One look at his face and I knew exactly what had happened.
While he was busy doing who-knew-what to the ship's internal computer system, I looked around and took a hasty head count. Five. That was all that was left of us. Just five.
"Where's Frank?" I demanded, swallowing the panic I refused to acknowledge.
"Dead."
No emotion, no explanation, not even a glance in my direction. By now I had come to understand all five stages of grief. I could look at a person and detail precisely how they would react to death. But there was something hideously distorted about the way he said it. "Dead". Like it was completely inconsequential.
Like it didn't even matter.
"What do you mean, 'dead'?" I asked stupidly. Frank's colleagues were taking the news far better than I was. One had dissolved into tears while another tried to offer comfort. The third kept a high head and stiff upper lip, presumably as a display of courage for his comrades.
The Doctor, however, remained above it all.
"He fell behind." Still simple, still cold. Sensing my dissatisfaction with his inadequate answer, he raised an eyebrow at me and added, "Collateral damage."
"Collateral – are you joking?" I said, incensed. "Rose falls behind and it's 'burn up a star just to say goodbye'. Someone else gets left and it's collateral damage? How does that make sense?"
For the most part he remained quiet and aloof, though he visibly stiffened at the sound of Rose's name. "This is war. People get left behind. It happens."
"But these are humanbeings. You're talking about them like they're some sort of – of – "
"Like they're what?" Now he was paying attention. He got up off his knees and spun away from the controls so fast I thought he would fall over. It was as though everything had vanished – the skeleton crew, the flickering lights – and all he could see was me.
Not as romantic as it sounds, believe me.
"Like they're one of the four thousand Ood who died in the flood? You seemed pretty okay with that. What about all those people we left behind at Hiroshima? Didn't hear you say a word about that, and they were human, weren't they?"
"Because you said not to disrupt the natural progression of time – "
"Oh! You mean you actually listened! Fancy that!" The more he spoke, the more enraged he became. His face was flushed and he was gesturing so wildly that his hands were starting to tremble. "You think that just because we've got a TARDIS we can save anyone, anywhere, anytime. Just because you've grown attached to someone, you think we can swoop in and protect them, just like that. Well it doesn't work like that. Some lives aren't meant to be saved."
"And who decides that? You? Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you get to decide who lives and who dies. I didn't realize being a Time Lord makes you supreme ruler of all lives acrossthebloodyuniverse."
"Get out." The quiet tone he used was so frightening, I would have rather he had continued shouting. "Now."
Without another word, he slipped his screwdriver into his mouth and went on with his work.
…
Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke to an all-too-familiar sound. It was the frantic sound of a man whimpering and sobbing in pain.
And it was coming from the Doctor's side of the room.
Startled into instant alertness, I raced over and tore aside the curtain to find him drenched in a cold sweat. He had kicked the covers down to the foot of the bed and was tossing and turning with violent force. I sat on the edge of the bed and agonized over shaking him awake. I hated to watch him suffer, but I was afraid that waking him so abruptly would be more upsetting than the dream itself. It gave my heart an unpleasant flop to hear him let out an agonized moan. I whispered to him softly, wondering if it would be enough. His eyebrows lifted in panic.
"Forgive me…please…" he croaked. There was so much fear and anguish in his voice that I placed a firm hand on his shoulder with the intention of waking him. "Our children…I didn't want to, I had to, they were – they already – oh god forgive me…"
"Of course, of course I forgive you." Anything that had passed between us that day was immediately forgotten. As I spoke gently in his ear, I soothed back his hair and pressed my cheek against his. It was a small comfort, but the familiarity must have resonated with him in his dream state. Gradually he began to relax; his breathing slowed and his cries quieted. I curled myself up behind him and continued to offer what assuagement I could.
"I'm sorry," he said softly beneath his breath, "I'm so sorry…"