Silence.
Silence filled the air until it was nearly tangible, uncomfortable, almost unbearable, but rarely breaking and always, insufferably there. It became a part of their relationship, which hurt for a while but neither admitted it to the other. She thought he had been foolish, leaving her with this echo of him and then scooting off like he always did, but leaving her behind on purpose this time.
He knew her better than anyone else did, even though she didn't believe it yet, so he knew to keep his distance until she came 'round.
And so it was, they made their way back to the Tyler home in a world that was so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time in complete silence. Jackie moderated their greetings with Pete and set up the guest rooms, all false cheeriness and tense smiles, until Rose retreated into her room with her face streaked with silent tears. The Doctor hesitated for a moment, not looking at Jackie or Pete for fear of his own discomposure showing on his face, then followed suit.
Life resumed for Rose Tyler. She got up in the morning, and went with her father to work at Torchwood. She came home, had supper with her mother, sometimes watched telly, and went to bed. She did it all without thought, without feeling, but entirely on autopilot, too afraid to actually look at what was raging inside her tired head and broken heart. But sometimes there were moments—like when she looked up at the silent breakfast table at him and the sun was shining through the front window just so and illuminated his profile and the light danced through the wisps of his thick, crazy hair—moments where she saw the man she loved and her heart lifted with an ounce of hope. But she always blinked, and the moments were broken, and she pretended like she was coping just fine even though she was crumbling inside.
Two weeks.
Two weeks of silence between the Doctor and Rose. Not a single word was exchanged. The Doctor did his best to stay out of her way; though she'd never been this quiet and depressed before, he still knew her better than anyone else and gave her space. He mostly read a lot of books.
After a fortnight, however, Pete was weary of the tense quiet that was constantly pressing in on his household.
"Rose?" he said that Friday morning only a few moments after they pulled out of the driveway on their way to Torchwood.
She started a little at his voice, but turned to look at him curiously without speaking. There were dark circles under her eyes.
"You've got to cut this out," Pete said at last. "I know you can't stop thinking about him, the one that's out there in the TARDIS, but he's gone. He can't come back. And the very same man is living in my house just down the hall from you, and he needs you. He needs you, and I think you need him, Rose. So please stop moping 'bout the house when the Doctor is trying to give you himself."
"But—" Rose began, her face revealing her surprise at this topic finally coming up. "I can't just forget about him. The Doctor, my Doctor, he's still out there! He needs me, too, doesn't he?"
"I don't know that he does, love," Pete said. "At least, not in the same way. Even still, this Doctor here is the same man as your Doctor. I know it's hard to grasp, but you've got to try."
"No, you don't know!" Rose burst out, angry tears spilling onto her cheeks. "You've no idea what he and I have done together! We've saved whole planets, the whole flippin' Universe, we've seen the impossible, but then he leaves me with this copy and expects me to get on with my life! You've no bloody idea!"
Pete was quiet for a moment while Rose tried to regain control of her breathing. When he spoke, his voice was calm.
"You forget, love, I do know. The woman I'm married to, your mother, is not the Jackie Tyler I first fell in love with. That Jackie was stolen from me and converted into a Cyberman. She still exists, and yet she was destroyed. Even still, the Doctor was able to give me this version of Jackie. At first it was hard, and unlike your Doctor, we didn't share the same memories or the same life. But over time, I realized the essence of her was the same woman I loved, and I learned to love this Jackie just as much. I'll never forget the first, but it doesn't mean I can't love the second."
And all of a sudden, all the pain and the horror and the regret and the desperate, desperate hope Rose had been hiding inside her chest for the past fortnight was unleashed. Pete pulled the car over to the side of the road as his daughter broke down completely, sobs wracking her entire body. She curled in upon herself, trying to protect, but it was no use. She had forgotten, and Pete did know. He was probably the only person in the Universe who could understand what she was going through.
When her crying had subsided, Pete turned the car around and drove her home. She didn't really need to be in today.
When she re-entered the Tyler house, the Doctor was in the sitting room, sprawled on the sofa with a book open on his lap. His thick-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose and he still wore a ridiculous suit even about the house, though Jackie had done well taking him out shopping a few days after his arrival and he was now clad in grey instead of his old brown or blue. He looked up at the sound of the door shutting behind her, his face splitting into an involuntary smile as their eyes met despite the prolonged silence between them.
"Hello," Rose finally said, her voice still hoarse from crying. It was the first word she'd spoken directly to him since that day at Bad Wolf Bay.
"Rose Tyler," the Doctor said warmly. They stared at each other for several long moments, and Rose couldn't help but notice that she saw nothing of anger or resentment in his eyes, only hope.
She cleared her throat a little awkwardly, and let her gaze drop to her feet. "Um, d'you think we could talk?"
"Of course," he said, closing his book and sitting up into a more dignified position. She moved to sit beside him on the couch, avoiding eye contact until she had seated herself on the edge of the cushion. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she began.
"Look, I know we're not really all that good at talking about feelings and stuff, but I have some things I need to say. First of all, I'm sorry, so sorry—"
"For what?" the Doctor interrupted, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
His question certainly took Rose by surprise. "Um, for the way I've been treating you," she answered.
"You have very little reason to be sorry," he said, shaking his head slightly as he spoke. "With what you've gone through, it's completely understandable that you need time to adjust. I mean, for the first few days your whole body had to rebalance it's natural chemistry from jumping from two alternate Universes like that, and that doesn't even include coming to terms with the idea that an identical replica of a Time Lord but now in half-human form has joined you and he, that is to say, I, have all the same thoughts and memories and feelings the Time Lord had but I'm human and am now living in your parents house."
He said all this very fast.
(Just like he used to.)
"But," Rose said, cutting him off but a half-hearted smile tugging at the corner of her mouth just the same, "That doesn't excuse how selfish I've been. Sure, I've got a lot to cope with and it's all a bit unsettling, but I can't even imagine what you have to go through. It's not every day a Time Lord's brain is stuck in a human body and expected to live in a normal human world, I'm sure, and I should have been here for you. I'm sorry."
"I forgive you," the Doctor said, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.
"Oh thank goodness," Rose chuckled, then realized she was almost joking for the first time in God-knows-when.
"Was that a smile?" the Doctor asked, and a sudden memory came back to Rose. Back in the TARDIS, moments after his regeneration… She chuckled, then let her face fall.
"No."
"That was a smile…"
"No it wasn't."
"You smiled!"
"No, I didn't."
The memory seemed to hang in the air as the sound of their banter faded away, before it too dissipated. Still, their eyes remained locked, each searching the other for more shared memories, more pieces they recognized. Rose let her gaze trail over every faint freckle on the Doctor's face, re-memorizing the creases by his eyes and the slightly crooked shape of his nose, noticing for the first time that he seemed just the tiniest bit older. The Doctor simply watched her and basked in their absolute togetherness that he had long missed.
Rose remembered his regeneration; from his ninth incarnation to the tenth. She remembered her fear and confusion when suddenly her Doctor had a completely new form; she remembered how it had seemed impossible that she could ever trust him the same way when he was so…different. And yet she had learned to trust him, once she realized he was still the same man. She'd even fallen in love with him. Exactly the same man, just different. If she could go through that so easily, she could learn to love this Doctor, couldn't she?
She was starting to think she could.
"You remember…everything?" When Rose spoke again, her uncertainty shaped the phrase like a question. The Doctor nodded slowly.
"Everything."
"Will…will you tell me what you did after…after I left?"
The Doctor looked away, taking a deep breath. "Well," he said, drawing out the word the way he always did when he was thinking about what he next wanted to say, "I met Donna briefly. She was a nutter and a great…distraction…but at first she thought I was a madman and refused to join me. Then I met Martha, and we ran for a bit, but eventually she decided she'd rather become a 'real doctor.' Donna found me again, and we've been running up until now. Not much else to tell."
"Right."
She desperately wanted to know more. She wanted to know every planet he had visited and every species he had encountered. But the Doctor was never one for talking about personal experiences much, so she had to take what she could get.
Suddenly, a new question occurred to her.
"Doctor? When I came back to the other Universe and met Martha and Donna, everyone seemed to know who I am. But you never talk about your other companions. How did they know me?"
The Doctor's gaze snapped back to her. He was smiling.
"You were never just an ordinary companion."
It was never going to be that easy, but suddenly they had a place to start.
The following day, Rose came home to find Jackie and the Doctor standing around a completely disassembled television. Jackie looked half disheveled, half amused, and the Doctor resembled something of a kid in a candy shop.
"Rose!" he said loudly and enthusiastically when he saw she was home. "Come take a look at this beauty! I've meddled with quite a few telly sets in my day, but this is the first time I've done one of this model. It's simply brilliant! Jackie said it wasn't getting a few of the channels, turns out it was this circuit here but I'm getting it hooked up just here…" he continued to babble on with all of his scientific jargon and technical lingo, his words stringing together faster and faster as he jumped about the living room putting pieces together. It reminded her so much of the way he flew the TARDIS she couldn't help but laugh.
He looked up, his mop of hair sticking in all directions, the trademark blank look on his face as he said, "What?"
"You never change," she said with a grin. "Fancy some chips when you've finished with that?"
"That'd be brilliant!"
"Finish up, then!"