone was ignoring Rose, eyes drifting over to a woman in a pair of tight shorts. Rose Tyler presses her lips together in annoyance, eyes glancing between Jimmy and the woman. The Doctor wants to shake him, ask why he was ignoring the twice saviour of the world, the kindest woman in the universe, his light in the darkness that he could barely stomach to confront.
The girl in shorts walks away. Rose tugs on Jimmy’s sleeve and the two leave the park.
And then there was no reason for the Doctor to be here. He had no money on him to buy strawberry ripple or vanilla or chocolate ice cream. He had no friends who recognised him across the street, words tight in their throat about a time in his past or future where he saved them. He had no Rose Tyler to watch over, making sure Jimmy Stone did not make things uncomfortable or say the wrong thing.
Was it unhealthy? Sure. But he had a lot resting on his extra-terrestrial shoulders, and this was his way of removing some of the stress.
Because what if he saves her in the past? What if in these random memories he picks where he stands and waits for Rose Tyler to walk past with friends or family or partners, something happens to her and he, in his ever-committed role, must save them all? It was not as though any of the other moments had been on purpose.
“Right then Rose Tyler, you tell me – where do you want to go? Backwards or forwards in time? It’s your choice. What’s it gonna be?”
All Northern then – every planet had a North. Not that he had necessarily come from it.
“Uh… forwards!”
The look on her face – joy, unsuppressed excitement, almost disbelief at what was happening. But not entirely – that was what he loved about her. If it was even slightly possible, she believed in it. Plans, facts, the universe cracking open down the middle, her being in a timeline where she is millennia dead, her father alive and breathing – if it were possible, it would happen if she tried. And she tried and tried and tried.
And it had always been enough. Just not enough for him.
He turns on his heel, away from the fountain where Rose Tyler kissed Jimmy Stone. A flock of pigeons behind him flap once again, no longer content with the statue of a man against the lamppost. He walks past them, through them as he knew he should not, and pulls the door to the TARDIS open.
There had been strange energy readings around that hospital in 2008. He should stop moping and get onto that.