Author's Note: This was originally posted on a livejournal community in June 2006. It contains spoilers through The Girl in the Fireplace.
"Doctor, what really happened on Satellite Five? With you changing and the Sycorax and everything, you never actually said…" She tries to make the question casual, just dropped in between comments about Cassandra's end and remarks concerning the weather on this strange planet. He stops smiling, though, and gets very quiet.
"Doctor?"
"It doesn't matter," he says finally, refusing to look at her, "It's over now." Something about his tone suggests that this is not a welcome subject. Then something explodes in the distance, his face lights up, they're off and running, and Rose can't seem to find the nerve to ask again when things are calmer.
Rose and the Doctor are never going to get married with flowers and horrid bridesmaids dresses, never going to live in a TARDIS with a white-picket fence, never going to have two point five dogs and a yappy child – or is that the other way around? – and it wouldn't be doing her any favors to let her think they will. The Doctor knows this. He loves her as he has loved many others, and unlike any of the others because they are all unique, and maybe sometimes he would like to do more than hold her hand or kiss her forehead. Maybe sometimes he would like to explore the collective geometry of her young body and his old-new one; maybe sometimes he would like to lose the darker parts of himself in her innocent ignorance; maybe sometimes he would like to give up the lighter parts of himself to her shining naïveté and let the darker ones loose. He would sometimes like many things; one learns a bit of restraint over the course of several centuries. He's not that good at restraint really, except in some specific areas, but when he's good he's very good indeed. Most of the time. Usually.
Rose isn't Jack or even Reinette; she is human and young, and would not understand that his kisses could never be promises, even if he were to wish they could. She would find his expression of affection too alien, and if she left he'd be heartbroken, (though not heartsbroken,) and if she tried too hard to hold on he'd choke (even his respiratory bypass system wouldn't save them) and run. Either way he would recover, but she wouldn't and he does love her in his way. So he keeps things light and simple, takes her for a lark and then another and then another, and they have a grand old time. Still, sometimes she looks at him a certain way, or asks a certain question, or does a certain stupid thing like tearing open the TARDIS to save his life, and then he does an even stupider thing like kiss her or say "No, not to you." Sometimes, he finds himself saying yes when he should say no, or telling her things he'd rather keep to himself.
"Doctor, what happened to Jack?" she asks one day. It's been a bad day, more death than adventure, and both their tempers are frayed.
"Told you. He's rebuilding the Earth. Now, how'd you like to-"
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did he stay?"
"He had his own life to get on with," the Doctor says, and the words taste like ash in his mouth. He isn't unused to lying but this feels like a betrayal. Maybe Jack would have had his own life with which to get on, if he hadn't understood the Doctor just enough to be appealing and overlooked just enough to stay willingly, if he hadn't learnt heroism that the Doctor didn't have the right to quash, if he hadn't loved Rose and the Doctor too much to keep coward and save himself. Jack's memory deserves better, but Jack's gone and it's Rose who's in front of him now, Rose who'll be hurt by the truth. But they're the wrong words even for mollifying Rose, because her eyes flash and she's suddenly angry.
"Jack didn't stay behind, did he, you left him behind! Just like Sarah Jane, just like –" he can hear the unspoken 'me', and his mind goes to Reinette, and he does not want to have this conversation, not today, not ever.
"I did not leave him behind," he says, trying to make his voice add "and we are not going to talk about it anymore" but if that's what his voice says then Rose isn't listening.
"Then tell me what happened!"
"He died," the Doctor says, very quietly at first but with increasing volume as he goes on. It is at moments like these that things he normally loves about humans, their stubbornness, their drive, become things he hates. He hates it when Rose is stubborn about the wrong things, especially when his nerves are shot already and he's in no mood to indulge her. He should just give her the answer and leave it, but once the words start coming they won't stop. "He died, they all died. I would have died if you hadn't gone messing about with the TARDIS and come back with all the power of the time vortex in you and played god and nearly died yourself. He's dead, Rose, and I should have been and you almost were." She stares at him, uncomprehending.
"Why'd you send me away and not him?" she asks, accusation in her voice though it's unclear of what exactly she is accusing him. It's entirely the wrong response and he gets angry then, angry enough that he doesn't care about hurting her or confusing her or using her. Jack's dead, this will be a disaster, and in this moment he just doesn't care. He grabs her roughly, presses his mouth to hers, (anything to stop the questions and it's not like he never wanted to,) shoves his tongue past her lips all before she has a chance to react. There's nothing soft or gentle or romantic about it; it's all pain and frustration, guilt and fury. She doesn't fight him and he pushes her away when she tentatively starts to respond. She stumbles back against the wall, staring at him like she did right after he regenerated, all shock and fear, like he's a stranger. A little voice inside his head wonders if that is always going to happen when he kisses her. He entertains the notion of finding out, because this has gone wrong already so he might as well take it all the way, but he still does care about her. Instead he drags his eyes away from her, strides to the console, and starts punching in coordinates.
"I think," he says, surprised at how normal his voice sounds, "that now would be a good time for you to go and see your mum."
"Are you throwing me out then?" she asks, sounding very small.
"I need you to not be with me for the next few hours," he says, not looking at her, "and I'd rather you were someplace safe during that time." She turns and runs out of the room.
After they arrive, she exits the TARDIS with a big bag stuffed full and an expression like that of a kicked puppy. "See you in the morning," he says, knowing full well that she expects him to be gone. The next day, he's about to go retrieve her when she walks in the door.
"I didn't think you'd be here," she admits. He's gotten his restraint back and is all smiles and motion. He tells her that there was something in the water on Ganaloia Two that affected him, made him act as he did the previous night. It's an utter lie but it's the only way things might go back to the way they were. It's the only way she might be ok and he might get to keep her a bit longer. He apologizes, says he figured it out and wanted her safely away until he got it out of his system. She seems relieved and goes to put her bag away.
"Did Jack really die?" She asks upon returning, and looks afraid of his answer. He says yes, very gently, and holds her when the tears start. He strokes her hair and rubs her arm until her tears are spent, then takes her someplace fun and they don't discuss any of it anymore. He's almost a bit disappointed by her easy acceptance of the lie, but it's better for both of them that way.