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The Doctor’s hand was placed firmly around Rose Tyler’s waist as the sound of an alarm wailed around her. Not necessarily an act of intimacy, but of innate concern. An automatic act to ensure her safety. Nevertheless, Rose found herself continually glancing down. Her jeans left some skin showing, and the rough leather of his jacket hovered lightly against her hips. It should’ve been cold, but it wasn’t. Nothing about him was, really. He raised his voice again, and she snapped back to attention. The Doctor was staring at the screen on the Tardis dashboard before them, his lips parted and his eyebrows furrowed together. Absent-mindedly, she traced her gaze along the slope of his nose and around his mouth. His pale eyes flashed before he turned to face Rose, slipping his hand away from her waist. Rose stood up straighter, noticing his steely expression. The deep, golden light of the Tardis swirled around The Doctor in dandelion fractals as he stared, making him look otherworldly. She sometimes let herself forget he was so foreign to her own world, but snapshots like this always reminded her. Something would always set this man apart, and she’d always be drawn to it. She realized he’d been talking to her just as he stopped, his face screwing up in mild annoyance.
“You’re not going to just keep standing around there, are you, Rose?” The Doctor prompted, his usual sarcastic charm providing a refreshing beat of familiarity to the moment.
“ ‘Course not, Doctor,” Rose replied firmly, setting her jaw and turning to face the screen. The image of a distressed young woman lit up its surface, wide, teary green eyes framed by curling, bright red hair. Her face was frozen in a scream, her nose scrunched in and her lips curling up over her gums. It was an ugly expression, this raw fear. It was deeply human. Before she had too long to dwell on it, The Doctor’s voice broke her focus.
“Earth, 1808. It’s a distress call, since you clearly didn’t hear me the first time. Fancy a go-around?” he asked, turning around to face Rose again. It was technically a question, but as most things he said, it was presented as more of a commanding statement. A promise. A smile broke the chill of his previous mask, and Rose felt herself do the same, her lips drawing up into a sly grin.
“1808… what’s that, like Jane Eyre? Don’t tell me I have to wear one of those hat things,” she mused, pouting and crossing her arms.
“What, no frills over your face?” The Doctor joked, and Rose rolled her eyes. It was enough of an answer for him, and he scoffed.
“Right then, fine. Settle for a dress, will you?” he pleaded.
Rose rolled her eyes, but didn't protest, deciding she'd hold her cards.
She emerged from the Tardis with The Doctor and into a field in a loose, light blue dress that scrunched up in a ribbon near her chest and was a straight, flowing shot down to her feet, which were squashed into dark navy, boot-like heels tied off with thin laces.
“Mildly comfortable, actually,” Rose admitted, tucking a lock of her now-done-up blonde hair behind her ear. “Not quite as stuffy as I thought it’d be. Did I really need this, though, or did you just want to see me in this stupid dress?” she teased, and she watched with a tinge of confusion as The Doctor turned away, a small smirk coloring his face before he cleared his throat.
“Right, yeah. Stupid dress. Look at how puffy those sleeves are,” he pointed out, the smirk widening into a smile. They were– they were rounded, puffed up bells with tucked seams that pinched her arms. Rose marched up to the Doctor, elbowing him playfully in the ribs— or where she assumed ribs would be in an alien— before interlocking her arm with his. He winced with a quiet grunt, but didn’t protest as his eyes crinkled, sweeping down her satisfied face.
“Why don’t you have to change clothes? I didn’t ask last time,” Rose pried, images of Gwenyth flashing behind her eyes. With a pang of guilt she blinked them away, turning her cheek to The Doctor.
“Simple, really. I don’t want to,” he answered briskly, draped in the same dusty leather jacket and loose trousers as he always was. He cracked another grin at her as she turned her face back toward his. He winked, and she sighed, though they both understood that her disappointment was feigned.
“Shall we, sir?” she decreed in her best posh, the excitement of her new surroundings beginning to bubble up in her words, her tone lilting and jovial. The Doctor could sense her excitement, he always could, and brought his other hand up to his forehead in a salute.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied. He unlinked his arm, suddenly, and Rose turned around to find him holding out a hand.
“What? What now?” Rose asked, and The Doctor shrugged. “If you don’t want to do the whole joining arms thing,” she began, “you could’ve just told me. We’re going to want to work on manners, Doctor.”
“Why don’t you find out?” he replied coolly, and with a flash of a smile and a suspicious side eye, Rose took his hand. The moment she secured her grip, he brought her arm up above her head and started spinning her around in one quick motion. His hand felt rough in hers, but it was comforting.
“Let’s see that stupid dress,” he declared theatrically. Rose couldn’t help it; she laughed loudly as she was twirled around, the dress fanning out around her as the bright sky and lush grass blurred together into a swirl of color and light. She was still giggling with glee as she came to a stop, and The Doctor looked like he’d just accomplished something indescribably important, his eyes shining and his face almost serene as he drank in her joy. She straightened her back and cleared her throat after a moment of recovery, recomposing herself as she took a few breathes to quiet down the seemingly unending bouts of tittering laughter. The Doctor, noticing her vague attempt at a change in demeanor, did the same.
“Right, then,” he said, nodding at her. She was still beaming as they began to walk.
Rose’s face felt flushed as the pair set off together, something warm sitting hot and heavy in her chest as she tried to quell her excitement.
Maybe it was the tight cinching of the dress.
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Their trek went from intriguing to exhausting faster than Rose would’ve liked. The sun was beating down on the duo, and while The Doctor, still in his thick garments, seemed completely unbothered, Rose had begun dragging her feet, remaining a couple paces behind him.
“Sunny today, isn’t it Doctor? I don’t suppose you could’ve picked a day with a light breeze?” she cracked, panting. The Doctor didn’t turn around as he replied.
“Huh, now that’s a good one. Maybe if you’d worn that bonnet, you wouldn’t be so hot,” he pointed out, the ‘I-told-you-so’ apparent in the way he spun the words. He didn’t need to say it out loud for the message to be passed along, and Rose very pointedly didn’t respond. So far it’d been nothing but sprawling fields and the occasional wooden fence that stretched throughout the grass and would abruptly end. Flowers were sprung up at their feet, bursts of purple and yellow that appeared and disappeared as they went on. Beautiful, but repetitive. That is, until, the house came into view. It was sprawling— an impressive building that swallowed up the sky behind it. It was brick, with deep green vines creeping up the walls. Rickety, dark shingles going were laid down across the roof. Windows dotted the exterior, but through them the interior appeared hollow and empty. A figure sat hunched on the doorstep, a shock of bright red hair visible under a bonnet even from where they stood. They turned to look at each other, having noticed her at the same time. No words were exchanged as the two ran down the grassy slope toward the house, Rose finally catching up to match The Doctor’s ever quickening pace. They both just knew. The girl had her head buried in her hands, but yanked them away from her tear stricken face as The Doctor approached with Rose in tow. She shrunk back, her wide eyes scanning every detail of the two invading strangers before her. They lingered on The Doctor.
“Who are you?” she managed to cry out, but her voice was scratchy and hoarse. “Don’t come any closer. I haven’t a clue where your attire has you hailing from, but I don’t– I can’t–” she cut herself off, her breath hitching in her throat as she choked out a wrangled sob. Rose remained standing, folding her hands together in quiet respect as The Doctor kneeled over, beginning the routine Rose had become so accustomed to.
“It’s alright, I’m The Doctor,” he assured her softly, making sure he could meet her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffled. “You don’t look like a man of medicine,” she whimpered, and The Doctor shrugged.
“That doesn’t change who I am, does it?” he prodded, and she shook her head, her curls bouncing around her wet, rounded cheeks. Rose frowned. She couldn’t have been older than fourteen, maybe fifteen.
“How could a Doctor fix…” she wrung her hands out, throwing them up around her and gesturing to the house. “...This?!”
The Doctor looked thoughtful.
“Well, we can start with what ‘this’ is,” he stated, waiting for her to let herself calm down. “And your name.”
At the request she seemed to relax a little. It was funny, how people seemed to instinctively want to trust The Doctor. Rose had, too. Watching it felt a little surreal.
“My name is Hadeline, but my mum calls me Hattie,” she said, her voice still trembling. “What about you?”
The pained mention of Hattie’s mom tied knots in Rose’s gut— she really was that young.
“Just The Doctor,” he remarked, as always. Hattie seemed to accept this, her gaze sliding from The Doctor to where Rose stood behind him. Rose smiled at her, and she looked like she almost wanted to smile back.
“Hi, Hattie, I’m Rose,” Rose told her, gently kneeling down next to The Doctor. Hattie nodded.
“You’ve a beautiful dress,” Hattie said quietly, though assurance was weeding its way into her voice. Rose smiled wider.
“I love that hat you’ve got on,” she replied warmly, but Hattie looked a little confused. Grateful, but confused.
“Bonnet,” The Doctor mumbled, and Rose sighed curtly, not allowing herself to be embarrassed at the slip up.
“Thank you, miss.”
“Now,” began The Doctor again, looking to Hattie for guidance as if he needed it. “What’s going on in that house?”
At the mention, the confidence Hattie had been building up drained away right along with the color in her already pale face. She swallowed, tentatively feeling out the environment before speaking.
“It’s the box in the basement. My Brother, Arthur, told me not to look, because Mom had already looked, and he had to go get her,” she explained, her voice cracking as her throat tightened. It had begun to get cloudy, and it was quite suddenly chillier than Rose was prepared for.
“Alright, a box. I can certainly work with a box. If anyone knows boxes, it’s me,” The Doctor murmured, clearly thinking out loud, his hands fluttering up from his sides so he could interlock his fingers. “I’ve got one myself, you know. It’s big, and blue,” he said with a smile, trying to cheer up the girl. But she still looked wilted.
“Arthur said there was something wrong with it,” Hattie hastily added, her voice becoming desperate and pleading. “Mum opened it. Arthur said she wasn’t supposed to, now he’s gone off, too.”
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Come on, Rose,” The Doctor assured her, turning to hold a hand out to Rose for the second time that day. She took it courteously for a brief moment, but then walked past him, snaking her hand out of his and returning it to her side. She heard him make a noise of surprise, and she smiled smugly to herself as he told Hattie to wait outside before trailing after her.
It became colder still as Rose, followed by a slightly ego bruised Doctor, entered Hattie’s home. The floors were dark, warped wood, and they creaked and groaned in harmony with the old walls.
“Creepy,” Rose muttered, and she felt The Doctor brush past her shoulder to step in front of her, taking the lead.
“Little bit, isn’t it? But we’re used to this, aren’t we Rose?” he said, his voice brash and overconfident. With a sharp exhale and a 'hmmph,' Rose agreed.
“Sure we are, Doctor. Now, where do you think that basement is?”
The Doctor paused in the middle of the room they’d reach to scan it.
“Well, 1808, but this is an old house. It’d be a hatch, somewhere in the main area of the house, where we are, where it’s accessible,” he prattled on, his voice trailing off as he searched the room. Despite the size of the room, the decor still felt quaint. Plush, cream colored sofas, a couple of wooden tables, and matching wooden chairs adorned the centerspace, with a pale, patterned carpet underfoot. The wind whistled eerily through the white lace curtains around the windows, and Rose didn’t dare break the silence.
“Aha!” The Doctor suddenly exclaimed, and Rose followed his eyes to a raised spot on the carpet she herself hadn’t noticed before. Before she could react he’d zipped over, nearly tripping over his own feet to throw the corner of the carpet out of the way, exposing the rusty, silver ring that would lift the square hatch. He looked back up at her, eagerly, like a dog that’d just found a stick.
“Right, I’m not touching that,” Rose announced, gingerly walking over to look down at the rusted patches on the ring.
“Is that another thing that can kill you? Rust? Haven’t you a shot or something? That’s what you all usually get,” he mused, looking up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Are you thick? ‘Course I’ve got it, doesn’t mean I’m going to handle that, ah… handle,” she said firmly. The Doctor shrugged and grabbed the ring, grunting with effort before pulling the hatch open. The stairs downward were a steep path into the pitch black, and Rose felt herself involuntarily shiver at the sight. The Doctor, meanwhile, had already reached for his sonic screwdriver, and pointed it downward into the gloom. It lit up blue with a whining whirr, making the steps and the dank, stone walls around them easier to see.
“Come on, then,” he exclaimed, beginning the descent. Rose went after him, glancing back upward at the waning glow of light above them as they went further down.
The space was all wrong, you could tell just from being in proximity to it. The flight of stairs wasn’t particularly long, but with every step Rose felt a growing pit in her stomach. She must’ve been breathing heavier, but she didn’t notice until The Doctor stopped, turning around and shining the sonic in her face before taking a step back toward her. She squinted, stopping and nearly bumping into him.
“Nervous?” he asked, his serious demeanor falling away into empathetic curiosity. He brought his free hand up, pressing it over her racing heart. She felt goosebumps spring up her arms, and shuddered quickly, sucking in a breath.
“What? Yes, Doctor. I’m fine,” she assured, looking down and away from the prying blue light. Like a real doctor with a medical flashlight, he drew closer still, but Rose lightly smacked his hand out of the way, shrugging off the hand that was still resting over her chest. “Seriously, get that out of my face. What do you want me to do, go blind?” she chided, and he seemed satisfied. With an expression Rose couldn’t quite pin down lingering on his face he turned back around, and they continued down the steps. The wall jutted out the end of the stairwell, so neither could see anything yet as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Despite this, The Doctor froze, holding an arm out cautiously to keep Rose behind him.
“Something’s off in there, I can feel it. I know this energy, it’s familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it,” The Doctor whispered, keeping his arm firmly blocking the way.
“What am I, five?” Rose nipped, but The Doctor just shook his head slowly, keeping the sonic firmly held out in front of him. Rose took a step forward, planting her hand on his shoulder, lingering near the nape of his neck. His skin radiated heat, waves of it thrumming off his body like a hungry river lapping at her wrists. She felt his whole body tense up.
“We have to help those people, Doctor. You can’t keep me behind you.”
“Rose, I—” he began, but she was already drawing away.
With that she sidestepped around him, rounding the corner created by the wall, approaching whatever awaited her with the bravest face she knew to put on.
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Hattie’s mother and brother were upright, at least. Lit by The Doctor, who’d since stepped up next to her, the backs of the two of them were visible. Arthur was a head taller than his mother, his shaggy brown hair falling just above his shoulders. His mother’s ginger hair was awkwardly kinked in some places, which led Rose to believe it’d been done up for a while, but had since fallen out. They were both still as statues, standing at attention with their arms dropped limp at their sides. There was minimal light coming into the space, just the sonic and the natural light from the stairwell. There was a small, unassuming wooden box against the wall they were facing, though it looked like it could’ve been oozing darkness with how dark the floor around it was, even with the light of the sonic. The dimness and the silence were dense blankets that weighed uncomfortably heavy on Rose’s shoulders.
“Is there a lightbulb we can flick on,” she started quietly, but cut herself off when she realized her mistake. She paused, expecting something snarky in return from her companion, but he didn’t say anything. “Right, no, 1808,” she continued, trying to salvage the conversation. “Funny, isn’t it Doctor—”
She turned to look at The Doctor, but he was still transfixed by Hattie’s family. He had on his “this is serious” face again, his lips parting to form a small heart and his eyebrows pulled in. She wondered if he knew he was doing it. He took a step closer; a slow, methodic movement.
“Hello? Arthur? Arthur’s Mother? I’m The Doctor,” he tried, but he was met with dead, stale air. Neither offered him a response. Rose followed suit, approaching Arthur, trying to get a view of his face. She gestured with her hands, beckoning The Doctor to come with her. He looked unsure for a moment, but whatever suspicions he had were clearly outweighed by something else as he carefully stepped around Arthur to shine a light on his face. Arthur was staring straight ahead, his eyes open but vacant, like he was dead. They were watery, but completely empty. His jaw hung open slightly, like he had no control over his movement. Arthur’s body was here, but Arthur wasn’t. Rose tried waving a hand in front of his face, but nothing changed. She turned to The Doctor, who’d already started examining Arthur’s mother.
“It’s like they’re gone, Doctor,” Rose remarked, her voice hushed. The Doctor aimed the sonic downward, and the whirr increased, pitching up to a shrill squeal.
The next few moments were loud, happening all at once.
It started with an image.
Rose’s father stood before her, suddenly, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips and a hand outstretched toward her. The edges of his figure were shining and fuzzy, as if he wasn’t quite there. Instantly, she felt the air leave her lungs. She might’ve gasped, but it was beyond her to be keeping track of that at this point.
Somewhere far away, she felt something cool and wet wind itself around her ankle.
Somewhere far away, she heard The Doctor shout, a panicked jumble of words she couldn’t have been bothered to make out. She was dimly aware of the sensation of being shaken by her shoulders, of strings of words being shouted right next to her head, but none of them resonated.
They didn’t matter.
Peter Tyler was glimmering around the edges of her world, she felt him.
She felt her hands, which she’d previously been anxiously wringing out, drop freely. She was safe. She was somewhere familiar. The moment stretched out forever, like a sunset, colors and light bending and refracting together till her father was framed by warmth and love. The feeling increased in intensity as he came closer. She knew what he wanted, he didn’t have to say it. He wanted his daughter, just like she wanted her father. The sheer understanding made her so unfathomably happy that she felt she’d boil over.
So why was she still so cold?
That’s when she felt the sharp pain of her shoulder meeting concrete. She cried out, realizing she’d been shoved to the side. The sonic had already rolled to the floor, and Rose scurried backward, pushing herself away with her arms while furiously blinking, trying to filter out the image of her dad that was still burned into the back of her eyelids. Her head felt heavy, like she’d collapse at any moment, but she managed to force herself to stay alert. The Doctor had pushed her out of the way to stamp on something, she watched as he brought his leg back up. This wasn’t how he usually dealt with things— this clumsy act of spontaneity— and in any other moment, Rose might’ve laughed. She grabbed the sonic, using its light to get a better hold on the scene before her. From out of the box, three tentacles protruded, curling and writhing along the floor to connect with their respective targets. Two were already firmly latched onto Arthur and his mother, the third having just recoiled from The Doctor. The ones that were latched pulsated occasionally, as if they were feeding on something.
“Doctor!” she sputtered, causing him to break focus, turning away from the creeping tentacle to meet her eyes.
“Run,” was all he tried at, his intense gaze enrapturing her own. She was not-so-subtly reminded of the first time they’d met, and her heart ached. Except this time, he knew she wasn’t going anywhere. There was a moist crack as it held steadfast to The Doctor’s leg, and Rose cringed at the sound. A wet pop snapped as suckers shanked the fabric of his trousers. He never once flinched. He never looked away from Rose, and she couldn’t bear to look away either.
“Wake me up, Rose,” he managed to murmur, his outreached hand mirroring the images of her father that had been pushed into her brain like a parasite. Rose watched in horror as his body went limp and his eyes glazed over, the confident readiness he held himself at vanishing as he slowly turned to face the box. In a second, everything that made The Doctor her Doctor had fizzled out into nothing. She waited an agonizing minute, sitting huddled against the wall, taking shuddering breaths, waiting for a fourth arm to take her wherever it’d taken The Doctor.
But a fourth arm never came. It was just her, three stolen souls, and the box. She slowly allowed herself to breathe slower, trying to rationalize the way The Doctor always did. Clearly, there was a way to break whatever state they’d been brought to, because The Doctor had brought her back. She just couldn’t remember what he’d said. She swore, burying her face in her hands for a moment before lowering them, a new resolve burning in her chest. She stood up slowly, making her way toward The Doctor with purpose. He was right there, but for the first time in a while, she was so utterly without The Doctor. The realization was a pit in her stomach, and she pushed down the dread with everything she had.
Nobody was going to fix this but her. She clutched the sonic in a shaking hand, approaching The Doctor’s still form. She looked at his slack face with shining eyes for a moment, bringing up her free hand to cradle his cheek. She had no idea how long he’d been trapped wherever he was, or how that impacted her ability to bring him back. She’d clearly only been stuck for a minute, probably less than, but it’d felt like it could’ve been hours. Was her stalling allowing him to slip further away? It’d already been about four minutes, could she be three minutes too late? She set her jaw, taking another deep breath.
“I’m here, Doctor. I’m not leaving,” she began softly, keeping her hand on his face, tracing the lines embedded in his skin with her thumb. He’d always felt so young, and yet so impossibly old at the same time. It drove her crazy, sometimes, how this man with the excitement of a teenager could be burdened by so much experience and sorrow. “I know you can hear me, because I can hear you,” she cooed. His eyes were still completely blank, staring straight ahead. The sight of it made her feel sick. “The world needs you, Doctor. I need you.”
She was getting worked up, now, her voice cracking. The only living things around her were husks, and the things feeding on them.
“Help me,” she pleaded, a false sense of pride giving way to an intense longing. He shuddered, then, a muscle in his face twitching under her palm. She retracted her hand, scared to startle him as something sparked back to life in his eyes. There was another squelch as the tentacle briefly detached itself from his leg, and Rose immediately did something she was sure The Doctor would do. One hand still holding his shoulder, she stomped it into the ground with her heel.
“Rose—” he croaked, but his legs buckled under him as he tried to take a step, his eyes rolling back slightly. She rushed to extend her arms back out, catching him as he went down. His eyes fluttered closed before the two hit the ground, and she lunged to keep his skull from hitting the stone. She sat there, panting for a moment, his head in her lap. In a panic, she returned her hands to his face, making sure he could breathe. Something in the back of her head told her he was alien, that this might be of no use to him. But something louder assured her that everything mattered. She sat there with him for a minute, one hand in his hair, the other on his jaw, soaking up the gloom. The thing on the floor twitched, and she felt her chest tighten.
“Doctor? Doctor, don’t leave again, Doctor, please,” she begged, leaning over so that her face was parallel to his. He looked so peaceful, like he’d just fallen asleep, but Rose couldn’t appreciate the sight. “Doctor, Arthur an—” she started. That was when he bolted upright. His forehead knocked against hers, and she yelped at the hollow crack of the impact and the immediate pain. He scrambled up, pressing his hand to her head. He was breathing hard, his being alight and pulsing with energy; energy he was focusing purely on her as he started apologizing. She waved off the apology, giggling in disbelief at the absurdity of it all.
The Doctor was back.
He cracked a smile too, but his face fell as he seemed to remember what was going on. Noticing his shift in expression, Rose quickly handed him the sonic. He turned around and extended it, pointing at the tentacle that had shrank backward, vibrating and winding through the air in a search for its prey.
“Not again you don’t. I won’t live that life, I can’t,” he paused to gather himself, as if his next words would be painful. “I don’t want it,” The Doctor said through gritted teeth. The denunciation seemed to weaken it further. There was a screeching sound, like nails being dragged down a chalkboard as the thing coiled away, retreating into the box. The Doctor visibly relaxed, turning back to Rose. His eyes shone, a mix of appreciation and something else. Something heavy. He strode back to her, grabbing her arms and lightly pinning them to her sides with his grip.
“What did you say, Rose,” he asked breathlessly. The basement was as dank and chilly as it’d always been, but Rose felt hot. She cleared her throat.
“I asked for help, Doctor. I needed you. You needed me.”
He seemed taken aback by the statement before he grinned, bringing his hands to cup her face.
“Rose Tyler, you brilliant girl,” he proclaimed, leaning in to kiss her cheek. The brush of his lips on her face was magnetic. He pulled back, still smiling. “How did you know I needed you?”
She thought about the question for a moment.
“Because you weren’t made to be alone, Doctor. No matter what you might think sometimes, nobody is.”
He nodded slowly, her face still in his hands. Unlike before, she made no motion to escape his grasp. He leaned back in, suddenly, like he was hungry. She instinctively slid her arms up his sides, bringing her hands together around his neck. His whole body was still warm, and she kept trying to gulp in air through the kiss as he moved with her. Without warning, he pulled away sharply, and Rose quickly pulled her arms back— though his lingered on her face for a moment longer. This silence wasn’t heavy, or ominous; it was a sweet, peaceful silence. Well, for a little bit, at least. She felt herself smiling, though she hadn’t made the conscious decision to do so. He looked past her, then, at the frozen figures behind them. Hastily, he removed his hands from her face. Embarrassed, Rose whirled around.
“Sort this out then, shall we?” he asked, and Rose nodded.
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It was an ordeal, to say the least. Once they were sure it was safe, they had to bring Hattie down to work out what would pull her family out. It took a long time, and it was an emotional strain on them all. But they came out the other side with a crying Hattie and a drowsy, disoriented Arthur, his mother in the same state. The Doctor, once he’d batted off the remaining two tendrils into the box, had sealed it with his sonic, his face set in grim stoicism. He was scary when he was angry.
“Thank you,” Hattie’s mother breathed after they’d situated themselves on one of the sofas in the main sitting room. Hattie was still shaking, gripping onto her brother’s sleeve with a fierce animosity.
“What is that thing?” Rose asked as they walked away from the brick house, motioning to the now sealed off box held tightly in The Doctor’s hands.
“Something ancient. It tricks you with images of what you want the most. Keeps you going on and on until it drains you dry. If we’d gotten there any later, I don’t doubt Hattie’s mum and brother would’ve died,” he said sternly.
“What are you going to do with it?” she asked, and he stopped, looking down at her.
“Do I have to tell you everything?”
“Yes, actually. If you’re keeping me around, that is.”
He elbowed her in return, and she snickered.
Back in the Tardis, Rose was working at taking down her hair. She was trying to work delicately, precariously going strand by strand. The Doctor was quiet, but the space between them was electric. She knew he could feel it too while he sat there, simmering, his hands propping him up as he gripped the edge of the controls of the great ship.
“I know you want to ask me, so go ahead,” he said plainly, looking at her from across the dash. She ran her hands through her hair, thoughtfully considering the prompt.
“Maybe I do, yeah,” replied, though the sarcasm in her tone slipped as she stewed in the severity of the question. “What did you see, Doctor?”
He looked down, eyes searching the levers and buttons he already knew so well.
“I saw Gallifrey. And I saw you. I saw both of us, and I saw, ah, home,” he started, and instantly something incomprehensible to Rose filled the air around them, nostalgia manifest that you could almost touch of a planet Rose could never even begin to picture, much less understand. She didn’t want to pry further, so she padded over to him, slinking her hand into his.
“And what did you say to me?” she asked, her voice thick with what she’d admit as wanting. He looked back to her, his eyes searching her face.
“I told you we weren’t through. That the universe wasn’t through with you, Rose Tyler, and it was like a bright, golden lightbulb went off,” he marveled, and Rose smirked.
“No lightbulbs, Doctor, I thought I already cleared that up.”
He smiled warmly and rolled his eyes, proving he’d heard her earlier remark. He swatted her shoulder affectionately before stretching his arms behind his back, taking a few steps away from her.
“We’ve really got to get you brushed up on your historical knowledge, because frankly, you embarrass me sometimes,” he quipped, his back to her, and Rose pounced after him. He was ready for the attack, and he whirled around, lifting his hands up in a mock surrender.
“How about one more go around in the dress?” he asked innocently, and Rose scoffed, but took his hand anyway. The two danced around, though neither were very good at it. Rose was still better by far, but it wasn’t saying much. Legs and arms clashed together awkwardly, but there was still something so fluid about moving with The Doctor. She whooped as he spun her out of his arms, catching her hand and allowing her to dip back before pulling her back inward. The pale blue of the dress, now long since a dusty mess, still spiraled around her legs, and Rose couldn’t help but enjoy it. For another few minutes, her life was nothing short of perfect.
Suddenly, the Tardis flashed to life, beeps and whirs and clicks jumping across the control panel.
“Are you ready, Rose?” he asked, breathing hard as he jogged back to the panel. She took in another breath before nodding. His skin was slick with sweat, and his eyes were bright. Rose knew she was in a similar boat. She was never really ready, if she were to be honest with herself. But she never doubted her safety when she was with him, and that was enough to keep her going. To keep both of them going, as it turned out.
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