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Being in a parallel version of London is, all things considered, actually not that different from travelling through all of time and space in a little blue box.
Well, it is, but the best parts are still the same. The Doctor might not have the TARDIS anymore, but he has the spare bedroom in Rose’s flat and he gets to watch her brush out her bedhead and munch on toast again in the mornings, and that’s brilliant. They don’t step out onto alien planets anymore, but they hold hands as they hop on the bus to Torchwood and as they’re walking to the local chippie, and that’s lovely. Plus, they still pop round to Jackie’s for tea and a biscuit in the afternoons, only now she tends to be holding a blue-eyed boy in her arms instead of shopping bags, despite constantly groaning that Tony’s getting too heavy for her to be carrying him around so much.
The Doctor tries to focus on all that good; all those things he’d missed with his entire being. Otherwise, he might start to think a little too much about how his head feels empty without the TARDIS nudging at his mind or rumbling underneath his feet; or the fact that the lack of its hum at night means he can sometimes hear Rose crying herself to sleep behind a closed door.
There’s the fact that he wanted more to be different, too. He’d always said Rose could spend the rest of her life with him, but he thought offering her his newly tailored lifespan would mean something more. They’d been moving towards something before she’d been ripped away from him, or so he’d thought. Perhaps it had started to happen even before he’d gone from leather to pinstripes. Other people had seen it, too, in the way the pair of them got called a couple or asked if they were on their honeymoon, and he’d never quite had a name for it, though embarrassingly the term my Rose had started to slip out when he introduced her. ”I’m the Doctor, and this is my Rose.” Still, it was something he could never deny, and, truthfully, he had never wanted to.
He thought she understood that when he’d whispered those three words in her ear on that windy beach in Norway; when she’d gripped the lapels of his jacket, capturing his lips with hers, and he’d felt such happiness and contentment it rivalled the first time he’d felt the hum of the TARDIS controls under his touch when he’d stolen her away.
It is, regretfully, not something they have repeated.
Worse than that, he’s overheard Tony ask Rose if they’re together; could hear the way his face scrunched up in disgust, just like the Doctor thought he could hear Rose’s sad smile as she answered that no, they’re not (and then he hadn’t heard much at all, other than his single heart straining in his chest). Even when she’d first introduced him at Torchwood, someone on the Dimension Cannon team, Laura or something, had grinned at Rose and asked, “Is this your Doctor, then?” and Rose had laughed it off, her voice a little tight as she’d answered, “I don’t know if I can really call him mine.”
If I’m not yours, he’d thought, then who could I ever belong to?
In the end, he hadn’t said anything, figuring she still needed time and space. He might not be able to give her the stars anymore, but he can still give her that.
.
The Doctor is researching hotels in Wales when Rose and Jackie come in from a shopping trip, smiling to himself as he hears them griping at each other, individual words muffled by the sound of Tony watching TV in the living room.
He quickly pulls up a Torchwood report he finished days ago but hasn’t sent in (always good to keep Pete on his toes). He’s been hinting that Rose should take a few days off in the near future for an extended weekend, if not more than that.
Actually, he’s struggled to take her anywhere at all, even to a nice restaurant Jackie suggested or somewhere they could go dancing together - her usual reply is that she’s too busy, though he knows all of Torchwood is in a bit of a lull at the moment. After all, they only stopped the darkness a month ago, and he thinks the celebration of that reverberated across all worlds the same way his blowing up the Dalek crucible did. Still, he doesn’t want to pressure her, and he knows she has never been one for surprises. He just has to have faith they’ll get there eventually.
(He’s also been considering telling her he could find a place of his own. That they could just see each other at work, save the world, and go their separate ways. He finds he keeps putting that option off.)
“I said he’d be trouble, didn’t I?”
“Just leave it, mum!”
The Doctor raises his eyebrows and immediately puts the kettle on to make tea, getting out the jar of shortbreads for good measure.
“I’m just saying, I always said it would come back on your father and me,” continues Jackie, throwing a rather appalling amount of shopping bags onto the table.
“Yeah, well, I never asked for either of you to interfere. I can handle it myself, so just drop it,” says Rose, already sounding tired.
The Doctor frowns, though does his best to catch Rose’s eye to offer her a smile. He’s heard her say that phrase a lot recently. He knows that Rose insists on paying rent by herself, despite Pete’s offers, and she had pointed out that the Doctor never charged her anything when she stayed in the TARDIS with him, so therefore he didn’t have to contribute anything, either. Which in no way seemed equivalent, and he certainly didn’t like the implication of being some kind of landlord, blegh, but he hadn’t pushed it.
He understood. Everything in Rose’s flat (or, more accurately, the complete lack of anything) screams temporary. Even the way she conducts herself at Torchwood, polite and supportive but distant, hinted at someone holding themselves back, careful not to attach themselves because they might run at any moment. The Doctor’s taught Rose a lot of things over the years, but he never meant to teach her that .
Alas, he’s not really sure how to un-teach her. He can’t exactly comment on her empty flat when he himself only has a handful of things: the suit he walked off the TARDIS with, a nicked sonic screwdriver, and whatever bits and bobs are floating around in his infinite pockets. Various times he’s come home with arms full of paint swatches, assuring Rose he can have the living room or bedroom done in a jiffy, and each time she’s just shaken her head and told him he doesn’t need to do that. Hell, even when he brings her a coffee or a sandwich, all too aware of the dark circles beneath her eyes, she’ll just say, “You don’t need to worry about me. I can look after myself,” which does exactly nothing to stop said worrying.
“Here you go, Jackie. One sugar and a dash of cream, just how you like it,” he announces cheerfully.
He slides a mug across the counter in her direction and offers her a biscuit. She eyes it, unimpressed. “You know we get those for Tony. No one else likes ‘em that sweet.”
“Well, more for him. And me,” he grins, munching on it. He turns to Rose, more gentle as he hands her a mug and softer as he asks, “So, what’s all this about then?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she answers, not quite meeting his eyes, and he swallows down his disappointment.
“Oh, you might as well tell him, sweetheart. He’ll find out soon if it’s up to you, anyway.”
He can feel panic creeping up the back of his neck. “Tell me what?”
“‘S nothing,” Rose repeats, shifting under his gaze. “I just had a bad date a while ago. Years ago, actually, before the cannon started working, and sometimes the guy makes himself a bit of a nuisance. He’ll go away again soon.”
“Oh. Right,” says the Doctor. He’s tempted to tease her - after all, she doesn’t have the best taste in men, what with Adam and Jack and Ricky. Only that’s not true, because Jack and Mickey had been far braver than he’d given them credit for. There’s also the little issue that both of them are in another parallel world, where Rose can never see them again, which is all down to him in more ways than one, and she’s still feeling raw about that.
He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t pricking with a teensy, tiny, minuscule amount of jealousy that some unknown man who is undoubtedly not good enough for Rose got a date with her. He would have thought that staving off a regeneration and inadvertently triggering a biological human metacrisis who very willingly offers to spend the rest of his life with you would warrant a nice dinner somewhere, but apparently not.
He settles on, “Do you want me to have a word with him?” (which may or may not be a coded threat) instead.
Rose just shakes her head.
“Entirely avoidable, if you ask me,” says Jackie. “I said he was bad news, didn’t I? Always was, and that’s true in every universe. I don’t need a dimension cannon to tell you that.”
“Who’s bad news?” says the Doctor, head swivelling between the two Tyler women. “Who did she go on a date with?”
“Yes, fine. Can you leave it now?” says Rose, taking a sip of her tea.
“Jimmy Stone, if you can believe it,” says Jackie.
“Jimmy Stone? ” and he nearly growls the name, harsh enough that both Jackie and Rose blink at him, leaning a little further away. “You went on a date with Jimmy bloody Stone?”
Admittedly, he doesn’t know everything about the man. But he knows enough: that he was twenty when he started dating a teenage Rose; that he was the reason Rose dropped out of school and ran away from home, and that it had ended in tears when he’d stolen all of her savings and abandoned her, running off to Amsterdam. He’d been a suspect in Rose’s disappearance, though his alibi had been theft and vandalism elsewhere, resulting in his going to prison for six months.
Not long enough, frankly, seeing as his first act of freedom had been to graffiti the front of Jackie’s flat with various crude insults in addition to sending Rose a rather lewd text that also implied he’d rob her again. Something the Doctor successfully dissuaded him from, thanks to a short trip to a black hole he’d taken the lad on while Rose had been out shopping with her mother. In fact, Jimmy had actually run away from Rose the next he’d spotted her. Jackie had given the Doctor a hi-five for that.
“I - yeah, but only once,” says Rose, taken aback. “He was still a prat -”
“How could you do that? How could you even look at him again?” the Doctor says, the words barrelling out of him before he can stop and think. He doesn’t mean to sound how he does, so demanding and disappointed, if not bordering on betrayed. “When I said have a fantastic life -”
Rose’s face hardens, and she slams her mug back on the counter with a thud, pushing it towards him hard enough that it sloshes everywhere. “Oh, you mean when you lied to my face and sent me back against my will? Wait, sorry, I meant the first time you did that.”
“- Jimmy Stone is the opposite of what I meant,” he continues, though he’s tempted to point out that he didn’t lie to her at Canary Wharf. Not after they’d both survived by the skin of their teeth on Satellite Five. He’d owed her enough to tell her what he was doing, though her liking it was another matter. “You had Mickey, didn’t you? What was wrong with him?”
“Right. My ex-boyfriend I broke up with years ago. Thanks for that!”
“Well, apparently an ex-boyfriend was exactly what you were looking for,” he snaps. He can feel Jackie’s eyes darting between them, though for once she’s silent. Naturally, because this is the one thing they usually agree on: what matters most is what’s best for Rose, that’s it, and if she wasn’t so bloody stubborn -
“What I was looking for was something familiar in this stupid universe,” says Rose, her teeth gritted. He feels a pang in his chest; he knows the feeling. “No, more than that, I was trying to find my own way, make my own choices. But you never understand that, do you?”
“What I don’t understand is how you can be so stupid ,” he spits, and he can almost see Rose recoil at the word, her face flickering into something less angry and more detached.
“Oi!” reprimands Jackie.
“Well, what else do you call it?” he says, keeping his eyes on Rose. “How else could you forget how badly he hurt you? That you’re so much better than him in every single way? It’s sheer stupidity at best, and self-destructive at worst.”
Rose scoffs. “You’re one to talk. I go on one measly little date while you end up drowning underneath the Thames, and now you’re acting like what I did is worse.”
He grimaces. Ah, yes, he’d forgotten about that little tidbit. It had registered distantly on the trip from Shan Shen to Earth, the cloister bell tolling as Donna spouted every last detail she could remember from that lost parallel world; the sonic screwdriver lying on the ground, the disappearing blonde woman, the stars going out. Almost all of it lost in his jumble of thoughts (Rose Rose Rose end of the universe bad Rose Rose Rose Rose Rose) and in the hurry and disappointment of going to the Shadow Proclamation and discovering the Subwave Network, followed by the sheer elation of being birthed in this body. A high he’s not sure had truly worn off, until right now.
“It is,” he says.
Rose looks at him in disbelief. “You got yourself killed and me going on a date was worse?”
“Yes.”
He means it, too.
She tilts her head, cold as she surveys him, the barest hint of a wan smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “‘S probably a good thing, you know. That I was the one who went to all those different dimensions while you got to give up.”
“That’s not fair,” he says quietly.
“I don’t think you could have handled it. Seeing all those different realities and not getting to do anything. Not getting to decide for them,” she continues, almost taunting him. “See, I met another version of myself. Earth was getting knocked out of orbit by this rogue planet, but now I know that was the least of that universe’s problems. Not when Rosie had stayed with Jimmy. Oh, she left eventually but not before she’d had a baby with him. No, that was the real issue.”
He can barely disguise the sharp inhale that escapes him. He grinds his jaw, his fingers digging into the countertop. “What happened to her?”
Rose shrugs. “Dunno. Dead, probably.”
He tries not to let himself react, even as he can’t help but picture Rose, his Rose, with a baby in her arms, wondering what their hair and eye colour would be. Hard enough to watch her with Tony sometimes, and now this. Knowing he wasn’t able to protect either Rose, the one who might have died and the one in front of him now, trying so hard to conceal her softness and kindness.
She’s right, of course. He can count at least half a dozen times he’d nearly gotten himself killed since he’d lost her. Enough times that Martha had talked to him about whether his recklessness was deliberate, which it was, at least on some level. And that had happened knowing Rose was alive and safe and surrounded by people who adored her almost as much as he did. To be in a world where she’d actually died…
“That’s enough,” says Jackie, quieter and sadder than he’s ever heard her.
“Ha, you can talk! You fell right in line with what the Doctor wanted. Dad told me all about how you,” she points at the Doctor, “were busy setting them up while the world ended.” A harsh laugh escapes her. “It’s me that’s the problem. I shoulda married Mickey by now, probably popped out a kid of my own, right? At least I’m not working in a shop, though. Can’t be having that, can we?”
“I want what’s best for you, Rose. That’s all,” he states plainly, tongue thick in his mouth.
She fixes him with an empty stare, all energy suddenly draining out of her. “Well, I’m sorry. Sorry I want different things from you. The wrong things. And if it’s any consolation, you didn’t fit in with my plans, either.”
He sags against the counter, any remaining hope he had for them punctured, and she doesn’t look back at him as she walks out. He’s not aware of much, ears pricking at the sound of Rose’s footsteps fading away. It feels like the world’s crashing down on him; worse than that, perhaps, because it’s so much quieter and because there’s no end in sight. He’s trapped on this small world, in an unfamiliar universe, with no way to explore it and no one to explore it with. He will be in love with Rose for the rest of his life, unable to do anything but long for her, and with no one to blame but himself.
The warmth of Jackie’s hand on his shoulder shocks him out of his reverie, though he suspects she would just call it self-pity, even as she offers him a small, surprisingly sympathetic smile.
“You’ve done it now, haven’t you?” she says, though it has no heat to it. “Come on, I’ll fix you up another cup of tea.”
.
He walks back home. Well, back to Rose’s flat, though he’d be lying if he thinks there’s anywhere else in this universe he could feel like he actually belongs. Not if he isn’t by Rose’s side. Jackie said he could always stay with them and that Tony would be thrilled to have him, which he supposes is something, but it’s not a very good long-term solution.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, sweetheart. People usually only go for each other’s throats like that when they’re obsessed with each other. You shoulda heard the rows Pete and I had when we first got here,” she’d told him, which was not of any real comfort at all. Still, she’d hugged him and he knew she meant well, and it had felt…nice. Even just for a moment.
The flat is dark when he opens the door, only lit by the cold light of the television. Rose has tucked herself into the corner of the lounge, a blanket covering her, decidedly not looking at him, and he can just spot the slightest hint of a glossy tear track on her cheek. He feels hollow, as if everything in him has cracked and turned to dust.
“Rose,” he starts, and his voice seems to echo through the flat. She doesn’t look at him, and he deflates further, defeated. “I…I can find my own place. Give you some space. If you want.”
“Whatever you think is best,” she shrugs, her voice small.
He sighs, going to the spare bedroom. It doesn’t take long to pack a duffel bag full of his things, though he finds himself dragging his feet, half-expecting Rose to storm in and smack the toothbrush and folded jim-jams out of his hand. Or maybe he isn’t expecting anything; how could he, after she traversed dimensions for him and he’d stranded her on a beach. He just wants her to stop him.
He hoists the bag over his shoulder, reaching into his pocket to find his keychain again. Rose had gotten it for him when she gave him his own key to the flat, despite a spare, defunct TARDIS key being the only thing to keep it company. That, and the little blue, plastic star she’d added, in case he missed being at home amongst the stars. He tries not to stare at it as he pulls the flat’s key off the ring, his hand tightening around it.
Rose still hasn’t moved when he steps back out. She even manages to do a good job of not looking at him as he moves in front of her, reluctantly placing the key on the coffee table. He can’t help but lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head and lingering there. Not for the first time, he’s aware that there’s a fragility to her; the way she shakes ever so slightly under his touch.
She still doesn’t move when he pulls back, turning on his heel and heading for the door. It reminds him a little of their first - well, only - Christmas together, when he was unconscious but her distress and helplessness nudged at his mind, and he could practically hear her giving up on him. He swallows, trying to push that thought down, his hand still hovering just above the door handle, not quite able to take that final step out. He hears her sniffle quietly behind him and winces at the sound, desperate to think of anything that will stop her tears. Or, better yet, something that will mean she never has to cry over him again.
He hates the idea that he’s finally defeated her; that he’s asked her to bear too much. Perhaps this is for the best, then. She still has her family and Torchwood, she can still see the stars another way, still have that fantastic life he’s always wanted for her; and he…well, he’ll do something. Something quiet, where he can’t hurt Rose or anyone else again. Something…
Oh.
Oh.
He is so thick.
“You’re right,” he says suddenly, swivelling around and dropping his bag on the floor. “This is rubbish.”
“What?” she says, finally looking at him. Her brows are creased together, eyes wet and red-rimmed.
“This,” he gestures between them, “is rubbish. Someone else, deciding they know what's best for you. Denying you something you're pretty sure you both want.”
Her eyes flicker away from him and she slips a little further under the blanket. He softens just looking at her, approaching the lounge again.
“I think I’ve done enough of that already. Don’t you?” he asks.
“My turn, then,” she mumbles.
He nods, sitting next to her, careful to leave some space between them. She folds further into herself anyway. “Yes, I think it is. Which is why I’m not going anywhere. You can have all the time and space you need, and I’ll be right here. I told you I’d never leave you behind, and I meant it. You’re stuck with me.”
Rose shakes her head, her voice wavering. “Don’t. Because you did leave, and you got left behind too, and I…I can’t help you. Not the way you think I can,” He frowns, puzzled, already trying to cup her cheek in his palm before she slips further away from him. “I’m supposed to fix you and I can’t even fix myself.”
“Oh, Rose,” he says, and encircles his arms around her before she can move away from him. She freezes for a moment before relenting, burying her face in his chest, her tears starting to seep through his shirt.
He maneuvers them so they’re both tucked under the blankets, stroking her hair and peppering the top of her head with kisses. “Rose, listen to me. You don’t need to do anything to make me better. Just being with you, whether you’re sad or angry or tired, is enough for me.”
She shakes her head. “You deserve better. And now that you don’t have the TARDIS -”
“I knew what I was giving up to be with you. Better than you did, from the sounds of it,” he says. “And while I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again to be here with you, you deserve a say in your own life. We don’t…if you really want me to go, I will, but I don’t want you to think it’s because you’re not what I want, or that I’m somehow more than what you deserve. I could live a million years and not deserve you - well, not anymore, but I can still spend the next five decades or so trying to b -”
He’s interrupted by Rose pressing her lips against his, chaste and soft and salty, before she pulls away shyly.
“Don’t go anywhere, yeah?” she mumbles.
He smiles, finding her hand and entwining their fingers together. “I won’t. Promise.”
She nods, settling against his chest again with something caught between a sigh and a hum. Not unhappy, but not as content as he’d like, either. Their argument from earlier is still gnawing at him, and her as well, if the way she’s biting her lip is anything to go by.
He nudges her. “Did you want to tell me about Jimmy?”
“No,” she snorts. Then, softer, “Nothing to tell, really. He just pops back up every now and then, threatening to tell the tabloids ‘bout me, or secrets ‘bout Vitex to dad’s competitors if we don’t give him any money. None of it’s true, I’m not that stupid, but someone might believe him if it’s a slow day. Mum and Dad didn’t tell me at first, which is why he’s still trying it. I never would have paid him. Tabloids aren’t that interested in me anyway.”
The Doctor sniffs, feeling his fingers twitch. He tries to keep his voice neutral as he says, “I can speak to him for you, if you’d like.”
She lets out a weak laugh. “You don’t have a spaceship to dangle him out of this time.”
“I only said that as a joke,” he says, which is true. Jimmy’s yelping scream had been very funny. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. There are plenty of bridges I can dangle him over instead.”
She bites back a giggle. “Sounds like you’ve got some anger and revenge problems to me.”
“Oh, no more than usual.”
He rubs his hand up and down Rose’s back, keeping his eyes on her even as her gaze shifts back to the telly, the words an indistinct murmur as he concentrates on her inhales and exhales, the soft pulse of her against him, and how it syncs with his own.
While they don’t make it to the bedroom that night, they do fall asleep in front of the telly, still wrapped around one another, and neither of them says a word when the Doctor unpacks his duffel bag in the morning.
.
Friday night, and they end up running around a giant storage facility chasing after aliens. Well, really, what else would they be doing?
The aliens are harmless enough. Just rebellious kids, really, crashing their stolen spaceship into the Thames the way teenagers on Earth drive their cars into ditches because they like how muddy the wheels and windows get. So the Doctor, Rose, and Jake end up playing the world’s most pointless game of teleport tag.
At least, they do until the aliens finally realise that the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver might just count as cheating, and accordingly trick him and Rose in one of the storage units via a cloaking device, giggling as they lock them inside.
“Let us out!” Rose demands, banging on the steel roll-up door. She curses under her breath and pulls out her phone, holding it up, the one spot of light in the whole room. “This stupid bloody universe. Technologically advanced and I still haven’t got any bars.” She kicks the door, making a decent dent in the metal.
“Better?” asks the Doctor once she’s finished.
“Not really. How much air have we got?”
“Nah, nothing to worry about. This is massive - six hours at least,” he replies easily, eyeing the still mostly pitch black room. “Not that we’ll need it. Give me your phone.”
Warily, she hands it to him and he runs his sonic over it, activating the universal roaming. He smirks, raising an eyebrow in her direction. “Year Five Billion was a piece of cake, I think I can handle a concrete-surrounded dead spot.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles as she takes it, calling Jake. Her good mood does not last long. “Oh, charge your bloody phone, you idiot!”
“Well be fair, if you grew up in a world dominated by Cybus Industries you’d probably be wary about technology, too,” he says charitably. Then, “Haven’t you got a walkie-talkie or something?”
She gives him a withering look. “We deal with telepathic aliens that communicate via bloody gamma rays or something half the time, walkie-talkies seemed a little primitive.”
“Tell that to UNIT,” he mutters.
“I did.”
He can’t help but grin at that, though he can just make out Rose glowering at him through the dark. He quickly darts off to find some source of light while she tries her phone again, before ending up on a nearby chair as she attempts to work a bobby pin on the door’s roller mechanism. Neither work, but he does find a few lamps.
“Well, what d’you know. Makes for some quite nice mood lighting,” he says, wagging his eyebrows at her. She just makes a face, looking at their surroundings.
“Whose unit is this? It looks like a junkyard,” she derides.
“I’m quite fond of junkyards. Used to live in one for a while, actually, back in 1963. Not the best introduction to Earth, admittedly, but it grew on me,” he rambles. “I find they usually have some useful bits and bobs here and there.”
They spend the next twenty minutes fossicking around, looking for anything that could come in handy. In the end, their main victories are several stacks of old newspapers, one broken mannequin, multiple wooden items the sonic won’t work on, and one busted radio. It’s agreed the radio is probably their best bet, especially if they can try and tune into Jake’s van.
“I wasn’t aware you had plans tonight,” says the Doctor, pressing his ear to the radio as he fiddles with the dials, searching for anything other than static. “What’s the rush?”
“Didn’t know your idea of a good night was being stuck in here,” Rose snarks back, flicking her fingers against one of the newspaper stacks. She sighs, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“From memory, Pete did say you could take the day off. Several, in fact,” he says mildly. “You’re the one that chose to come.”
“So did you.”
“Only because you did,” he replies.
He hears her huff, and promptly finds his sonic screwdriver plucked out of his hand, barely having time to exclaim, “Oi!” before she’s already said, “Do you wanna get out of here or not?”
She goes back to the door, running the sonic over the roller mechanism while he returns to the radio in a sulk. It lasts all of three minutes before he’s started grinning again, humming until she snaps, “What?”
He turns the radio up, the static making way for big, cheerful brass. “Our song, remember? Glenn Miller’s In the Mood. Our first proper dance.”
He sees her smile at the memory, though her attention stays fixed on the door. “I wasn’t sure that had anything to do with me. Would have been quicker for all of us if you and Jack had just pulled out a ruler.”
The Doctor tuts, starting to push the newspaper stacks and various other furniture and knick-knacks to the side. “Now, now. You know it’s always been about you, Rose, at least when it comes to me. Come on.”
She looks over, finding he’s done his best to make a space on the floor despite the overwhelming clutter of the room. If he squints, it vaguely resembles a misshapen circle. He holds out a hand in her direction.
“You’re mad,” she laughs.
“Oh yes!” he agrees, spinning around on his heels. He reaches his hand out for her again. “Let’s see if I’ve still got the moves, shall we?”
She shakes her head, biting her lip, unable to truly keep back a smile.
“Rose, would you please stop trying to resonate concrete and come here?” he pushes gently.
“Technically, it’s not concrete I’m trying to resonate,” she corrects, sounding a little nervous. “And shouldn’t you be fixing the radio to contact Jake instead of dancin’ to it? He’ll be looking for us -”
“Then let him find us; we might as well fill in the time somehow,” says the Doctor. He quirks an eyebrow, lowering his voice. “The world doesn’t end because Rose Tyler dances.”
She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, mock exasperation softened by the slight smile curling at her lips. Finally, she takes his hand and jumps off the chair, letting him lead her to their rather small dance floor. One hand finds hers while the other rests on her hip, her hand softly gripping his other arm.
For a moment, he just stares at her, struck dumb by the sheer impossibility of being able to do this; to hold her close, watching as her cheeks flush and her eyes start to gleam in the half-light; to be able to dance with her in the flesh again, a desire no longer relegated to just dreams or memories.
“I, um, seem to have forgotten all my moves,” he admits.
She giggles. “Me too.”
“Been a while since I’ve done this,” he says.
“Me too. Not since -”
“You,” he finishes, and it’s true. They’d danced together at Ian Dury & the Blockheads, when they finally got to see Elvis; at Rose’s last birthday party, in Peladon court, at the royal wedding on Mars in the 72nd century, and under the 1833 meteor shower. And then he hadn’t wanted to dance at all, always off to the sidelines whether it was at Donna’s wedding or on board the Titanic. How could there ever be another worthy dance partner when she was the one who made him remember he could dance; when all the songs simply reminded him of her?
They step forward at the same time. It’s wrong: Rose accidentally steps on his toes, and she lets out a little sound, caught between laughing and apologising; his hand is starting to grow slippery in hers, and he curses this part-human body for so easily betraying his nervousness. Neither of them can stick to the tempo, both of them only half-remembering moves from a lifetime and two different bodies ago, waiting to follow the lead of the other.
They’ve barely started when the song ends, fading into silence punctuated by the soft fizz of static. Rose offers him a smile but her hand drops from his arm and she starts to turn away from him, back to the roller door. He doesn’t let go of her hand, tugging on it to pull her closer.
“Rose,” he starts, not really sure of where he’s going. He just wants her to stay, to lighten some of the heaviness and weariness she’s still carrying with her. He wants to see her smile, laugh, shine again.
“I know everything has changed,” says the Doctor. After all, he’s never going to be big eared and leather-worn again, and she is never going to be nineteen and unrelentingly hopeful again, not after everything she’s seen. “I - I want it to change more, actually.”
Her brow furrows in confusion, and he can hear notes once again stirring from the radio. The soft, yearning start of Moonlight Serenade. Gently, he hooks his finger under her chin, drawing her into a soft, tender kiss, both of them slowly starting to sway in place to the music.
“Don’t think I’d have minded if you’d done that in a 1940s hospital basement,” murmurs Rose when he draws back, teeth grazing her bottom lip. He smiles at her.
“I wouldn’t have, either,” he replies. “May I have this dance?”
He hand finds her waist again and he pulls her in close again, her head resting on his chest. They don’t dance so much as shuffle their feet, content to simply feel the warmth of each other. Rose feels heavy against him, as if she’s finally softened. No longer reliant on stress and anxiety to hold her upright, she spills out into his arms, not moving away even once the song finishes and goes into the next.
The Doctor closes his eyes, resting his cheek on the top of her head. He wonders how long they’ll dance together for. His hope is always, until they’re old and grey and arthritic, no longer able to run but their hands still entwined together. A lifetime spent dancing to new songs, going to new concerts, visiting new places, even if they’re only a few miles instead of a few light years away.
“Maybe I should take some time off,” Rose mumbles.
He grins down at her. “Yeah?”
She nods. “Yeah, I didn’t exactly ease you into this whole being domestic thing, did I?”
“Oh, everything’s easy with you, Rose.” For good measure, he suddenly pulls back, lifting his arm up so he can twirl her around before grabbing and dipping her. They both know he nearly drops her but she’s laughing, so he doesn’t think she minds all that much.
He pulls her up and she playfully shoves his arm. “Oi, watch it! I was nearly asleep before you pulled that little stunt. Weren’t even on beat with the song, were you?”
“Well, I’m sure I’ll remember how do all this stuff eventually,” he shrugs. “So long as every dance is with you.”
Rose smiles, a little shy. “They will be,” she says, “mostly because I don’t think you’ll be able to get another partner with those moves.”
She finds her way back into his arms, and by now he’s not hearing the music at all, only each of her inhales and exhales, the way laughter escapes from her a little easier now. Dancing to their own song, at their own pace and rhythm, the world disappearing around them. All he can feel is where they connect: the brush of her leg against his, fingers slipped between the gaps in his, her cheek cupped in the palm of his hand, the feel of her breath ghosting his lips as he leans down to kiss her again. A whole universe at his fingertips, the Earth once again turning underneath his feet again. He can’t think of a single thing he wants for at this very moment.
“Aww, sweet,” comes a voice, and the Doctor and Rose break apart, looking up only to wince at the bright light shone in their eyes. His eyes having adjusted, the Doctor can make out Jake, shining a torch in their faces. “Caught the aliens, if you were interested.”
The Doctor feels his face contorting into a scowl, a bunch of hooligan aliens the last thing on his mind. Admittedly, he should probably be thankful to see Jake, seeing as he and Rose eventually would have liked to get out of the storage unit and to somewhere comfier, with a nice bed, but that doesn’t change he’d been starting to think of moves (other than the dancing kind) he’d like to show Rose, and now that’s been interrupted.
“Finally turn your phone on, did you?” asks Rose, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.
“Nah, just figured I should investigate the seemingly haunted storage unit,” says Jake, grinning at them. “Thought you mighta heard the roller door coming up, but apparently not.”
“We were busy,” the Doctor replies snippily, and he’s sure he can hear Jake mumble a cheeky, “I could see that,” before Rose tugs on his hand and leads him out of the storage unit, though not before he switches the radio off and sneaks it into one of his many bigger-on-the-inside pockets. It might come in handy later.
She holds his hand until they get to the Torchwood van, Jake clambering into the driver's seat followed by the Doctor and Rose, sidled up next to each other. The road rumbles underneath them, lulling Rose into sleep until she ends up with her head resting on the Doctor's shoulder. He smiles into her hair, humming an old song, one he can't quite place, but it sounds like another chance. It sounds like home.