Save (v.)—to rescue from harm, danger, or loss; to set free from the consequences of sin; to redeem
He is used to saving people. Rather, he is used to attempting to save people, though his success rate is admittedly questionable. For nine hundred odd years, through eight regenerations, anytime he gets involved, people get hurt. Many times, people die.
He has been brought to trial for his crimes, for interfering. He has been convicted, he has been cleared. He has rebelled and he has ruled. Crimes punished, crimes rewarded, round and round and round he goes through the whirl pool of Time, only stopping when he is presented with no other choice.
If he stops and thinks about the blood on his hands—arms face legs too much blood to bathe in to swim in—he knows he will weep, and the last Time Lord cannot afford to weep. If he stops and thinks about the stench of death that follows him—across time and space from life to life can't be cleaned the stink of it in his clothes—he knows he will go mad.
Madder.
Maddest.
Downright certifiable. All he needs is a hat and his own tea party. Whatever sanity he may have laid claim to was obliterated, reduced to dust and ash, wiped from the Universe as complete as Gallifrey, in a maelstrom of fire.
It begins in fire and ends in fire—pain fire scream the screaming oh I'm sorry take me don't leave me alone let me burn—and he knows in the unending current of time that all of this has happened before and all of it will happen again. Wars have raged do rage will rage. Destruction has laid waste does lay waste will lay waste. Death has reigned does reign will reign. Refugees have survived do survive will survive. Planets have burned do burn will burn.
He thinks he will never get the stench of burning flesh scorched earth burning from his nose.
He is the Mad Hatter sitting at a table set for a party and none of the invited guests are alive. He is a party of one amidst the splendor of the Universe and tries not to think about how he killed everyone who would have celebrated the way he does.
He is used to trying to help, and knows it is a rarity that no one dies because of him. He is not used to reaching out, to grasping a stranger's hand—flesh soft human girl—and saying "Run!" and finding that he is the one who is saved.
He is saved by a girl, by a human girl. Equal opportunity, he is, and supports women's rights and all that—there are planets he has visited that are favorites of his on which females are dominant and males are subjugated—but that a slip barely out of her teenage years becomes his savior boggles his brilliant brain.
She is blond and beautiful and braver than he initially gives her credit for.
Alice has joined the party and he wants nothing more than to show her Wonderland.
The first time she saves his life, she swings to his aid, an angel sailing over fire—why is it always fire that brings the deepest sorrows and strongest joys? He didn't know then, couldn't have known, that she would save him in a million other ways that have nothing to do with stopping the alien of the moment from killing him.
She finds him in the garden, It is overgrown wild unkempt taken on an existence not governed by his actions. The only constant, it seems, is consequences.
Action: Time War
Consequence: He is recalled to Gallifrey
Action: Annihilation of the Daleks
Consequence: Annihilation of the Time Lords
Action: He pushes the button that destroys his planet
Consequence: He is plagued by horrible dreams and doesn't sleep
It is three thirty in the morning, Greenwich Mean Time, which is what he has kept the TARDIS clocks set to since her arrival; for his own purposes, he does not switch to British Summer Time, and if they return during the absurdity that is Daylight Savings Time, he thinks Rose will adapt for the duration of their stay—which is never long.
Tonight, he kept her up as long as possible, then plastered on a false grin and sent her to bed. He thinks she doesn't know that he doesn't sleep. He reads. He tinkers. He wanders throughout his magnificent ship and her ever-changing corridors and lets her lead him. The first time she leads him to Rose's bedroom, he blushes and walks away. The second time, he stands in the doorway and watches her sleep. He worries that the next time he might just get in bed with her.
Thankfully, tonight, the TARDIS leads him to a garden he hasn't seen in a hundred years. He remembers it being lush, Eden. He expects to find decay and rot and more death. Instead, he finds that it has lived without him. It has flourished.
He considers for a moment that perhaps not everything he touches will turn to ruins.
Standing in the center of his own private Paradise, he inhales lilac and jasmine, letting their fragrance soothe him. Near him, a patch of crystherium utilia grows. On Earth, the flower is known as a Bird of Paradise, but on other planets in a far corner of the galaxy, it has turned a race of ignorant bipedal reptiles into a cunning, deadly warrior race hell-bent on galactic domination. It amazes the Doctor that such a thing of beauty can lead to such utter desolation.
He inhales the scents of dozens more flowers and it occurs to him that there are no roses in his garden. He thinks he must remedy this.
"Why did you bring me here?" he asks the TARDIS.
The light turns gold and the air grows warm and for a moment he thinks he can smell roes. He hears a faint howl and then the TARDIS sings him a song of peace.
"I think it'll take more than a stroll through a field of flowers for me to find peace, old girl," he says blithely.
She sings him a song of relaxation and he feels her urging him to find his center.
He sighs, relenting. "Alright, alright." He knows what she wants him to do.
Within moments, he has shed his socks, boots, jumper, and jacket. Closing his eyes, he digs his toes into the velvety apple grass and breathes deeply. He takes long breaths in and exhales on steady, controlled streams. Focusing inward, he feels the strength in his calves and in his thighs. He feels the firmness in his core, in his torso and hears the steady rhythm of his hearts. He feels the aching in his neck, shoulders, and upper back, and thinks the ache runs right down the center of him, straight to whatever semblance of a soul he has left. Bringing his arms out in front of him, he opens his eyes and begins to move. His movements are fluid, practiced and controlled. It is a form of calisthenics he learned at University, one that is meant to help with focus. Skilled practioners can use this form to block out certain senses.
He hopes it will dull the sound of the screaming.
He can feel the pull of the stars fade to a distant hum. He lets go of his hold on their place in Time, knowing the TARDIS will go on without his assistance for a while. He closes his eyes again as he continues his movements, hoping the images that are seared into the back of his eyelids leave him be for a moment.
All he wants, though he knows he is undeserving, is peace.
The next time he opens his eyes, he finds Rose perched on a nearby rock. She is dressed in a men's button down shirt and shorts that seem to be little more than knickers. Her legs are hugged to her chest and her chin rests on her knees; her long blonde hair is pulled atop her head in a messy bun.
"Hullo," she murmurs, as though afraid to shatter the stillness.
He does not jerk to a halt, simply stills himself. He looks at her bare, smooth legs and cotton candy pink toe nails. Meeting her eyes is safer, he decides, until the simple beauty of her makeup-free face takes his breath away.
"How did you find me?" he asks quietly.
She shrugs, "I was coming back from the loo but instead of the hallway back to my room, the TARDIS took me here." She brazenly eyes his naked torso. "Can't imagine what she did that for," Rose says cheekily.
Sighing, he lifts his eyes to the starry sky and notices for the first time that it is the same star pattern he remembers from his boyhood. Mentally, he growls at his ship and feels her gentle laughter in response.
"So what were you doing just now?" she asks, breaking into his thoughts. "Some sort of Tai Chi?"
"It's called A'Rotsa Ot'n," he answers. "A bit like Tai Chi, I suppose."
"What's it for?" She changes position, tucks one leg under her bum and leans forward, chin in palm and elbow on naked thigh and he can see how high the shirt isn't buttoned. "Next planet we go to, am I going to find out you're some sort of deadly black belt?"
If she sees him flinch at the word deadly, she makes no show of it. He summons a reassuring grin. "It's supposed to help you focus, hone your senses, or block out some."
Her eyes widen. "Block out your senses! Like what, induce blindness or something?"
"Not exactly." Although that would be nice, he thinks as she inadvertently gives him a glimpse down her shirt.
Rose bites her lip and he finds himself staring at the crystherium for a distraction. It's very orange and has oblong petals that—
"Will you teach me?" Once again, her voice breaks the quiet.
His eyes dart back to her face. "What? Teach you A'Rotsa? No human's ever done it before."
She slides off the rock in one graceful move and stands before him, so trusting and pure it makes him ache. "Why not? Because we're too daft to understand?"
Her voice is light, joking. Her good moods are a balm and make him feel almost worthy of her implicit trust. He smiles and it doesn't feel so forced this time. "Well, you humans do only have five senses. Alright, six, if you believe M. Night Shyamalan."
She snorts at the reference. "And I s'pose you being an alien you've got more than five senses." She steps closer to him, so petite in her bare feet. He can smell the fruity aroma of her shampoo and the minty remnant of her toothpaste.
"Oh yeah," he remarks, hoping that he sounds casual and not at all like he's thinking anything remotely carnal about her. "I've got loads more senses than you lot."
She scoffs, "Superior little Time Lord, aren't you? Are you all this stuck up or is it just you?"
"It's just me." The words are out before he can stop them and their impact nearly flattens them both.
Rose stammers, realize her slip. "Doctor—I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean…"
Like a skilled actor slipping into a familiar role, he cracks a smile as though he isn't a walking open wound. He would bleed all over her if she'd let him. "Don't mention it, no harm done."
Softly, so quiet he can barely hear her, she whispers, "Yes there is." As she reaches up to cup his cheek with her palm, he closes his eyes, feeling hot, violent tears prick at him. Her hand is always soft and warm whenever she touches him and now is no different. He nuzzles her palm, cannot stop himself, cannot stop his lips from pressing a kiss against her flesh. She molds herself to him, rising on tip-toe as best she can to embrace him.
He is stiff at first but she holds him so firmly, pulling his head to her shoulder, her fingernails lightly scratching the nape of his neck, and he cannot help but surrender to her. He cannot decide if it is shameful or shameless how tightly he holds her.
"I'm here." Her lips are beside his ear, hot breath tickles his skin. "It's alright."
"You're all I have left," he manages to choke out, despite the growing lump in his throat.
"You have me," she whispers, and her voice is so full of promise the tears behind his closed lids threaten to spill.
"You'll leave me." They all do.
"Not until you ask me to." She pulls back slightly, forcing him to look at her. He is stunned to see her brown eyes shining with unshed tears. Tears for him. The look on her face tells him that she is willing to take his pain if he would but let her. He strokes her cheek with one finger and causes her right eye to shed its tears.
"Don't weep for me, Rose Tyler."
She brings both hands to his face, lightly stroking her fingertips through his short hair. "My Doctor," she says. "You can't stand for anyone to love you, can you?"
The word strikes terror in him and in a flash he envisions the thousand different ways loving him could get her killed. He tries to wrench away but she is shockingly strong. "Rose…"
"Why can't you weep for them?" She bring his face to her lips, brushes them across his forehead. He automatically closes his eyes and as her lips touch his lids he knows he will not be able to keep his tears at bay much longer. She is so gentle, so loving. She kisses his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, murmuring soothing words he cannot make out.
"They don't deserve my tears. They deserve more than that."
Rose stops her ministrations. Her tears for him are falling freely now. "What about what you deserve?"
He shakes his head. "I'm responsible for their deaths."
"And you're responsible for everyone else being alive. You saved the Universe." Her hands fall flat against his bare chest. "You saved me."
Her eyes are wide and full of tears and so much love and the next vision he gets of her covered in blood he knows it is his own she wears, and that she coaxed it from him.
Before he is even aware of what he's doing, they are a mass of lips and tongues and teeth and tears and his are falling and mixing with hers and their tears begin to wash clean the blood that covers them both. His hands are in her hair, fisted, tugging, forceful, and she is pliant in his arms and as she whispers love into his mouth he hears himself sob and then they are sinking sinking into the TARDIS, into the soft apple grass, through the earth, falling through time and space and through the remains of Gallifrey, of his beautiful beloved home and how he wishes he could take her there but he cannot. All he can do is shed the tears he has been holding for months by his timeline and ten years by hers and the amount of time doesn't matter because he is here and she is here and they are a mass of limbs and salt and she is holding him to her chest and he can hear the steady beat of her one heart and knows it beats for him.
She lays them both down on the ground and he dimly registers surprise at how easily she shoulders his weight. Greedily, he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in her hair, kissing her neck as he weeps, feeling her stroke his back and rock him. He hears her thoughts in his head love love beautiful sad so broken I'll share your pain let me share this let me take this for you. Though they do not make love, he marks this as the moment they become lovers.
They lie there, long after his tears finally subside, under the stars he saw as a boy, and for the first time in months and decades, he sleeps through the night, in her arms.
In the morning, he wakes before she does, and after watching her for what may have been millennia, leaves her lying on the grass, knowing the TARDIS will lead her to him when she wakes.