She woke to the feel of soft cotton on her cheek and thick fleece on her back. Sitting up slowly she shrugged the blanket off her shoulders and pushed long hair out of her face, blinking eyes that were heavy with sleep and... wet?
She must have been crying in her sleep again. Post-traumatic stress, said the physician her mum had insisted she go see, but Rose Tyler knew better. It wasn't a mental disorder.
It was grief.
And the strangest sort of grief, too, because how could you mourn someone who was still sort of there with you? It didn't feel the same, at least not yet- but he wore his face and used his voice, so for all intents and purposes they were the same.
Except she couldn't call him by name. Oh, he'd asked- the human in him made him less wary of confrontation and more than once he'd asked her why she never called him by that old name or avoided addressing him period. He was "John" to her. Just "John". Not "Doctor". A human man with a human name. He'd started medical school, even, to perhaps earn the title if she would not give it to him- he figured he could put his half-Time Lord brain to good use and save some lives on Earth while he (not "they", he) waited for the new TARDIS to grow. Maybe if the word was printed on an official certificate, she supposed he thought, it would be easier for her to use it.
But she couldn't. She just... couldn't. She was physically unable to refer to him by that name. She'd tried, oh yes, but the word just wouldn't leave her throat unless she was crying into her pillow or her mum's shoulder or the paisley tie she'd snuck into her jacket pocket before she left for the final time. It just wasn't meant to be. He was not the Doctor, he was John Smith. That was all.
After they'd shared that kiss on Bad Wolf Bay she'd sensed him looking at her, felt the hairs on her neck prickle as he gazed at her, clearly expecting more than a stiff silence and barely-restrained tears. She'd gone to bed without a word the night they got back to London, locked herself up in her room and left him to her mum to deal with. He wasn't hers. He didn't belong to her like the Doctor had. Even if he'd said those words, and she'd thrown herself into his arms for her answer. Which hadn't made sense then and didn't now.
The morning following their return he'd tried to talk to her. She'd kept her door locked and her head under her blankets, sustained by a glass of water from before she'd hopped across the Void and a protein bar her mum had crammed underneath the door when she refused to come down for lunch. She'd dropped ten pounds in five days living in this state. Not moving. Not talking. Just... existing. Her heart and mind were far, far away- planets, galaxies, a universe away. Inside a little blue box that wasn't really so little, with a man who walked with starlight in his wake. She hadn't been being dramatic- she'd been genuinely broken, lost without that two-hearted man. Like before. Only this time no one understood her pain, because wasn't he here? It's still him, Rose, he's just got one heart.
No one else saw the subtle differences, because no one else had known him well enough. He didn't stare up at the ceiling when he was thinking hard about something, or bounce on the balls of his feet when he was excited. He chewed his tongue now, rocked back and forth on his heels. She would feel the same wiry but sturdy frame if she hugged him (she couldn't, not yet), but she would hear one heart against her ear and she didn't think she could handle that.
She checked the digital clock on her bedtable, which read 9:38am. Another difference between her home and what she'd termed "Pete's World"- in Britain and all over the world time was told with "am" and "pm". No more twenty four hour time. She felt a pang for the days gone by, before she'd gotten trapped in this universe, but shook her head resolutely and started her day.
She was thankful that John had started school, and took classes from early morning till late in the evening- it meant she really only saw him on his days off. They exchanged pleasantries and she played at being a friend, but the sight of him, standing there in denims and a Proclaimers t-shirt ("I love this band, Rose!" the Doctor had said excitedly, as he forced her to accompany him to a concert) or doing God-knew-what with bits of wire and old motherboards on the kitchen table made her so homesick that she had to leave and go for a walk. Being in the same house suffocated her in moments like those.
Her shower was warm and refreshing, and when she had squeezed her hair dry and pulled on an outfit for the day (black trousers and a pink vest top, and as always her TARDIS key round her neck on a silver chain) she felt significantly better. She was the sort who needed to be clean to be happy, no matter when or where or why.
It was Tuesday so he would be gone already, hard at work at some research lab in the heart of London. Rose pulled on crew socks and tugged a hoodie over her shoulders, then stuffed her hands in the pockets and padded downstairs in search of breakfast. Maybe toast and jelly, or an apple, or-
John sat at the island in the kitchen, dressed (to her horror) in a deep brown pinstriped suit and rectangular glasses. His feet, resting on a rung of the stool he was seated on, were covered in white Chuck Taylors and in front of him was a bouquet of flowers.
Rose didn't know how to react. She just stared at him, clueless, fairly certain that she was about to cry.
"Morning, Rose!" His voice was chipper and cheerful, which made the stake in her heart press just a bit deeper. "You sleep for ages, you do. What else is new, though, eh?" He grinned, as if this was one hundred percent normal for them. Which it wasn't. At all. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be at the university earning degrees in biomedical engineering, astrophysics, and robotics. Not sitting in the kitchen with a bouquet of flowers. And oh, God, they were roses.
"Know what day it is?" He scooped up the bouquet and bounded over to her, holding the flowers behind his back (as if she hadn't seen them already) and swaying on his heels. Rose almost choked. "Do you?"
"N-no." She managed to stammer out a reply, watching him like he was some wild animal about to pounce on her. "Haven't a clue. Sorry. How come you're not at school?"
"Took the day off." She saw his face fall slightly and tried not to feel guilty. "So I could stay home. You really don't know what day it is?"
"If I did I woulda told you." She tried to backtrack in her mind. Yesterday had been the, what, twenty fifth? Her brows knitted slightly as she thought. No, she'd had that date with the bloke from the chippy on the twenty fifth (which had been a fiasco) and that definitely had NOT happened yesterday.
"It's a very special day." He was grinning determinedly at her, wiggling his shoulders as if to indicate the "surprise" he had hidden behind his back. "Today is the day that, exactly twenty three years, four hours, ten minutes, and forty one seconds ago, you were born."
Rose blinked, genuinely surprised. Her birthday? Today? Well, that just went to show how much of a wreck she was. She hadn't even noticed.
"So I said hey, not every day you turn twenty three, is it? Well, unless you've got a TARDIS." His grin faltered, like a flickering light bulb, but then it returned to its full glow. "Which we will in a few more years or so. Promise. She's coming along nicely. So, anyway, I said hey, special day, should do something special!" With a flourish he produced the roses from behind his back and offered them to her. "Happy birthday, Rose Tyler."
"Thank you," she answered softly, avoiding looking him in the eye by pretending to examine the flowers. They were really quite beautiful, stripped of their thorns and joined by stems of baby's breath (which were called "cloud's breath" in this universe), and she held them to her nose to inhale the scent. "They're lovely," she added.
"Oh, this too." He darted back to the island to fetch a pink envelope, which he handed to her. "Birthday card. And, um, I made you breakfast. Sunny-side eggs, extra well-done bacon, toast with strawberry jam. Tea's hot in the pot if you want. I actually got a message from one of the blokes at the university- needs my help with a test, and you know me, help anybody with anything, so I really have got to dash, but I'll be back later, promise? Be good, now. Don't wander off."
He made a movement towards her as if to kiss her cheek, but then retreated and before she knew it she was alone again. There was a note on the counter from her mum, explaining that they'd had to go in to Torchwood for a "bloody meeting that's not as important as my daughter's birthday", but promising that they would be back tonight to take her for dinner. Tony was at a playmate's house from the day care, so she had the entire day to herself.
Funny how that worked out. Weren't birthdays for family and spending time together to celebrate, not eating bacon on one's own?
Rose found breakfast waiting for her on the stove, everything exactly the way she liked it. She poured herself tea and a glass of orange juice and tucked in, finishing her eggs and most of the bacon before she remembered the card she'd left on the counter. She reached around and grabbed it, nibbling on a slice of toast as she opened the envelope. The card inside was a pale pink (her favorite color) decorated with gold flowers and swirly designs, and contained the following message.
Rose,
Happy 23rd birthday. Well, give or take a few days. This universe is ahead of the other by a bit- used to be a lot more, of course, but you took care of that, you and Donna and all the rest of those amazing people.
But today isn't about any of those amazing people, whose amazing-ness quite frankly pales in comparison to yours. You've done more for us than anybody ever has in the history of creation put together and tripled. You're brilliant, Rose. Really, you are. Always have been and always will be.
Now, I know you, and you probably dropped everything to go eat breakfast. I hope you enjoyed/are enjoying it. Look in the flowers. There's a box. Open it.
Feeling all sorts of things she couldn't define Rose dried the beginnings of tears on her sleeve and found the indicated box. It was square and small, and some part of her dreaded that it might be a diamond ring.
But it wasn't. Inside was a delicate silver chain, and attached that chain was a pendant in the shape of a rose with a tiny pinpoint diamond in the center. She let out a gasp as she opened it and fingered the tiny charm, smiling at it before replacing it carefully in the box and returning to the card.
I always wanted to get something like that for you. A rose for Rose. I just could never find the right time, or the right piece. But I found this someplace- I won't tell you where- and decided the time was now. Today. Here. And I know you probably don't want to hear it- er, read it- but I've got to tell you again before I explode. Or implode. Whichever happens first.
I love you.
Rose's heart dropped into her stomach and she was thankful she'd finished breakfast already because she couldn't eat another thing now. She drained the glass of juice and then continued reading, half out of curiosity and half to torture herself.
I love you more than I can bear it, Rose, and I know you loved me before all of this. Before I was born you loved me. And I miss you. I thought that, if I told you how I felt, we could have that life together we both always secretly wanted. But something's not right, and you're hiding from me. You don't want to accept that I'm him and he's me. It's weird, it's very wibbly-wobbly and makes no sense even to me, but it's the way it is and we have no choice but to accept that. You won't use the name you used to, and that's fine. I understand. You don't have to. But I just want you to look at me, Rose, just once. You don't have to say anything. Just look me in the eye, Rose, please. You're suffering, and I promise that if you can do that one little thing I can make it better. Because no matter how I dress or how many hearts I have, I am still the Doctor. I am still your Doctor. And I want to do what doctors do best and fix you, Rose, but only if you let me.
Happy birthday. He hadn't signed his name- she could guess why- but there was a strange looking circle that she recognized from the post-it notes that decorated the TARDIS console. He'd called it Circular Gallifreyan. His language. But what did it mean?
Rose spent the afternoon out, coffee in hand and head twisting around itself as she tried to process her thoughts and, more importantly, her emotions. She treated herself to a new pair of slippers and a set of polka dot pajamas, and while she shopped (perhaps more for mental stability than the items she purchased) her fingers constantly twisted the small silver rose that hung from her neck. She did it completely unconsciously as she looked through racks of dresses and wiggled her toes in new shoes, sliding her middle finger up the chain and twisting the charm between her thumb and index finger. Only when a sales clerk commented on how pretty it was did she notice and quickly drop it to stuff her hand in her pocket, but she found herself doing it at least six more times before the Underground stopped and she started her walk from the station to home.
When she unlocked the door to the spacious flat she shared with her mum, Pete, Tony, and John she was disappointed to find it empty. She'd been gone a good enough time- surely at least someone was home? Sighing she pushed open the door to her bedroom and toed off her shoes, dropped her shopping bags on the floor and collapsed into bed. She was tired, and lonely, and confused. She understood the concept of the metacrisis, at least as well as she could be expected to, and she understood that the two of them were the same man inside. Except for the cardiovascular differences. What she didn't understand was why he gave her the happy ending and didn't take it for himself. Her heart broke for him, even as it broke for herself.
"Rose?" John's voice echoed somewhere off to the left of her room and Rose got to her feet, slipped into her new slippers and made her way out. She toyed with the rose charm as she met him in the hall, still in his coat (a short peacoat, not the long brown duster they'd always snuggled on together, she remembered with a pang) with his hands in the pockets. He greeted her with a grin. "Give me a sec, will you? Just wanna get out of this." He undid the buttons as he spoke, and she nodded and made her way into the kitchen to make tea and wait for him.
The water boiled and the kettle whistled, and by the time he arrived she'd made cups for both of them and set them on the island. He'd taken off his blazer and tie (another thing she'd never seen the Doctor do) and was wearing deep blue slippers that reminded her of a wooden box that she'd once called home. Still did, really.
"You're wearing the necklace!" His voice and expression were cheerful, almost relieved, but Rose dropped her hand as if he'd told her off. "Looks great on you."
"Thank you," she answered quietly, taking a seat opposite him and stirring her tea with her spoon.
"No, thank you." He raised his cup of tea as if in a toast and took a sip. "This is perfect. You know exactly how I like my tea."
"A pinch of sugar and a drop or two of milk," she said easily, having made many a cup for the Doctor after a hard day's work when they'd de-stressed together in the library over a book by Charles Dickens or some other author, possibly alien, that he deemed fit to read to her. More times than not she'd fallen asleep next to him and he'd carried her to bed only to tease her about it the next morning.
"And you like it black, don't you?" His voice softened slightly and she raised her eyes to his, briefly. "Oi. Tyler. Look at me."
She did, fighting the urge to run. It hurt, to look into those deep brown eyes and not see time swirling behind them. All she saw were eyes. Same shape and color as those timeless eyes, but they didn't have that one quality that made them her Doctor's eyes. She sniffled, then took a sip of tea to hide it.
"It's a special day for you," he continued, "and I don't want to ruin it. But... Rose, I don't know what to do. You look at me like I'm a ghost, when you do look at me. I know it's not the same. I know I only have one heart and I can't feel people in my head anymore but it's still me, Rose. I'm still the same man who made fun of you when you thought the Autons were students- which was brilliant, by the way, even if it was wrong- and I'm still the same man who got kicked out of England by Queen Victoria the werewolf." He gave a small, tentative grin and tugged on his earlobe, which made Rose's breath catch in her throat. He'd always done that, the Doctor, when he was anxious or nervous or worried.
"Just... can you give me a chance, Rose?" He got to his feet and made his way over to her, standing a bit away with his arms half raised. She knew that posture, knew it so well she could draw it from memory. "I know it's not the same for you, but it's still me. Promise. I swear up and down, on my sideburns if you like. If I'm not me you're welcome to shave them off." His grin grew slightly. "I'm glad I am me, though, because I do quite like my sideburns. Do you?"
Rose blinked uncertainly, taking a sip from her mug before responding. "Yes."
"Sideburns're staying, then. Glad that's decided." He wiggled his fingers. "C'mon, Rose."
She avoided the hug by asking a question. "What does the symbol at the bottom of the card mean?" She spoke quietly but firmly, holding his gaze with an evenness that surprised even her. "The circular one. I've seen ones like it before, in the TARDIS, but I never understood them. He- you said-"
"It's Gallifreyan." He dropped his arms and approached her, leaning his hip on the edge of the table. "Circular Gallifreyan. Writing we used on Gallifrey. It means... it was my name. Not "Doctor" or "John Smith" or anything. Those're all affectations. It's my real name. On Gallifrey we're all given names, and then there's chosen names once we've matured at, say, around one hundred or so. Only that happened for me when the Time War started, and you know me, biggest coward in the universe, so I chose Doctor so I didn't have to fight on the frontlines. Also happens to be that I like helping people. Of course, I wound up fighting anyway, and after that's when you met me, Rose. Big and brooding and Northern." His grin faltered and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "So. Um. It's my name. We never told each other our names- they were very secret, and we all used nicknames at the Academy. I was Theta Sigma. But that's my real name on the card, too complicated to pronounce now. But... I told you my biggest secret. My name."
"Can you try it?" Her own question surprised her. "Sayin' the name. I mean, s'not that you can't pronounce it, is it? Not too hard for you?" Her voice adopted the light tone it always had when she'd teased him.
"Well, I mean, if you want me to." He shifted on his feet and tugged his earlobe, then met her eyes and produced a series of syllables that to her sounded musical. Rose's eyes widened- the sound was truly beautiful- and something inside her snapped with the realization that this was something that would never have happened. The Doctor would never have told her this. But she knew, now... It felt like such a precious gift.
"Rose, I love you." He took a tentative step towards her, arms extended again. "I just want you happy. I want to make you happy. Can you... can you let me?"
And she realized that she wasn't helping anybody by holding onto the past. If he'd taught her anything, wasn't it that things changed? Hadn't he shown her that it was better to go with the flow than fight the current? How could you enjoy the present if you lived in the past?
"I can try." Maybe the best way to honor his memory was not to take a vow of chastity and live as a widow but live by his words, live the life he wanted her to live. To have a good life. For him. With him. "Yeah. I'll... try."
"That's fantastic." Without waiting for permission this time he swept her into a hug, resting her ear over where his second heart would have been but hearing only silence. Curling her fingers into the back of his shirt she fought tears, reminding herself that, even if they weren't the exact same person, they had come from the same place, and that to honor his wishes would be to honor him.
"Yeah, it is. ...Doctor." She felt rather than heard his intake of breath and a hand rested briefly in her hair before he stepped back and regarded her with eyes so full of affection that she felt hers do the same.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" He smacked his forehead with his palm. "That's daft me for you. Your family's waiting for us outside Tubby's- you know, the fish place by that Starbucks you first tried a banana chai in? Oh, you probably don't remember. Anyway, it's one of those nice places, so get a jacket and some shoes and we'll head out. Not a bad walk, but we'll take the metro anyway. Not gonna make you walk on your birthday, no ma'am!"
His manic grin was contagious and she felt herself returning it, uselessly fighting the muscles in her cheeks that wanted to rise. "Go on," he urged when she didn't move right away, "some sight you'd make, being late for your own birthday dinner!"
She laughed, albeit quietly, and turned back to her room to change her clothes and meet him out by the door. He'd put the jacket and tie back on, and extended his arm escort-style. "Allons-y?"
Instead, she took his hand.