I Sought Him Whom My Soul Loveth

This is intended as a short final story in the trilogy begun in My Beloved is Unto Me and continued in Thou Hast Ravished My Heart. Section breaks are marked by two bold-faced words

Chapter 1

Rose Tyler pushed aside the plate containing the remains of her toast and scrambled eggs and shifted her weight on the hard bench of the booth in the little café. She turned her head slightly to look at the Doctor, who sat next to her, his thigh pressed to hers. It was a tiny movement on her part, but he caught it nonetheless and turned to look into her eyes, lifting his brows expressively before turning his gaze back to the woman who sat across from them. He held his fork in his hand, but he was not eating much. The dish in front of him contained some sort of concoction involving waffles and fruit syrup and whipped cream, so sugary that it made Rose's teeth ache just to contemplate it. It was the sort of treat that he would normally attack with a wolfish grin and a gleeful sound in the back of his throat, but today he had only taken a few bites, and now he drew the tines of his fork absentmindedly across the top of the waffle. But his eyes were not on the grooved patterns he left in the fluffy cream; instead he, like Rose, seemed more absorbed with watching their breakfast companion than with eating.

Actually, that wasn't quite right, was it? After all, to say "breakfast companion" implied that Annie was eating too, but this was not so. Rather their friend had both her hands wrapped around her coffee mug, which had been refilled repeatedly in the short time it took Rose to eat her eggs. Annie's fingers were tight on the cup, and while her hands did not shake as she brought the cup to her lips, Rose had the impression that she held on to the hot ceramic as if to a lifeline.

To someone who didn't know her, it would have been hard to spot what was wrong with their friend on that gray morning. She was dressed as carefully as ever; her dark hair was neat; her eyes were not red or puffy; she did not tremble or dart her eyes about or smell of alcohol. A stranger would not have looked at her twice. And yet, Rose was absolutely certain that something was terribly wrong, and she knew the Doctor thought so too, for she could feel the anxiety radiating off of him. What, she asked herself, was troubling her about the appearance of a woman who seemed merely to be sitting at breakfast with friends, quietly, steadily sipping a cup of coffee? Perhaps the slightly-too-clockwork rhythm with which she took those sips? Perhaps the now stone-cold bowl of oatmeal and fruit that sat untouched in front of her? No, it was more than that. Her friend, who normally enjoyed nothing more than companionship and talking with those she loved, was far away from them now, in mind if not in body. And… Rose shot another glance at the Doctor. He met her eyes again, and this time he nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if he had read her mind. He saw it, too. Not surprising, of course, since he was the one who had insisted that they invite Annie to breakfast, saying that something had seemed wrong with her at school for the past few weeks. Rose had not seen Annie in that time, having been away on a long mission for Torchwood. At first, listening to the Doctor's frustratingly vague description of Annie's behavior, she had dismissed his concerns. Surely, she had said, Annie was just tired, or stressed by the demands of her students? But now she could see what had caused the Doctor's worry.

Annie, Rose felt certain, was afraid.

It must have seemed a strange friendship, to anyone on the outside. When the Doctor started teaching, Rose had heard him speak of Annie often—she was the Maths teacher to his Physics teacher, a colleague, someone he spoke of with admiration but not much more. Then the Doctor confessed to Rose that Annie had kissed him, at the end of a jovial pub night with his fellow teachers. He had scrambled to blunt the damage of this revelation, telling her that Annie had not known he was attached, and indeed that she had been apologetic and humiliated when she found out. Rose had accepted this explanation with an equanimity that surprised even herself; the Doctor's confession had come after a bad fight, but also on the heels of a lovely reconciliation—one that ended, in fact, with his proposal. For a few days after that, Rose and the Doctor had been too absorbed in their own delight—and then with the ruckus that came from telling her family of their engagement—for Rose to think about Annie again. Then, one quiet afternoon when she was at her desk at Torchwood, with nothing to do for the moment but to sip a cup of tea that Jake had brought her and to fiddle with the new stone on her left hand, her mind turned back to the Doctor's story. He had explained to her what he knew about Annie: that she had been married while very young to an American, a dozen years older than herself, whom she had met at Oxford. That she had followed that man back to his home town of Chicago, teaching in the public schools there while he worked to finish a doctorate in history. That he had been killed by a drunk driver while riding his bicycle. That Annie had eventually gathered herself together and returned to London, where, still dazed by grief, she fell back on teaching as solace and distraction and took up the job she still held.

An odd thing, perhaps, to seek out a woman who had made a pass at her fiancé. At the time, Rose could not quite articulate what it was that made her lift her phone and ask the Torchwood operator to find her Annie's home number. And a few days later, when she first sat across from this composed, dark-haired woman who watched her with a mix of wariness and curiosity, she felt nervous and at a loss for words. Strange, again—why should she be nervous? After their attempts at small talk had faded awkwardly, Annie had decided to address the issue head-on. She suddenly leant forward and met Rose's gaze. "Rose, I have to say…I didn't know what to expect when you wanted to meet. I knew that John told you about the unfortunate thing…kiss…after the pub. But he also said that he told you I would never have done that if I knew about you. And, I mean, you got engaged—congratulations, by the way—so things seem fine between you two. So…I mean, I hope you don't feel the need to…to warn me off him, or something. Because I wouldn't…"

Now Rose found her voice and stopped her. "No, Annie. I'm not here to scold you. Not at all. The opposite. The Doctor—John—thinks so highly of you. He values your friendship. And I…well, all my friends are blokes I work with, so I was hoping…well, I was hoping to get to know you. I was hoping we all could be friends. All three of us." Here she stopped, then burst into laughter. Annie looked a bit startled, but the beginnings of a smile played around her mouth. Rose touched the other woman's hand lightly with her own. "I suppose that sounded incredibly sad—'will you be my friend'? But I guess it's what I'm saying. I know the Doctor wants us to be friends, but he'd never actually suggest it."

Now Annie's smile broadened, became more genuine. "Seriously? You don't mind about…you know?"

"No. I trust you both. And…I trust the Doctor and me, us." Rose realized, with a warmth in her chest, that this was finally true.

"Well." Annie paused, seeming to consider. "I mean, yes, of course. It'd be great to get to know you. John is my favorite colleague. It would be fun."

"Excellent. Well. We were going to go to the cinema tomorrow night, and then for Chinese. Join us?"

Annie nodded slowly. "Yes, lovely. I always enjoy going out on Friday night, shaking off the week. Yes. Ta."

And that had been the beginning. Very quickly, Rose and the Doctor had fallen into the habit of seeing Annie regularly. At least once a week, Annie would leave school with the Doctor and accompany him on the walk to Torchwood. Together they would drag Rose from whatever project she was working on with the insistence that dinner be eaten before the middle of the night. Soon Jake began leaving with them and became close with Annie as well. In the early months, Annie would sometimes make a half-hearted protest about being a "third wheel" on the Doctor and Rose's outings, but her misgivings were dismissed by both. "Besides," Jake remarked one warm night as they all sat drinking Negronis on the terrace of an Italian restaurant, "better-looking third and fourth wheels could not be found, Annie dear. We're a credit to these two." Annie reached and clinked her glass to his.

After several months of this, Rose invited Annie along with Jake to the Tyler mansion for Sunday lunch. The night before, as they sat in the living room after dinner, she told the Doctor, "I want to tell Annie about me."

He looked up at her from his book. "Really? Which part?"

"The other universe. The Doctor there. The trip here."

He nodded slowly. "You trust her, then?"

"I do. She's already so important to us. If she's to be a real friend, she needs to know."

"Yes, I suppose so." He paused. "What about me?"

"Well, that's up to you. Do you want her to know?"

He considered. "Why don't we see how she takes your news and then we'll talk about mine? It's one thing to be a human from another universe. It's another to be an alien-human hybrid. Wouldn't want her to be too rattled."

They needn't have worried. On the long car journey down to the mansion, Rose sat in the back seat next to Annie while the two men sat in front, and as soon as they got moving on the motorway, she launched into her tale. Annie listened quietly, reaching out to squeeze her friend's hand when Rose told of the loss of her first Doctor. When Rose finished, Annie met her eyes. "I'm sorry for your losses, Rose. I can't say I'm not glad you're here, but I'm sorry you lost so much to be here."

Rose smiled. "I was afraid you might think I'm mad, telling you such a story."

"Why? I lived through the Cybermen business, didn't I? And I know what Torchwood does. It's no secret that there's more things in heaven and earth, as the play says. And, you know…I always thought you had sadness in you, Rose. That you'd had a loss. Maybe it takes one to know one. But anyway, now I know why."

Impulsively, Rose reached out, pulling against her seatbelt, and hugged the other woman. "You're a gem, Annie."

"Well…" Annie looked embarrassed, though she returned the embrace. "Hardly." She thought for a moment. "So you met John when you arrived in this universe?"

Rose met the Doctor's eyes in the rearview mirror. He saw the question in her eyes and nodded. Rose drew breath and turned back to Annie. "Not exactly, no."

The story took a long time to finish, and the car was crunching its way up the gravel drive when Rose finally came to an end. The Doctor turned off the engine and all four of them got out of the car without a word. Annie stood with arms folded, staring at the Doctor as he came to stand in front of her. Then, slowly, she moved her hand and briefly cupped his cheek. "Blimey, John," she said, letting her hand fall.

He regarded her seriously. "I know."

"You're an alien."

"Only partly."

She huffed out her breath and shook her head, looking down for a moment before shooting him a mischievous look from under her eyelids. "Well, it explains a lot, I suppose."

"Oy!" The Doctor's protest was ruined by his own laughter, as he caught Annie in a bear hug and lifted her off the ground.

At that moment, the door to the mansion opened and Tony burst out, followed by Jackie and Pete.

Late in the afternoon, Annie, Jake, and the Doctor had taken Tony for a walk around the grounds while Rose helped Pete and Jackie with the lunch dishes. Jackie remarked, "She's a lovely girl, your friend. So nice for you to have a woman friend for a change. Nothing against Jake of course, but…"

"You're right, Mum. It's been a treat getting to know her."

"Is she seeing anyone?"

"No…" Rose sighed, then told her parents Annie's story in brief.

Jackie laid her hand over her heart as she listened. "That poor girl."

Rose nodded. "I know. It's so unfair."

Pete spoke up, although he kept his eyes on the dishes he was drying. "How much does she know about you?"

"She knows everything."

That caused Pete to pause and look up at her, his hands stilled. He raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"I trust her."

"Yes, I suppose you must do, to confide so much. About the Doctor too?"

"Yes."

"Well. I hope your confidence isn't misplaced."

"I'm sure it's not," Jackie said firmly.

Rose shot her mother a grateful glance and then returned her gaze to her stepfather. Pete regarded her for a long moment and then said, "You know how much trust I put in your judgment, Rose."

Rose smiled and moved to hug him. "I promised Tony I'd join the game of hide and go seek before we leave."

Jackie waved her hand at her daughter. "Off you go then. Don't want to keep his little lordship waiting."

By the time a year had passed, it was fair to say that the Doctor and Rose counted Annie and Jake as their best friends, their closest confidantes. Rose felt almost giddy to have a best girl friend again, just like the old days with Shireen—long talks punctuated with laughter and exchanges of confidences. In one area, however, she had no luck. She and the Doctor tried—prompted at first by Jackie, who had grown very fond of Annie and who loved nothing more than to make matches—to set Annie up on dates, but here they met inexorable resistance. At first they had tried to suggest she go out with Matthew, the English teacher who had a crush on her so severe he practically panted in her presence. She rolled her eyes at them when they suggested it.

"You're not serious?" she said, looking back and forth between them.

"Why not?" The Doctor sounded a bit indignant on Matthew's behalf. "He's a nice enough bloke."

"Absolutely he is. And he likes me a lot. And that's why."

"What's why?" Now the Doctor just looked confused.

"My dear idiot, I know I don't feel anything for him beyond friendship. And it's hardly sporting to lead someone on if they have feelings for you, is it?"

And so it went: whenever they tried to encourage her to meet someone, she invariably said kind things about the would-be suitor but absolutely refused to meet him. Once she had become friends with Jake, she would recruit him in her evasion tactics, claiming—always with a smile and a playful gaze of ersatz longing—that if only this one liked girls, she'd be ready to go out at a moment's notice. Jake played along willingly, kissing her hand with exaggerated gallantry and saying, "if only it were possible, dearest, I'd do it for you."

Jake was less gentle, however, when Rose brought the issue up with him alone. She had been complaining, over the course of a few minutes, of Annie's absolute refusal to go on a date with a man whom Rose had met through her work on one of the Vitex boards. After listening in silence for a time, suddenly Jake had brought his open hand down, hard, on the table between them, making their coffee cups jump and the liquid slosh into the saucers. Rose, startled, stared at him.

"Enough! Why don't you leave the poor girl be? She doesn't want to date anyone, obviously."

Rose was hurt and also annoyed. There was no reason for him to yell at her—Jake knew she was only trying to help, she told him indignantly.

"I know, Rosie. But really… She's made it clear to you. Why not leave it?"

"But Jake, she'll never find anyone if she doesn't try…"

"And? Maybe she doesn't want to find anyone. Maybe she's done."

"That's a terrible thing to say!"

"Is it?" He leaned back and regarded her coolly. "Not all of us are lucky enough to get back a copy of our lost loves." He sighed and passed a hand over his face. "And those of us that do don't always get a new-and-improved copy." She looked abashed and reached for his fingers. He squeezed hers. "Rose, you must let her be. Okay?"

She nodded. The next time she saw Annie she felt she had to apologize for their persistent attempts at match-making. Annie, true to form, merely shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it."

"I do worry, though. I thought I was doing something good for you, but Jake told me to leave it. Told me…" She paused long enough that Annie looked intrigued.

"Told you what?"

Rose sighed. "Told me maybe you were done with love." Annie looked startled and Rose hurried on, "I told him that was a terrible thing to say. Just because Mark died doesn't mean you'll never find love again."

Annie shook her head. "I can't see the future, Rose. But what I feel now is…I don't want anyone else. Maybe that'll change, I don't know. But that's how it is for now."

"But…" Rose paused. "But you kissed the Doctor." Annie arched an eyebrow at her and Rose hurried on. "I'm not holding it over you, of course. I'm just saying—you must have been interested in him. Interested in a man, I mean. Why couldn't that happen again?"

Annie relaxed but wrinkled her forehead. "You're right, of course. I can't explain that. I mean"—here she grinned at Rose—"John's lovely to look at, but then so's Matt, isn't he? So it's not like I'm making passes at every good-looking man I meet. No…" She was silent for a moment. "It's hard for me to explain. John seemed…familiar to me. Like I knew him, or he knew me. He felt like home. That's why I kissed him. In retrospect, I'm not even sure it was a romantic feeling. I think maybe we were just meant to be friends."

"Annie?" Rose said her name quietly, afraid of startling her out of her reverie. Annie's eyes snapped to hers. She seemed startled to be addressed, even though she sat across from her two best friends in the world. Yes, thought Rose, something is definitely not right.

"Annie, are you alright? Something seems…you seem different. Far away."

Annie's eyes slid away again. "I don't know what you mean, Rose. I'm fine."

Here the Doctor interrupted. "Annie, you're not. You haven't been for two weeks. I've seen it, and I told Rose. I couldn't tell her what it was, but now she sees it too. What is going on?"

Annie raised her hand to her forehead and ran her fingertips, hard, along her brow. "You wouldn't understand," she said, a chill in her voice.

"Annie!" Rose was hurt, more hurt than she would have anticipated, by this simple statement, this rejection of her overture.

"I'm sorry, but you wouldn't. This is… I don't understand it myself. I can't hope to explain it to you."

"Annie, please." The Doctor now. "Think who you're talking to. Do you really think you can startle us?"

Annie grinned bitterly, setting down her mug with a clap on the table. "I think even you might not have heard this one before."

Rose reached for her hand, which was cold, despite having held the warm cup for so long. "Try me. Trust us, Annie. Please. We love you, and we want to help."

Annie stared down at the table and drummed her free hand on its surface. Rose and the Doctor exchanged another glance, agreeing silently not to say more while Annie thought. Finally, barely audibly, she whispered, "You won't believe me. You'll think I'm mad."

Rose tightened her grip on Annie's hand. "We won't."

Annie shook her head, eyes still down. Now a tear made its way down her cheek. The Doctor took her other hand, stilling the drumming. "Annie." His voice was commanding, and she finally raised her eyes to look at him. "We won't. Tell us."

Annie closed her eyes and sighed. More tears forced their way out from behind her lashes, but then she opened her eyes and gave a watery laugh. "Oh, hell. Fine. I've seen Mark."

Neither Rose nor the Doctor spoke for a moment, staring at her. Annie's gaze was a mix of fear, pleading, and defiance. Finally, the Doctor said, slowly, "Mark? Your husband?"

"My dead husband, you mean. Yes."

Rose said, "You've seen him? Where? Could you have been asleep?"

"I don't think so. Unless I'm sleepwalking. It's always been in public. On the Tube. On the street." She shook her head. "I've almost been run down by a couple of cars because I stopped dead in my tracks. The drivers have chewed me out. I don't think I could have dreamt all that."

"Okay." The Doctor frowned. "Let's think. Either you're hallucinating while awake, or you're seeing someone who looks like Mark, or he's not dead."

"Doctor!" Rose hissed, a bit shocked at the coldly analytical tone. But she saw the relief in Annie's face—she seemed to take comfort in an assessment of the problem, rather than an outpouring of emotion.

Annie said, "Well, it can't be number three. I'm hoping it's two, since I don't like the implications of the first one." She took a shaky breath and scrubbed her face with a napkin.

They spent the next half an hour discussing the exact details of Annie's sightings of this man whom she was convinced was Mark. Rose took copious notes in her small notebook, and she told Annie that she would open a Torchwood file on it that very day. Annie demurred at that. "Rose, I don't know…I don't know if it's real or not."

"Unexplained happenings are what we do, Annie. Let me look into it. Let me help."

A smile of relief crossed Annie's face. "Okay. Thank you. Thank you both."

As they stood to go, Rose paused, a thought occurring to her. "Annie, do you have a picture of Mark? I've never seen one. It would help, to know what we're looking for."

Annie nodded. "I suppose it's strange that I don't keep photos out at home. They just make me too sad, even now. But I have one in my bag, hang on…" She had dug a bit for her wallet and retrieved a slightly dog-eared photo from an interior pocket. She glanced down at it for a moment, a smile curving her mouth, brushing her thumb lightly over the surface of the picture. "This is Mark. In Oxford, soon after we met."

It had been an afterthought, Rose reflected as she stood by the Doctor on the pavement outside the café, watching Annie make her way down the sidewalk toward the Tube. Just a passing idea, to ask for a photo. Why, she thought suddenly, had she never asked to see Mark's image before. Strange, that. She'd never forget how Annie had looked so lovely, staring down at the picture before handing it over.

Rose drew a long breath. "I thought you said…"

The Doctor interrupted her before she could finish. "I know."

"You said…not in this universe."

"The list of things I have been wrong about, Rose, is getting very long at this point. It really should cease to surprise you." His voice was chill and bitter. When she glanced in his direction, his eyes remained resolutely ahead.

They said nothing more, and they did not move for a long time, long after their friend had vanished from sight. In her wallet, they now knew, she carried a photo of the man she had loved. A man with a prominent nose, close-cropped dark hair, and large ears. A man with ice blue eyes and a slightly manic grin. A man whose face they both knew as well as their own.