Rose hefted her satchel higher on her shoulder, and shivered, glancing around at the dark, trash-strewn alleyway. A car honked out on the street, and Rose picked up her pace despite her weariness. Overhead, the between the smog and the light pollution, all but the brightest stars were blotted out, obliterated by the mire of civilisation. Sometimes Rose wished she could soar amongst those stars. But that was a child's folly, a pipe dream.
But nevertheless, sometimes she dreamed at night of golden fire and an impossible ship that spoke back to her. Other nights, she dreamed of blue eyes and a hand in hers. By day she forgot those dreams, but sometimes they slipped through the cracks, seeping into her waking mind like so much ink.
A strong wind picked up, causing loose strands of hair to sting her face. And in the centre of that turbulence, something coalesced. Rose got a brief impression of blue before a police box appeared, drawn into reality with a suddenness that was almost violent.
Rose barely had time to note that the police box seemed very battered, before the doors flew open, and a man stumbled out, falling to his knees in the trash. Rose had a split second impression of flyaway brown curls, aristocratic features that were haggard, bloodied, and bruised, and a remarkably clean leather jacket that had seen better days. Probably centuries ago.
The police box vanished abruptly with a loud grinding noise, making Rose's head jerk up in surprise. What the heck? She looked away from where the police box had disappeared just in time to see the man fall face down on the pavement. Rose winced, and made a split second decision that would change her life forever.
The Doctor lay there, with barely the strength or the willpower to move. He could feel the temporal radiation eating away at his cells. Not a fatal dose by any means, but if that failed, the abundance of other injuries would do him in. The Doctor couldn't find it in him to care.
He had destroyed his own people, heard their screams. A part of him had died in that final inferno. The Doctor wondered where the girl he'd seen earlier had gone. A second later, he got his answer. Warm hands pulled the Doctor to his feet, and slung one of his arms over her shoulders. The Doctor opened his eyes. The young woman smiled at him, but there was worry in her eyes. "C'mon. Let's get you out of here before someone mistakes you for a drunk."
The Doctor managed to muster up a proper amount of indignation. "I am not drunk!"
She laughed, and gave him a cheeky smile. "I know that."
For the first time in the hours since the Doctor had detonated the Moment, he felt something other than pain. A tiny flicker of happiness. The Doctor hardly noticed as they began to walk. The strange woman was silent for a long moment, then she spoke, sounding mildly puzzled. "Jus' what is that police box? Is it alien?"
The Doctor bobbed his head in a nod, gasping in pain when the motion dislodged a fragment of bone in his neck. "She's called the TARDIS."
She gave him a strange look, and seemed to mull that over for a second. "Are you alien?"
He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye, waiting for shock or fear. The Doctor remembered all too well Cass's seething hatred and Cinder's mistrust. He also remembered trying and failing to save them both, the first and last human victims of the Time War. "Yes. Is that okay?"
She didn't look particularly surprised, but neither did she show signs of prejudice. "Yeah. What's your name?"
A little startled, the Doctor replied, "The Doctor."
She grinned at him. "'M Rose. Rose Tyler."
By now, they were standing at the foot of a enclosed flight of stairs leading up a drab grey building that the Doctor vaguely recognised as one segment of the Powell Estates. The Doctor was in too much pain to talk much during their trip up the stairs. So instead, he closed his eyes, and let Rose guide him up the stairs.
After spending so long fending for himself, it was strange trusting in anyone else. But the Doctor supposed that if it had to be anyone, it would be this Rose Tyler, who seemed to have seen hard times, and come out of it with stubborn compassion. They abruptly halted, and the Doctor opened his eyes. They stood in front of a drab, greyish door.
Rose unlocked the door. She was worried about the Doctor. He was acting as if every breath pained him, and his lips were turning a lovely shade of bluish purple. If he were human, Rose would've taken him to the hospital then and there.
As it was, Rose liked the Doctor not hauled off to some government laboratory. She stepped inside, preparing herself for the tirade, only to notice that things were awfully quiet, and there was a note pinned to the door in her mother's messy scrawl.
Hello sweetheart,
I'll be at Howard's place until ten tomorrow.
Remember to put away the dishes.
Love, Mum
Rose tore down the note, and put it in her pocket. The Doctor didn't say anything, just gazed around with mild curiosity. The Doctor carefully removed his arm from around her shoulders, and stood there, swaying. Gently taking his arm, Rose sat him down on the couch. She sat down next to him, and turned to look at him. "Do you know what's wrong?"
The Doctor gave her a faint smile. "Oh, not much. Just radiation poisoning, internal bleeding, multiple broken or fractured bones, and one humdinger of a concussion."
Rose gaped at him. "How are you still alive?" she demanded.
Then Rose flushed. That sounded really callous. Rose examined her fingernails with care as she continued, hopelessness creeping up on her with every word. "The point is, maybe I could deal with your concussion. But that's about it. I doubt even my friend Martha could deal with the rest of your injuries. I just don't know…" she trailed off.
A painful thought occurred to her. Maybe I've only prevented him from dying alone. Not dying. The Doctor gently slipped his index finger under her chin, forcing Rose to look at him. "Rose, in my species, healing ability is heavily influenced by certain internal conditions. I'll be fine now, but…" The Doctor trailed off ruefully.
Rose's curiosity piqued, she glanced at the Doctor out of the corner of her eye. "What conditions?"
The Doctor paused, as if considering whether or not he was really going to answer. He stared at Rose levelly, obviously gauging her reaction. "Such as the will to live, and a few other things."
Rose took a moment to process exactly what the Doctor was implying. "Oh." Rose leaned over, and hugged him gingerly, careful of his ribs. The Doctor stiffened, then relaxed, twining his arms around her. A few moments later, they both pulled back. She glanced back at him. "The question is, where will you sleep?"
Four minutes of deliberation later, they decided that the Doctor would sleep on the couch. Rose slipped into her room, emerging in flannel pyjamas with a toothbrush stuck in her mouth. The Doctor was stretched out on the couch, his face peaceful in the grip of the healing coma. Even though his face was still peppered with cuts, bruises, and dried blood, lines of pain and fatigue had dropped away. He looked years younger.
What the heck happened to him? Did his ship malfunction? Or did someone attack him with some alien piece of weaponry? And why did he lose the will to live? I don't think that an attack or his ship up and leaving would lead to that. No, it had to be something bigger.
Rose resolved to ask the Doctor in the morning. She padded back into the bathroom adjoining her room.
The Doctor woke abruptly at 7:02 in the morning. For a few blissful moments, his mind was blank, unable to remember. Then the memories dropped in like a barrage of lead weights.
Romana begging him to end the war. The detonation of the Moment. The TARDIS screaming as she tried and failed to shield him from temporal radiation. How his time senses whited out from the destruction of two entire races. Then the TARDIS dumped him, and the Doctor didn't want to understand why.
And then the one bright spot. Rose. The Doctor opened his eyes, taking stock of his condition. The emptiness in his head was almost unbearable, but physically he felt fine. With the exception of the cuts and bruises on his face, the Doctor was completely healed.
Clearly his body had prioritised. He rubbed his eyes, and came away with enough dried blood for a valid murder scene. Yet another thing to take care of. Sitting up, the Doctor surveyed the flat for something to do. Abruptly, his eye fell on a bookshelf with a large row of Jack Campbell novels. The Doctor got up, and moved over to trail one finger over the books. Smiling fondly, the Doctor picked up Daughter of Dragons at random. Sitting back down, the Doctor resisted the urge to speed read.
A little less than twenty six minutes later, the Doctor had read to the part where Jason and Kira confronted the Earth ship. Faint rustlings filtered from Rose's room, along with a truly deafening klaxon that he assumed was the product of an overly enthusiastic alarm clock.
A second later, the alarm stopped, and Rose emerged, every movement projecting a sense that she'd rather be asleep. The Doctor smiled politely at her. "Good morning."
Rose groaned, dragging her feet on the way to the kitchen. "Nothin' about morning is good." They both turned around at the sound of a key turning in the lock.