It was a sound that had woken her, Rose thought, though she would never be able to say what sound, or even if she had heard it through her ears.
She rose from her bed in the Tardis, following the ghost of a sound.
Her footsteps led her to the control room, where the sight that met her eyes made an icy hand form around her single heart.
The Doctor was on the floor, half-propped against one of the twisting coral columns that dotted the room. His hands were stretched behind him, bare and bound by a twist of dark fabric. His eyes were dull and blank, even as his naked body twitched and shivered.
Rose reached down, closing her hand against the mallet that leaned conveniently against the door frame. She glared with narrow eyes at the blonde woman who knelt over her helpless Doctor, hand on his cheek and her lips pressed against his.
Something alerted the intruder, and she spun and stood just as Rose lifted her weapon.
Rose froze in shock, staring at – well, herself.
Then the woman stretched out a hand and stroked Rose's cheek. The room seemed to fade away, colours muting to dullness, and a voice that was not hers spoke her dearest wish.
The Doctor came to himself as cold air caressed his body. He realised, with some embarrassment, that he was naked; and that he had an audience. He tried to move, to cover himself, but his hands were secured behind him.
And then he looked up, and felt his jaw drop.
Two Roses stood before him. One had dull, blank eyes; yet he somehow knew this to be his Rose. The other looked just the same – her shoulder length blonde hair was the right length and shade, the brown eyes the exact shade his heart had memorised – but she was not his Rose. The eyes were wrong. For all their perfect shade, the mind behind them burned with a dark fire, unlike any human mind he had ever encountered.
Not-Rose looked at him, and spoke into his mind. 'Do you love her?'
"Yes."
'Say it.'
He turned to look at his Rose, finding her eyes on him. They no longer held the strange blankness, but a kind of bewilderment. He swallowed, suddenly nervous, but blurted out, "I love you, Rose Tyler."
Delight suffused her face, and it was the most beautiful sight in all the universe. He did not get long enough to appreciate it, for Rose launched herself at him, lips crashing against his hungrily, body as lithe and wonderful as he had imagined it pressed against his. He moved his hands – hadn't they been tied a moment ago? Surely not, for they were moving now, almost of their own accord – up to cup her face, and deepened the kiss, meeting her hunger with her own.
Hours later, as he dozed on a double bed in a room he was sure he hadn't seen before, the Doctor wondered over the strange dream he had had. But the bed was warm and comfortable beneath him, and Rose was warm and soft against him, and he dismissed the thought in favour of hugging her close to him and continuing to doze. The memory of two Roses dissolved amongst feelings of bliss.
In future conversations, Rose and her Doctor would wonder at their foggy memories of their first night together. Had they been drunk, perhaps? A shrug and a laugh, and usually a kiss, would chase the discussion away.
In the control room, the woman who was not Rose Tyler moved deftly, flipping switches and turning dials as needed. She smiled a little to herself, and released the illusion her mind had projected. The blonde hair lengthened and darkened to gold. The dark eyes faded to cornflower blue. For a moment, she rested her hand lovingly against the console.
"I know you don't approve," she said aloud, "but I had to do it."
The Tardis' reply was silent, no more than a subtle pressure against her mind.
"Things will get darker in future, and bright memories like these will help."
The Tardis gave a silent hum at that, offering reluctant agreement, but expressing joy for her Thief and his Bad Wolf.
The golden-blonde woman smiled, then bent and gently kissed the console. "Keep them safe, Sexy. I'll see you in six hundred years."
This hum was happier, more strongly affirmative, and the woman walked out onto the still surface of a moon with it resonating in her mind.