Earthbound

That night, a keenly cold January night that, though dry and cloudless, smelled of snow and chilled her to the bone, she was unprepared; just as unprepared as she had ever been, although she supposed she should have known. It was a Doctor kind of night, after all, silent and majestic with a million stars twinkling across a sky of deep indigo. Beautiful.

She was out walking the old family yorkie in the cold, violet darkness, strolling up the soft slope of the hill behind the old allotment site. The routine calmed her. She'd started coming here years ago, when the first numbness of being stranded without him had subsided and made way for the pain. Walking had eased the pain; it was when she had to be still that the pain took over, and literally threw her into fits: blanking out everything else until all she'd see and hear and feel and think was the crushing misery of his absence, and she had no other choice than welcoming the pain and let herself be consumed by it, and it had felt like she was falling, falling, falling through time and space into merciful oblivion. And then she'd slowly awaken again, to her mother's frantic voice and to the shame of knowing that she was weak, a weak and pathetic little human who hadn't deserved to be shown all of time and space in the first place, if all she could do now was break down like Bella bloody Swan. The Doctor would have wanted her to be strong, to say no! and to get off her backside and do something. That much had been crystal clear to her. So she'd gotten herself the equivalent of a physics degree at the secret Torchwood academy – Rose Tyler, the girl with no A-levels! – and gone on to work on the Dimension Cannon with Mickey.

Mickey. Kind, loyal Mickey, not so chicken-hearted now. Her best friend. She hoped he was happy, that he had found someone. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and dabbed at them quickly with one hand, tugging at the leash with the other. "Come, Rosie, quick. Almost there."

The terrier plodded bravely on, shuffling up the familiar path. Of course you can take care of yourself, sweetheart, her mother had commented once when she learned about her nightly destination, with a guarded look in her eyes that made her Rose's insides clench with guilt, be careful, though, there may be weird people about. At least take the dog when you go there after dark, will ya? She had scoffed at that, good-naturedly. As if anything earthbound could ever scare her again. As if the tiny terrier would have been capable of any form of protection besides barking a potential rapist's ears off. But she'd taken her anyway, if only to humour Jackie, and soon found that she actually derived a certain amount of comfort from the animal's company, and that had been that. She'd been assigned the late-evening walkies then, and she hadn't minded at all. The dog possibly was the only living being within the Tyler mansion that didn't make her feel like she was some nut job, to be tip-toed around at all times, just as the hill was the only place within walking distance where she could imagine, at least at dusk, that she was still in her proper universe, where he was still zooming around the galaxies, even if she wasn't.

So when they reached the hilltop, doggie Rose began contentedly sniffing around for her favourite smells, and human Rose duly performed her ritual, lifting her gaze to the stars in silent tribute. Of course, they were the wrong stars, aligned in ever so slightly different constellations than those they formed at home, but she couldn't say she cared. She hadn't exactly spent her nights at Powell Estate peering into a telescope and memorising stars. No, she had been busy snogging Jimmy bloody Stone, feeling cool and romantic and daring, when really she had been such a dork, packing in school for the git! She shook her head at her past idiocy, sending strands of blond hair flying in every direction from where it hung past her sky blue beanie. It didn't hurt anymore, though; the whole Jimmy story, which had made her life hell in the years before she met the Doctor, didn't have the least amount of power over her now. It was a name, the shadow of a memory, and whatever pain that name had caused her was just a drop of water in the sea, compared to how he had hurt her. Although he had never meant to, she knew that. It was just the way he was. He was a bringer of life, saviour of civilisations, yet heartbreak subtly surrounded him like a halo, and sorrow was his only constant companion. Knowing that didn't stop her from hurting, though.

Still as a statue, she remained standing there, very upright, ignoring the growing strain in her neck as she looked upwards and took in the sky, until the dull throbbing in her chest had eased a bit. It always helped, just as work and walks did, and although she found the stars very cold and distant tonight, white and aloof, winter stars with the hard glitter of crystal, of diamonds, she still imagined seeing him in them, an illusion of his lean, handsome face floating among the stars. In fairness, there was hardly anything that didn't remind her of him, and the stars would have to be the most unsubtle reminder of their life together, but there was something...special about this night. It seemed to her that the particular clarity and stillness, the icy luminance of the sky would have greatly appealed to him, would have prompted him to utter words of reverence and made him smile at her happily, and a little wistfully, with a look of utter yearning and subtle sadness in his dark brown eyes, hidden behind the sparkle and the laughter. Not hidden well enough though.

Gone now. No use, she checked herself tersely. Best get home. She averted her eyes from the stars and looked down at the little heap of dirty white fur that was now lying across her boot-clad feet. "Get up, Rosie. Bed time."

The terrier struggled obligingly onto her short legs but didn't move otherwise, and looked up at her with a pathetic little whelp and drooping ears. "Nope, no way I'm carryin' you," Rose told her firmly. The dog sneezed. "Oh no, you've not caught a cold now, have you? Mum's gonna kill me for not wrapping you up." Another sneeze. "Fine!" she exclaimed, a little exasperated, but with laughter. "Fine. You win. Again. Cheeky little lazybones. Dunno why she keeps you. You're not even really her dog, y'know."

With that she bowed down, deftly scooped the small dog into her arms, and set off down the hill with a vigorous step. The animal's little heartbeat was pulsing into her hands, a rhythm as fast as it was serene, a vastly comforting sensation. Not for the first time, she wondered if this was what made the Doctor want to travel with human companions: the strangely reassuring presence of an entity entirely more primitive than he was, but clever and charming all the same, with a whole other view of things, blundering and stubborn and – brilliant. Something so alive, with a single, cute little heart beating furiously away. A glorious pet. Just like –

Don't be daft, the voice of reason inside her piped up. That's not how he sees humans. How he sees – saw you. He loved you, he did. – Why didn't he tell me so, then?! she gave back angrily. How hard can it be to say three simple words? But of course she knew that for him, it was the hardest thing. Not because he didn't love her – he had been right, it hadn't needed saying, not really – but because he's always known that he couldn't be what she truly needed him to be, however happy he had been to make himself believe that he was. And if she was honest, she'd known that, too.

She picked up her pace, mad at herself for being so rubbish at controlling her thoughts. Saluting the Doctor across the dimensions was one thing, her attempt to keep alive the memory of their good times together, but she had long since realised that it wouldn't do to dwell on his betrayal. She hadn't needed the shrink Jackie insisted she see to tell her that. Yes, the idea of losing what little grip she had on reality was tempting at times. Some days she wished she could just let go and give herself over to the dreams that came to her every night. But she owed him at least that: to keep going no matter what. To try and live the life he had been living.

He had meant well, had wanted her to be safe and happy with her family, and she could appreciate that. She knew that, but she also knew how he liked to punish himself, knew the dark streak that was still there under all that new cuteness that had led her to believe that they could build something very special together. After Krop Tor, where he'd suddenly let down his guard and they had finally, finally become lovers in every sense of the word, she had been too wrapped up in that new happiness to see the guilt in his eyes, right next to the infinite tenderness with which he'd regarded her; she'd thought that it was going to be okay. But in the end, all it seemed to have accomplished was that he'd felt the need to chastise himself even more. And that was what she found she couldn't forgive: that in a way, he had used her – and John, too – as instruments of his penance. What better way to torture himself than to leave her with a perfect copy of himself, so that he could forever imagine their life together, day after day, in bliss and contentment. So he could tell himself he had done the right thing.

Only it hadn't turned out like that, had it? Oh, he could be so dumb for all his being a genius. Had he really thought she'd just wave him off and carry on seamlessly with his duplicate and live happily ever after? Then he had to be much more of an alien than she'd ever taken him for.

A sudden pool of bright light sprang into existence in front of her, illuminating a metal door inside a long brick wall. She set the dog down on the ground and produced a key from a pocket inside her parka, using it to unlock the door. The yorkie trundled through and off in direction of the house with a happy yelp, and she followed close, but not before carefully locking the door again. The ever-present paparazzi, thankfully absent today – because of the cold, she supposed – knew about the existence of this entrance and she didn't want to make it too easy for them, pain that they were.

Two locked doors later, she took Rosie on a detour to the dark kitchen in the basement, glad that the staff had already retired, and chucked a moderate amount of dog food into the terrier's bowl, leaving her munching happily. Then, she braced herself and ran lithely up the back stairs and to the main living room, where her mother was watching TV, dressed in black denims and a simple blouse, a full tea set laid out on the coffee table. No dressing gown? What about wine? Make-up at this hour? Rose noted, immediately seeing red flags.

She went through the open door with her coat over her arm, but still wrapped up in scarf and beanie, careful to stay close to the door. "Mum, I'm back."

"Perfect!" the blond, middle-aged woman gave back, hitting mute on the remote and flashing a big smile at her daughter. "Pete's coming down any minute. We can have tea together! Put that jacket away and sit down. He hasn't seen you all day, and neither have I."

Rose gave her a doubtful half-smile. What's up with her? "Nah, thanks, Mum. I'm knackered. And I know Pete had someone over fro work. He'll want his peace now. I'll just go kiss Tony and then hit the pillow."

Jackie sucked in her lower lip, trying to look casual, an effect largely belied by the rich crimson colour that was rising in her cheeks. "Y'sure, sweetheart? Please do. Just for a bit. Chat some. Have a cuppa. And Pete...he wanted to talk to you. "'S not a Torchwood day tomorrow, is it?"

"My team's only on call Mondays and Thursdays as long as everything's quiet, remember? I'm really tired though. Should get some sleep." She pulled off her hat and made herself smile, bracing for Jackie's certain contradiction, and wondered again what she was up to now. And what Pete might want to talk to her about. Not another suggestion to take time off, she prayed. I'lm gonna lose it if I have to spend more time in this house than I already do. Jackie sighed, and Rose felt instantly guilty.

"Rose, darling. I never get to spend any time with you these days. When you're not at work, you're burying yourself in your room. Heaven only knows what you're doing there. Can't you even have a cup of tea with your mother before bed? We never talk anymore, Rose. We used to have the nicest talks. Mother and daughter. At the kitchen table, doin' each other's nails. Your gob was runnin' and runnin'. I miss that, I do."

Uh-oh. Bad wording. When it came to gob, she only knew one person who really, really had one. She hesitated, biting down on her lip. "I miss that, too," she conceded. "But it's different now."

"Oh, Rose, don't say that. We're still the same people, aren't we?" Jackie said in a small voice. "Aren't we, sweetheart?"

For the thousandth time, Rose wished she was a better liar, already feeling the blood rush to her face at the mere thought of of saying "yes". So she said nothing.

Jackie shrugged, letting it go. Her mum had become quite good at letting go lately, Rose thought. In the other universe, Jackie Tyler would never have backed off., would have sat it out and not moved an inch until Rose had told her what was what. Stands to show, Mum. Stands to show.

"C'mon, Rose, just a cup of tea." Jackie said, reasonably.

"It's never just about tea these days, Mum."

"It's not about moping either! " her mother blurted out.

"Oh, it's this kind of chat you want to have," Rose said tiredly. "Well, I don't. As I said, tea's never about tea here." She started to turn away, but Jackie got up from the sofa, surprisingly nimble, and walked up to her, touching her shoulder in apology. "Now don't be angry, sweetie, I don't want to make life harder for you, God knows I don't! But you're my daughter! I can't just stand by and watch you falling apart – again! It's worse than last time, for Christ's sake!"

Wearily, Rose blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, a gesture of a much younger her, but appropriate, she thought, for the frustration that was building up inside her. "Mum. Can we please do this tomorrow? Or not at all, even. Seriously, I'm exhausted. And I can't talk about this now, I just can't."

Jackie's hand squeezed her shoulder. "I know. I know. Only..." She let her hand fall to her side again and bit her lip. "What about Doctor Number Two? John? You've got to talk about it sometime! You can't keep pretending he doesn't exist forever, Rose."

"I can try," Rose murmured, her eyes on the ground.

"What was that?" Jackie said sharply.

Rose faced her again, a silent plea in her eyes. "I'm not the one who left in the middle of the night, leaving a note like a six-year-old."

"You weren't exactly very welcoming," Jackie pointed out.

Rose shook her head, exasperated. "And what he hell was I supposed to be like?" she gave back. "Yes, I kissed him! And meanwhile, the man I loved took off without saying goodbye! No, it's not his fault, but – this isn't what – right." She let her hands glide over the top of her head, smoothing down her hair. "Look. We've been there before. I can't help the way I am right now or the way I feel. I don't even know what I feel anymore. I guess it will go away eventually. Or maybe it will not. It doesn't matter. And it's not about him. Everything's okay, Mum. I'm okay."

"You're bloody hell not okay, Rose!" Jackie yelled. "Look at you, only ever leavin' the house for work or to go pinin' after what you can't have, up that bloody hill! What good does that do, eh? It's been a year now. A whole bloody year."

Rose exhaled slowly through her nose. "I'm not – I'm not pining, I'm coping," she said in a brittle voice, her teeth clenched. "It's not been exactly easy. Look, I know it sounds dramatic, but I – it – it'll never be easy, not anymore, not for me. And that's fine. I just don't want to talk about it. Or him. Especially not him. He's made his choice."

Jackie crossed her arms, regarding her unhappily. "Maybe he's just been hurtin', too, Rose. Have you ever thought of that? The way he was looking at you whenever he thought no-one was watching. Like you were the mos' precious thing on earth. He was lookin' at you like your Doctor did, exactly like."

The tears that had been gathering behind her eyes for a while now spilled over, stinging her cheeks like acid. "The Doctor never looked at me like that," she whispered.

Her mother stared at her. "Of course he did! Rose! How can you say that? Him old leather jacket did it and thought I wouldn't notice, and the other one couldn't take his eyes off you and didn't even bother to hide that from me. He just took care not to flaunt it too blatantly in front of you, the bloody fool. And Doctor Number Two is the same., believe me.

"That man – John," she conceded, "is not the Doctor. He's not even his exact duplicate, even though he looks it, but not on the genetic level. He's just a pretty human/Time Lord hybrid clone who happens to own another man's memories and foul mouth. Christ, Mum, you know what he is! Pete supervised all the tests! That man is a total stranger and it creeped the hell out of me, he looking at me with those hungry eyes as if I was his every dream come true, and all I can do is stare at his hands, trying to remember which was the one, the one hacked off by that Sycorax, because that would be the only thing I'd have left of my Doctor."

Jackie cleared her throat for a retort, but a too quiet voice behind her spoke first, a bit high-pitched but decidedly masculine, with a rich soft timbre to it. A voice Rose kept hearing in her dreams. A voice like tea and honey and the warmth of a cup of mulled wine in one's hands, spiced with bitter almonds. The Doctor's voice.

"It was my right hand, if you must know. But good to hear you think I'm pretty."

She whipped around.

And there he stood, not the Doctor, looking weird dressed in jeans and a blue v-neck sweater that hung most flatteringly on his slender chest, with a magnificent mess of sticky-uppy brown hair, his face dotted with the pale light-brown freckles she loved so much. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his feet - in blue trainers – planted flat onto the floor: his oh-so-casual, and in truth so solid stance. He broke into a wide grin when he saw her face, his eyes crinkling with sheer joy.

"Rose Tyler," he said, still grinning, relishing the feel of the name on his tongue. "Long time no see."