Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC, and I'm just borrowing for a bit…
Author's Note: As always, I owe a special thanks to Sonic Jules for beta assistance and unwavering support.
**
She sat watching the sea. The grey waves lapped at the pebbly sand, leaving foamy traces across the beach. Her eyes moved to the darkening sky. A storm was brewing, and in its wake the water would roil and rage, crashing over the rocks and spattering the windows with cold, salty spray. But the impending squall did not frighten Rose. Indeed, she welcomed it.
She shifted around slightly on the sofa, hugging one of the soft, large cushions. Soon the Doctor would be home, and he would envelop her in his arms as they watched the storm together, admiring the force of nature and the raw beauty of the pelting rain and jagged lightning.
He might remember once, long ago, fearing an approaching storm, but it had not been a tempest that frightened him. Sometimes that night in 2012 London seemed so distant, and Rose felt completely removed from it, as though he'd only described it to her, as if she hadn't been there with him. And yet he was the one who had been absent physically but held the memory with eidetic perfection.
The room was growing dark, and she supposed she should rise and switch on a lamp. But she felt cozy and languid among the cushions, and anyway he could see well with minimal light. Perhaps his vision wasn't quite as acute as his predecessor's, but he shared many traits with the Time Lord. All of his senses were enhanced far beyond a human's, and his intellect was, of course, infinitely superior.
He'd slipped into his new job with utter ease, showing far more knowledge and skill than most who shared his profession. Oh, he'd reviewed a few texts, popped into a handful of classes at the university, and observed at the hospital just to ensure that his demonstrated knowledge didn't outstrip that of the time. Unsurprisingly, once he began practicing medicine, he'd shown a tremendous talent and affinity for the work.
Rose had encouraged him to choose a specialty that would challenge him, perhaps neurosurgery or genetics. But he'd gravitated toward pediatrics, finding an immediate rapport with his young patients and relishing the opportunity to ensure that they grew into healthy adults. Perhaps a bit of his seemingly infinite store of knowledge wriggled into his work, but he kept it subtle, usually managing to surreptitiously nudge the appropriate specialist toward the correct diagnosis and treatment for the occasional exotic ailment.
He'd become immensely popular among the parents in the West End within a very short time. He was a bit quirky, undeniably charming, and clearly brilliant, and virtually every mother, father, and child adored him. She suspected that at least half of the mothers, and a handful of the fathers, had a bit of a crush on their handsome pediatrician, but she knew he only had eyes for her.
**
Rose had continued her work at Torchwood while the Doctor quickly became established in his practice. Neither minded the late-night calls and weekend emergencies that required their attentions, though both savored the hours they spent together. Perhaps they would have continued with their busy careers indefinitely… but fate, or the universe, or whatever they chose to call it, seemed to have a different plan.
She'd found the report buried beneath a stack of files detailing alien craft sightings, unusual rift activity, and alien suspects in various nefarious acts. It was all typical Torchwood business. The report, however, was just a bit different. It had been submitted by the parliamentary representative for the tiny Lodeshire district, on the west coast. Over the past five years, the area had seen a disproportionately high incidence of serious illness among its residents, young and old alike. The local physician believed it indicated something akin to a cancer cluster, though the diseases seemed less discrete.
Understanding the Doctor's desire to distance himself from Torchwood's typical pursuits, Rose had resisted the urge to seek his expertise on previous matters that crossed her desk. This one, however, screamed for his skills.
Still, her hand had shaken slightly as she set the file on the coffee table that night. She'd prefaced the request with an apology and watched anxiously as his expression fell when she told him she wanted him to take a look at a Torchwood case. Perhaps it had been her own expression, a complex mix of deep concern, sadness and contrition, that prompted him to open the folder without complaint.
He required less than 30 seconds to skim the contents then look up at her and say, "It's good you brought this to me."
The next day he'd cancelled his appointments and they'd driven out to Durryvale, the largest village in Lodeshire, to speak with Dr. Reice and review his records. They found the elderly physician pale and exhausted yet infinitely grateful for their interest and possible assistance.
When the Doctor quietly informed her that Dr. Reice was gravely ill, Rose was not surprised. The gentle country doctor had tried to secure a replacement, but word had spread about the high rate of illness in the area, and others were reluctant to consider the position.
Rose and the Doctor had remained in Lodeshire for nearly a week investigating. On the fifth day, he'd found the cause of the trouble: an artifact of alien origin buried shallowly in the heart of the district. The object's composition was the root of the problem. Long-term exposure to the key element had deleterious consequences for the human body.
A Torchwood team swept in on the sixth night and removed the artifact, but its effects would continue to manifest in the local populace for some time. Dr. Reice had collapsed early the following morning. The Doctor attended him and provided palliative care, but it was clear even to Rose that the man would not last long.
She'd sat with him for a time, offering what comfort she could. At one point he'd roused from his stupor to speak in halting yet heart-felt words.
"Please, find someone… to come… to keep helping them. They need… a good doctor."
Perhaps it had been a coincidence that her Doctor entered the room at precisely that moment. She looked up to meet his stricken gaze.
"Yes," she told the ill man, "they do."
**
Rose submitted her letter of resignation the next day. She'd expected to feel regret, or ambivalence at the very least, but the moment she handed over the envelop a surge of relief swept through her.
Pete accepted her resignation with a warm smile. "Now you've found him, this isn't where you need to be," he said.
He was right. She realized that the constant pressures of her job—unending danger, frequent violence, and unyielding stress—were wearing on her. Suddenly it occurred to her that she'd felt weary for some time.
The Doctor arranged for a bright, amiable fellow he'd met at Charing Cross to take over his practice. His patients were disappointed, but none could remain upset with him for long. In the end, they all wished him well with hugs and smiles.
Three days before the move Rose found a small satin-covered box on her pillow. She lifted it and opened it slowly. Inside was a band of sapphires and diamonds beautifully set in platinum. She looked up to see the Doctor smiling at her rather shyly from the doorway.
"Well?" he asked simply.
She slid the ring onto her finger and walked toward him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him and whispered, "Yes."
They were married the next day in a small, private ceremony with just Jackie, Pete, and Tony in attendance. Jackie made surprisingly little fuss, but Rose suspected that was due to the Doctor's securing her help in choosing the ring and arranging the ceremony. Still, her mum insisted that they have a lavish dinner at one of the city's best restaurants to celebrate. Rose couldn't say no; after all, she'd be seeing her mum and baby brother much less frequently after the move.
The Doctor and Rose spent their wedding night in their nearly empty flat. She'd kept the bedding and a few candles and bath items. They made love in the flickering candlelight and fell asleep in each other's arms, utterly spent yet completely content.
**
They settled into the village quickly. The residents warmly welcomed the new doctor and his pretty wife. In between chatting with neighbors who brought casseroles, muffins, and brightly flowering plants, Rose spent the first few days unpacking and fixing up their new house while the Doctor set up his office.
Pete had arranged to send all the components necessary for a compact yet state-of-the art diagnostic and pharmaceutical lab, which was assembled in the spacious basement beneath the office. It would be difficult to treat some of the residual illnesses with medications currently available; the Doctor required more advanced remedies. While he'd shied away from such things in the past, he and Rose both realized that in this situation such intervention was warranted.
When he returned to their new home on the fourth day, the Doctor found her asleep on the couch. She'd spent the afternoon painting the second bathroom. She'd nearly finished the job when the constant, heavy smell began making her a little dizzy and slightly nauseous. She'd stumbled out to the living room with its open windows and brisk sea air, inhaling deeply to clear her head.
Before she'd quite realized what she was doing, Rose found herself curled up on the couch, her eyelids lowering of their own accord. She hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until her husband's gentle fingers caressed her cheek and roused her to drowsy wakefulness.
"Long day?" he asked, smiling softly at her in the dusky light.
"Mmm. Smelly day," she replied. In response to his quizzical expression, she added, "Take a look at the guest bathroom."
He hurried away, returning shortly with a wide grin. "Wedgewood blue!"
"That's the top coat. I used a ragging technique—bottom color's a bit darker."
His grin softened to one reflective of nostalgia. "TARDIS blue. It's perfect."
"Is it all right, really?" she asked. She'd wanted to surprise him with the familiar color, but she'd worried that it might evoke poignant memories. She sat up to face him. The motion brought a small wave of dizziness in its wake. Rose swayed slightly.
"Hey," he said, steadying her with a hand at her shoulder. "All right?" He was peering at her in the low light.
Rose shook her head dismissively. "Just felt a bit dizzy. The paint fumes bothered me a little."
He switched on the nearest light then knelt before her. After brushing a few strands of hair away from her cheek, he pressed his hand over her brow.
"You're a little peaky," he commented. "No fever, though." His gaze met hers with the intensity of deep appraisal. "Aside from the dizziness, are you feeling all right?"
There was a time when she might have held back, but something urged her to be truthful now. "I was a little queasy before, but it's gone now."
"Did you vomit?"
She shook her head. An unpleasant thought was forming in the back of her mind. "D'you think," she began slowly.
He waited expectantly, watching her with concern.
She finished in a rush. "I mean, is it possible that the artifact affected me?"
"Oh!" Her answer appeared to surprise him. "No, Rose, that's very unlikely. Years of exposure would be required to cause any real damage. You were exposed for less than a week."
"You sure?"
He took her hand in his. "Just about. But I'll draw some blood tomorrow and run it through the lab, just to be certain. All right?"
She nodded, relieved yet still vaguely concerned. He kissed her softly then went to prepare some herbal tea. As he was leaving the room, however, he paused to turn back to her. "The color," he began. "That blue… It's perfect. Thank you."
She smiled, glad she had given her husband a tiny, almost tangible link to their past.
**
To be continued…