Because I had a rough day yesterday. The next chapter of HIMYM is coming, but I moved back to my uni, so it will be late. Enjoy this and please review!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
A Hard Soul to Save
"'Cause you're a hard soul to save with an ocean in the way, but I'll get around it." -Florence + the Machine, "Over the Love"
It hurt to sit there and watch him suffer, but those five and a half hours had to pass in linear time, the slow path, in the right order. It killed her to stand behind glass and watch as he sweat and cried and screamed and thrashed, struggling with his body's natural detoxification. The gaseous atmosphere wasn't enough to make him regenerate, but it was painful.
He always did say to wait five and a half hours.
On that spaceship in France, those five and a half hours had been agony. But this was torture. Eternal, never-ending torture. It went on forever, until Rose wondered if somehow the Doctor had simply died and didn't regenerate.
She might have believed it if he wasn't still screaming out in pain.
Tears fell from her cheeks, she pressed her forehead against the thick glass. When all of this was over, she would have to clean the fingerprints and smudges of mascara off the med bay window. How was it even possible for the Doctor to suffer from an illness that was only dangerous to species with dual hearts? A long time ago, Rose would have laughed about how his 'superior Time Lord physiology' was not so superior after all. Not today.
Today was supposed to be a day of simple exploration and excitement, no danger, no war. While there hadn't been a battle per se, the atmosphere had been polluted by toxins from the flora caught in a wildfire. The gasses were only dangerous to people like the Doctor. Fortunately, only three percent of the planet's population had such a body, but it didn't make a difference. Not to Rose.
Maybe it was selfish and cruel, but Rose would have traded the entire planet for the Doctor's life. She couldn't imagine a universe without him.
He screamed out curses that the TARDIS wouldn't translate, either because she couldn't or she wouldn't. The golden song in Rose's mind was mournful and pained. If she understood the ship's telepathy, Rose would have understood that the TARDIS was almost in more pain because she loved the Doctor-she was all he had left.
The last of his kind, so very old.
It was beautiful, in a sad way.
Occasionally, Rose found herself tracing frantic circular patterns on the glass, stopping as soon as she caught herself. The Doctor had left sticky notes with similar figures all over the TARDIS as reminders to himself, and Rose didn't understand them. It didn't mean she didn't know what they meant to him. It was his language-the lost language of the Time Lords of Gallifrey.
When it was finally over, Rose breathed a sigh of relief, knocking her forehead against the glass. The Doctor, his head knocked back against the wall he had slumped down after flinging himself off the chair, had his eyes closed and was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. He was covered in sweat, and Rose briefly wondered if he was even conscious.
A strange sort of chime rang in Rose's mind, so she took that as permission to enter the med bay. Carefully sliding the glass door open, Rose choked on the stale, stifling air she was immediately faced with. How could he even breathe in here?
Once she grew accustomed to the warm, stagnant air, Rose stumbled towards her best friend. She ripped off her jumper, pulling her thin shirt back down, and pressed the scratchy fabric against his forehead. It was better than nothing.
Her actions got his attention, forcing him to cough and consequently bang his head back against the wall. Rose's hand shot out and grabbed the back of his head to prevent the accident from happening again. "Don't worry, Doctor," she said quickly as he coughed more, "I've got you."
"Rose," he choked, grabbing at her shoulders for support. He tried to lift himself up, painfully tugging on Rose's body. She winced and grappled with his lanky frame, weakened from the hours of torturous despair. The Doctor was limp against her, leaving Rose to hold up most of his weight.
When he completely passed out, Rose was reminded of that Christmas when he regenerated. It felt like a lifetime ago. Could it really have only been eight months?
Rose tried to think of what the Doctor would do if she was in his place. He would try to make her comfortable, most likely in her room. Rose didn't even know if the Doctor had a room, much less where it was. Surely, she couldn't keep him here in the med bay. Then again, she didn't think she had the strength to drag him down the three corridors to her room.
She stuck her head out the open door and looked down the hall, happy to see her own door mere feet away. The TARDIS was a saint. Wishful thinking made Rose hope for a cup of tea that might heal the Doctor like it had before. Something told her the TARDIS would acquiesce and have a cuppa ready whenever she left to look for it. Both women cared for the mad man.
Kicking the door to her own room open, Rose huffed under the weight of the Doctor. It didn't take long for her to realize that there was no way she could carry him the rest of the way, so she grabbed under his arms, pulling him down the corridor and into her room.
A bit of maneuvering was required in order for Rose to get the Doctor on her bed, but she eventually succeeded. Covered in her pink blanket that was really a giant static electricity trap, the Doctor looked even more pathetic. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rose drifted her fingertips across his forehead, brushing away the sweaty hair.
His skin was cool and clammy, and the beating of his two hearts was slow and soft. Fear settled in Rose's chest, she chewed on her lower lip. The silence rang in her ears, louder than thunder. Rose remembered when she was sick as a little girl. Her mum would sing to her and read her stories and let her watch more telly than was probably good for her.
What Rose wouldn't give to see her mother right then.
"You have a lovely voice," the Doctor's soft voice said, catching Rose off guard. He saw that she was confused, meeting her eyes. In that moment, Rose thought she would suffocate. When her brain processed the thumb brushing over the top of her hand, soothing her like she were the sick one, Rose thought she would melt. "You were humming. You should sing more often."
Rose flushed and shook her head. "Nah, it was jus' a song my mum used to sing when I was a kid."
"Doesn't change that you should sing more."
No one had ever said something like that to her. But wasn't that the beauty of the Doctor? He saw what no one else could, had the courage to say what no one else would say. And that's why Rose...well, she couldn't admit it. Not even to herself, for if she admitted it to herself, it would be real. And if it were real, everything would change.
Rose didn't know she was crying until the Doctor was pushing himself up and wiping the tears from her cheeks before pulling her against his chest. He stroked her back as she clutched at his soaked shirt, running her fingers along the raised embroidery on his tie.
They could have stayed that way for hours, but Rose eventually looked up at him and said, "I thought you were gonna die."
"No." He was so matter-of-fact, it was unnerving. His own death didn't even faze him.
Rose choked back another sob. "I don't think I could ever lose you again."
"You won't ever lose me," the Doctor promised, wishing more than he ever had before that he could deliver on that promise. Too soon, Rose Tyler would flare and fade forever from him. She wouldn't lose him, but he would lose her. He briefly pressed his lips to her forehead, and tried to ignore the way his hearts stuttered when she wrapped her arms around him. He pulled her close, pressing his cheek against the top of her head.
If only they could stay like this forever.
"Rose," he said softly, peeling himself away slightly so that he could see her properly, see her eyes. "I could never leave you. I think it would kill me." She studied his eyes, searching for an explanation-one he was unable to give. He would do the best he could, though. "Where I'm from, on my planet, we don't do this. We don't express ourselves. We don't talk about our feelings, don't-" fall in love, his mind finished.
"I wish there were a way I could explain it to you, but there aren't any words. I mean, literally, there aren't any words," he explained, wishing he knew how it say it, were able to say it somehow. "There isn't an equivalence in English, or in any human language, really."
The Doctor looked into Rose's eyes, praying to anyone who would listen that she would understand. She had to know how he felt, even if he couldn't say it. Meager human words were not enough to explain the things he felt for Rose Tyler.
"Doctor," she started, afraid to finish. Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? But wasn't this their relationship in vague terms? Both were too afraid to act on their feelings, would rather endure heartache and tension than to give in for a few moments of happiness before they were separated.
Because it was inevitable, no matter how many forevers Rose promised him.
That day would come, even if the Doctor burned up entire solar systems to keep it from happening. She was Rose Tyler and he was the Doctor, in the TARDIS, as it should be. As it always would be, if the Doctor had anything to say about it.
"I really thought you were gonna die," Rose said, trying so very hard not to blubber any more than she already had. It was so embarrassing.
"Oh, Rose," the Doctor said, pulling her against his chest again. They fit together so perfectly; why did the universe have to be so cruel? He would always cherish every moment they had together, but she was human. Their lives were so fleeting, so short, so brilliant. She was only twenty-one years old. Her life was just starting, but it was already ending.
There may not have been words, but there were other ways he could tell her. She had to know.
Without thinking, without giving himself a chance to argue, without second guessing himself, the Doctor lowered his head and kissed her. Rose didn't hesitate in surprise, but immediately wrapped her arms around him, dragging her fingers up through his hair.
He pulled away to give her a chance to breathe, but Rose didn't need it, nor did she want it. She reached up to meet him, refusing to waste any time. He could have died; she wanted to make the most of his life, because they were so alive.
Taking her acceptance rather quickly, the Doctor grew enthusiastic, fingers wandering, tongue taking charge. He slid one hand under her shirt, drawing hasty circles on the skin of her back. Rose made quick work of the Doctor's own shirt and tie, unbuttoning his shirt so that it was open to his chest. The Doctor dropped his lips to Rose's neck, collarbone, only breaking away to pull her shirt over her head.
Time was flying, life was fleeting, this was necessary-for both of them. Words had failed; all they had left was each other.
[Oh, she knows.]
Turns out that burning up entire solar systems was unnecessary, so he burns up a sun instead.