I don't own Doctor Who. Nor do I get anything from writing these stories - except wonderful, constructive reviews! Wink, wink; nudge, nudge ;)
As yet un-beta'd.
He shouldn't need her this much.
Alone in the TARDIS, events kept replaying in the Doctor's mind:
Trapped in a box with Rose Tyler and Harriet Jones.
Having Rickey launch a missile right at them.
No TARDIS.
I could save the world, but lose you.
He needed Rose, so badly. He asked twice!
The first time he took her hand, he'd thought he was the one helping her.
Now, already, he needed her as much as he needed the TARDIS.
He shouldn't need her this badly. She had a mother, a not-so-useless-after-all boyfriend.
He could have lost her.
He can't lose her.
But he won't have her forever.
The Doctor made up his mind. Better to send her away, keep her safe - on his own terms. Whatever happened to him then, at least he wouldn't have to see her...
... Torn away.
... Lost.
... Destroyed.
... Hating him.
The Doctor finished the counter-advertisement to the Slitheens' slag sale, and rang Rose's cell phone.
"Right, I'll be a couple of hours, then we can go," he told her.
She wanted him to come to tea? With her Mum?
"I don't do that," he told her firmly, willing away the sense of panic that welled up with the longing... family...
Her mother.
"Well, she's not mine," he told her, reminding himself, all too easily, of why he didn't deserve this treasure.
Still, he couldn't help but tempt Rose back out to the stars... all the while planning how to send her home, should the time come.
He hung up the phone, not needing to wait for her response. He could tell from just the catch in her breath that he wouldn't be alone for long.
Two hours, he had said.
The Doctor began inputting commands on the TARDIS' console. When complete, he activated the recording module.
"This is Emergency Program One..."
"This is Emergency Program Seventy-Eight. Rose, if this message is activated, then it means I'm not there with you on the TARDIS. But the ship needs to move, and I can't jus' tell you how to pilot 'er. Hang on, Rose. The TARDIS is gonna rematerialize in the very last place she visited. When that happens, you'll have thirty minutes to get anyone and everyone off, before the TARDIS comes back to me. Don't argue, don't fuss. Don't try to stow away an' surprise me. For all I know I might need to vent the atmosphere, or somethin' else a human couldn't survive. Whatever's goin' on, I haveta trust that you're safe. I'll come and get ya once it's sorted. Please, if you've ever trusted me, do this, now."
He saved the recording, then input the next complex sequence of commands. The Doctor cleared his throat, tugged his leather jacket straight, and began the next recording.
"This is Emergency Program Seventy-Nine. Rose, if this message is activated, then I need you to listen carefully. An' stop laughin', if ya can. We're gonna need some help, this time, an' since I'm not in any shape to pilot the TARDIS..."
The Doctor stopped the recording, and deleted it. There was Mickey, the Not-Such-an-Idiot on the scanner. He ejected his newly-created, anti-Doctor virus disc, weighing it in his hand.
Mickey Smith.
Could he invite him? Sure, he could. Knew his way around a computer, cared bout Rose...
Should he invite him? He could help keep Rose safe, he would keep her safe. He most definitely should invite him.
Did he want to invite him?
It was the only thing to do.
Didn't matter what he wanted.
He already wanted more than he deserved.
The end.
(I'm open to suggestions regarding what genres this story should be listed under... I was thinking angst, but then I cracked myself up writing Emergency Program 79... )