Heard, Unspoken

Everybody knows that everybody dies, and nobody knows it like The Doctor. But I do think that all the skies of all the worlds might just turn dark if he ever, for one moment, accepts it.

—River Song

It was late, probably one in the morning, London time. Mickey had finally given up and gone to bed, reluctantly leaving Rose alone in the control room with The Doctor.

Meeting Sarah Jane Smith had left Rose unsettled. Left behind how many decades ago, she still pined after The Doctor… what kind of life was that? Was that what all of his companions had to look forward to? Why didn't he ever mention her? Rose had thought that she and The Doctor had something special, had dared to hope that he… well, apparently not.

The Doctor was unusually quiet and still, standing with his back to her and flicking switches without his usual dramatic flair. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence heavy.

Finally, The Doctor straightened, stuck his hands in his pockets, and stared up at the Time Rotor as it pumped gently up and down in its glass enclosure. He guessed what she was thinking about. "You're different from the others, Rose."

"Yeah?" Rose snapped, more sharply than she intended. "I bet you always say that."

The Doctor turned to face her, looking hurt, and she immediately regretted her harsh words. "Sorry," she mumbled. "It's just that… well, you never even mention her. You never talk about any of them. How many have there been, before me?"

"Rose, we've been over this," The Doctor said. He was trying to be stern, but Rose thought she heard a note of pleading in his voice. But she couldn't let it go.

"How many, Doctor?"

The Doctor sighed and hung his head, then looked up at her again. "I don't know. Too many."

"You don't know?" Rose demanded incredulously. "You just forget about them that easily, do you? Out of sight, out of mind, is that it?" An angry tear trickled down her cheek.

"No, no, no, Rose, you've got it all wrong!" The Doctor said softly. He reached out to wipe away the tear, but Rose jerked back. He froze for an instant, then returned his hand to his pocket. "I don't keep a tally. I don't have to—I remember them all. Every moment we had together. I think about them all, every single day. Every last one of them was dearer to me than my own life. But you, Rose, you're special. You… I could never, ever let you go."

"Why? What's so special about me?" All the belligerence had faded from her voice, leaving only a somewhat stunned whisper.

The Doctor stared into her eyes, seemed to be searching her very soul. "You really don't know, do you?" he breathed. "You… you gave me something to live for, Rose. You showed me the beauty of the Universe."

Rose laughed, a little uneasily. "I think you've got that a bit backwards, Doctor."

"No, I haven't." This time, when he cupped her cheek, she didn't protest. His touch was hesitant, his cool fingers trembling. "You saved me. After the War, I… I lost sight of things. The important things. I don't know what I would have become if it weren't for you, Rose."

Rose laid her hand over his, tears of a different kind welling up in her eyes. "I promise you, Doctor," she said shakily, "you'll never have to find out." She smiled. "You're stuck with me."

The Doctor squeezed her hand, then dropped it. "So, how long are you going to stay with me, then?" he asked as he turned back to the console. Something in his voice didn't sound entirely convinced.

"The rest of my life," Rose assured him.

"No!" The Doctor spun back around to look at her, and there was something wild in his eyes. But Rose wasn't frightened—she rather wanted to hug him instead. "The answer to that question is 'forever.' You hear me, Rose? Forever."

The tone of his voice made her heart ache. The curse of the Time Lords, he had told her. "But, Doctor, you said—"

"I know what I said!" The Doctor ran his hands through his hair, wide-eyed and breathing hard through clenched teeth. Then he took her roughly by the shoulders and bent down until they were nose to nose. "I will make it happen. I don't know how yet, but I'll find a way. I. Will make it. Happen. So answer me this now, Rose Tyler: how long are you going to stay with me?"

Rose was afraid now—not for herself, but for him. She saw clearly before her the man who had risked his life for her time and again, and had even given it once. This relationship, she suddenly understood, would only bring him pain in the end.

If she walked away now, she could lessen the blow. If she could keep this from going any further, she would become just another past assistant, not even worth a mention to his future companions. He would hurt, but he would heal. And she would be forgotten, just like Sarah Jane.

But God help her, she couldn't do it. Silently, she cursed her own weakness. She couldn't put herself through it. Nor could she hurt him of her own free will.

So she humored him. Looking into those deep brown eyes, so eloquent of desperation and fear, she swallowed back tears and managed a weak smile. "Forever."

Over the months that followed, he would ask that question again… and again… and again.