Set between "Journey's End" and "The Next Doctor"
Summary:
Davros's taunts hit closer to home than the Doctor cares to admit—especially to himself. With the loss of Rose—again—and Donna, the Doctor is left in a state of emotional turmoil. Haphazardly, he lets the TARDIS take him away, anywhere or anywhen, in a futile attempt to escape his grief. Who'd have guessed he'd end up on the Ood Sphere, and what is a Golden Retriever doing running around the ice caps?
The Doctor held himself together for a few moments after leaving Donna's house.
Long enough to talk to Wilfred.
Long enough to step into the TARDIS and shut the door behind him.
Long enough to get the TARDIS into flight.
Then he let the grief he'd been suppressing consume him.
He wrapped his arms around his slender frame and collapsed to the floor. He couldn't even give voice to the anguish that engulfed him, but lay drowning in silent agony.
He'd finally found someone who dulled the ache of losing Rose. Someone without messy emotional entanglements. A partner in crime.
Donna Noble.
Through the adventures they'd shared, she'd brought him out of his shell again. She'd relegated the vengeful, disheartened Time Lord to the dark vaults of his mind, and brought forth the inquisitive, playful, hopeful Doctor.
But that was gone. Destroyed by his own hand—to save Donna's life.
And he'd lost her again. The one.
Rose Tyler.
After hearing her voice and holding her in his arms, he'd ripped out his own hearts and left her in the alternate universe—again. He'd given her to himself. To his human self, who could stay with her. Grow old with her.
Die with her.
To die . . .
The TARDIS shrieked in response to the thought that flitted through his mind and lurched through time and space. She landed with a jarring thud, tossing the Doctor about the console room, then spat him out into the snow-covered landscape, slamming her doors behind him.
Even his deep grief couldn't keep out the sudden music that filled him. The Doctor tried to reject the sweet, soaring melody woven with so many harmonies. But he couldn't keep the music out, for it was in his mind. Psychic music.
In his raw emotional state, the Doctor couldn't filter the Song. Couldn't assert his own mental control over it so that it floated just below the surface of consciousness. The joy in the music lashed at him, mocking. For it was the Song of Freedom. The song of the DoctorDonna.
The TARDIS had brought him to the Ood Sphere.
The Song quieted, and a single mind left the collective to briefly touch the Doctor. He recognized Ood Sigma's mental touch.
Forgive us, Doctor. We wished only to greet you. We sense your pain and will leave you now.
The touch faded, leaving only the Song, muted but constant. Bearable.
For a long time, the Doctor lay curled in the snow, letting the cold seep into his bones. Tears froze on his cheeks and frost sparkled in his hair. After an indeterminate time, he rolled to his back, staring up at the stars.
"They held such promise, once," he murmured, his tear filled eyes dazzled by starglow.
He blinked and the last two tears slid down his face. His grief was less. Not better, but infinitesimally—less. In another thousand years or so, he might even be able to move from his place in the snow.
His gaze strayed to Sol, the star around which the Earth revolved. Donna was there. He had that small comfort at least. And Sarah Jane and Jack. Mickey and others. He could turn his eyes to the heavens and find his friends.
But not Rose.
Nowhere in this universe could he turn his gaze and see the star that warmed and sustained Rose.
The Doctor closed his eyes with a sigh. Enough sorrow for the moment. Now he just felt numb. And cold.
A wet tongue washed his face, trailing hot saliva across his chilled cheek. The Doctor recoiled, sitting up and wiping his face with a sleeve.
"Eew. Yuck. Honestly, what are you . . ." The words stopped in his throat, and he stared.
A beautiful Golden Retriever sat a few feet away from him. The dog's tongue lolled from her mouth in a doggy grin, warm breath misting in the cold air. The Retriever cocked her head to one side quizzically, as if asking 'why are you laying in the snow, silly man?'
"Don't look at me like that," the Doctor said with as much dignity as he could muster. "I am not silly."
The dog closed her mouth and cocked her head to the other side. 'Oh, really?'
The Doctor was on his feet, tugging at his iced suit jacket to right it. "Yes, really. A Time Lord is never silly . . . Wait, am I really talking to a dog?"
Again, the dog's tongue came out in that canine grin, followed by a loud 'woof!' and more grinning.
The Doctor couldn't help but smile back. "Maybe the tiniest bit silly."
The Retriever threw her head back and barked again, her front paws leaving the ground in her exuberance. The Doctor laughed, and then sneezed.
"Ooh, cold. And wet. It was raining on Earth, you know. Then lying in the snow. Body heat melted it, and now—" He sneezed again. "Well, anyway, I should get changed. Not that I'd do something as mundane as catch a cold, but it's much more comfortable not to be wet and freezing."
The Retriever barked and threw herself forward into a blur of golden motion, heading for the TARDIS. The Doctor followed more sedately, arms wrapped around his shivering body.
"I wonder if I can catch a cold," he muttered. "Or worse, pneumonia. That would be an experience."
The Retriever sat patiently next to the TARDIS's doors, plumed tail wagging happily, making a feathered pattern on the snow.
"All right, we're going in," the Doctor said.
He put his hand on the door and pushed. There was a brief resistance from the TARDIS as she assessed his emotional state, then the door swung open. The dog pranced ahead of the Doctor and stopped in the middle of the console room to shake herself vigorously, then sat to scratch behind one ear.
"Be right back," the Doctor said to the dog.
He patted the console as he passed it and got an answering thrum.
The Doctor dashed up the stairs to find something warm and dry to change into. He passed the door to Donna's room and the improved mood he'd found started to slip. He paused to touch the door, but didn't go in. He'd have to clean out the room eventually. Put her things in storage, or maybe drop them by her house . . . No. The temptation to see her would be too great.
He started down the hallway again. There was Martha's room. Jack's. Mickey's.
A spark of anger flared in the Doctor's breast at his sentimentality. He should have packed up these rooms long ago. Or reconfigured the TARDIS so they were far away from the areas he normally trod. What was he thinking, letting them linger?
The anger didn't last though. The Doctor's steps slowed and finally stopped as he came to the last door. The one closest to his own room. The one room he could never move or pack away.
Rose's room.
He reached out and touched the little name plate she'd painted and hung on the door. He couldn't stop himself from entering this room. He opened the door and the scent of her was like a physical blow. He sagged against the door jam, fighting back more tears. He staggered into the room and collapsed on her bed. A hundred thousand memories flowed through his mind and he let grief swallow him again.
He didn't know how long he lay there, but a wet, cold nose finally brought him back to conscious thought. The Retriever sat next to Rose's bed, her deep brown eyes seemed to be filled with understanding of his sadness—as if she'd experienced a terrible loss of her own.
"Hey pooch," the Doctor said, reaching out to pat her head. He sniffed and blinked, shedding more tears.
The Retriever whined and nudged his hand.
"I'll be okay. Maybe. Eventually . . ." He sighed. "No promises."
The Retriever whined again and moved closer, resting her head on the bed, almost nose to nose with the Time Lord. The Doctor stroked her silky ears, sharing this moment of understanding with the dog. They stared at each other—the warm brown of the Retriever's gaze and the deep, dark brown of the Doctor's—until the Doctor finally closed his eyes. His breathing slowed and evened out. The hand stroking the dog's head stilled, resting on the warm fur.
The Time Lord slept as the Retriever watched over him.
To be continued . . .