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These are the things they don’t talk about. These are the things he will never tell her.
The Doctor stands in the doorway of the TARDIS, trying to look nonchalant even though his insides are a broiling mess.
“Alright then, I’ll be off. Unless, I dunno.” He shrugs. “You could come with me.”
Rose is standing just a few metres away, asking about the danger and then there’s Mickey, saying he’s an alien, a thing. He is not invited. Rose stares at the Doctor and there is a tiny lump at the back of his throat, growing bigger the longer her silence lasts.
“Yeah, I can’t. I’ve got to go and find my mum.” She looks down at Mickey who is still desperately clinging to her. “And someone’s gotta look after this stupid lump, so –”
When the Doctor looks at her their eyes lock and he feels her timeline calling out to him. He knows she should come with him, but there is nothing he can do. He’s not the kind to push people.
“Okay. See you around.”
The lump in his throat rises thickly so he licks his lips and swallows, trying to keep it down, keep his composure, keep some semblance of not being way too broken up about such a little thing: a girl deciding that her responsibilities to her mother and her boyfriend are more important than chucking it all in for travel and danger.
Always trying to do the right thing.
That’s why he likes her.
The TARDIS door bangs shut behind him and he is on his own again.
Next stop: as far away from London, Earth, the Solar System as possible. Somewhere hot and stupidly dangerous. He doesn’t care anymore. The TARDIS will know where he is needed.
They dematerialize.
When they land again, he doesn’t even bother to check the monitors before he steps outside.
And finds himself back in London, Earth, the Solar System. Near a playground, apparently. There are a couple of parents standing around by the sandbox, and he can just about make out a pink-and-yellow girl with a pram and a curly-haired little child, running up to her, spade in hand and grinning wildly.
He thinks of salt and wounds and ways to twist the knife even further, and storms back into his ship.
The TARDIS shrugs and takes him to the Powell Estate again and again and again. At first he refuses to leave the ship. He sets coordinates for the Isop Galaxy, the Silver Devastation, and, finally and in a fit of defiance, for the nearest black hole. The TARDIS’s rumble seems to laugh at him and she takes him right back to the heart of London every single time.
He camps out in the TARDIS. He smacks her. After three days of what seems like a cold war raging between telepathic minds and an unceremonious kick into console room coral, she powers down, shuts off any hallway leading away from the console and swings her front door wide open. The temperature cools down considerably as she works on making the console room completely uninhabitable.
He gets the hint.
Stepping outside into a fresh London breeze he feels a storm coming on. He is not directly at the Powell Estate, but near it. Hands balled into fists and thrust deeply inside his pockets he wanders around for a bit when suddenly he can feel Rose’s presence, all golden glow and song. He turns round a corner and there she is, coming towards him with Mickey, immersed in an argument. They look older but other than that don’t seem to have changed much. Same baggy clothes, same old Rose. The Doctor can hear her shout.
“What do you mean, evicted? This is the third time in six months that we’ve been evicted.”
The Doctor turns towards a shop window and pretends to be engrossed in the study of cheap mobile phones and deferred payment plans. The two of them pass him by without taking any notice of him, and he hears Mickey mumble: “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m such an idiot.”
“Yeah, you bloody well are. What about the children? Did you think of them at all when you bet our last ten quid on Chelsea?”
“I told you, I’m sorry –”
Their voices grow smaller, although he can still hear Rose yelling for a bit. It wouldn’t remind him of Jackie until much, much later.
He waits until they are out of sight, then walks back to the TARDIS.
“Is that it, old girl? You wanted to show me Rose and Mickey having a good old-fashioned row about money? Now then, well done.”
The TARDIS grumbles at him, but her lights turn back on, engulfing him in their faint green glow. Surely it can’t hurt jumping ahead a few years? See how the story will end? He feels the TARDIS nudge at the corners of his consciousness, telling him she approves.
Alright, then.
It’s dark when he opens the door once more and exits his stubborn police box. Again he finds himself near the Estate and starts wandering around, pulling his shoulders together and tucking in his chin against the chill. It’s an unpleasant night and this area seems to have become even poorer. There is distant shouting and the sound of glass being smashed. An alarm goes off.
He walks into the direction of the noise, figuring that he might be needed wherever there’s trouble. The War has changed him, but he is still the Doctor, somewhere deep down.
Suddenly, a voice croaks to his right: “Wouldn’t go there if I were you.”
He turns and sees a figure, huddling for shelter in the darkness of a house entrance and wrapped in newspapers.
“Why not?” he asks, wanting to be where the action is, wanting to find Rose.
“Riots still goin’ on. Not a good place to be.”
There is something vaguely familiar in the fractured voice, and when he takes a second look at the figure it hits him: It’s Rose. He moves a bit closer and squats down next to her, but she is still hardly recognizable. There is no glow, no song this time. Just straggly hair and dirt in her face. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes unfocused and he can smell the alcohol off her breath. She doesn’t seem to know who he is, instead she eyes him suspiciously, trying to see if he’s a threat.
“I’ve got a knife,” she warns him. There are gaps in her smile where teeth used to be.
“No worries. I’m not dangerous, me.” He smiles and suppresses the impulse to reach out, not wanting to frighten her. Rose closes her eyes and coughs. It’s a gruesomely productive cough, sounding far too much like pneumonia for his liking.
“How long have you had that?” he asks. “Maybe I can help. I’m the Doctor, by the way.”
That seems to trigger something for her. “Once met a man called the Doctor,” she says. “Long time ago. Should have gone with him.”
The lump in his throat is back. He wants to take her hand so badly.
“What happened to Mickey?” he asks instead. He can’t bring himself to ask about her children.
“Mickey.” She coughs again. “It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t a bad man. I tried to look after him, but –” Another cough rattles her and when she pulls her hand away from her mouth he can make out dark splotches on her fingers.
“I can help you,” he says. She is still beautiful, he realizes, in the way that some people simply are, when it comes from somewhere deep within and just – radiates.
“Oh, I’m alright,” she replies. “I can see the stars. I’ve always wanted to see the stars.”
When he is back on his ship, he takes some time to compose himself, then sets the TARDIS to rematerialize on the Powell Estate, the night he left Rose and Mickey after defeating the Nestene Consciousness. He prays to the universe that he’s not too late, that they haven’t left yet. He didn’t want to wait for their lives to be over.
“By the way, did I mention?” he announces a few minutes later, opening the TARDIS door wide.
“It also travels in time.”