Part of my "These Two Hearts" series (on Teaspoon (TenRoseForever), and AO3 (TenRoseForeverandever.) Takes place prior to "The Decision" and "You Bring Me to My Knees" (both also parts of my "Domestic Bliss" story (found on this site)) This story assumes that Rose and the Doctor were intimately involved prior to the events of Doomsday, and had formed a telepathic bond.
Okay, this was supposed to be a Christmas story… and then it became a New Year's story… and now… well, it's never too late, I suppose. But one of my resolutions for this year was to write more frequently and conscientiously and get some of my many, many WIPs completed. So, although this is very angsty and melodramatic, it is COMPLETE! Yay!
Part 1 of 2… so please don't kill me…
These Two Hearts
Chapter 1
New Year's Eve; pouring rain; standing on the pavement outside Rose's flat; drenched to the bone.
17 days, 5 hours, 12 minutes, and 43 seconds since they had been left on Bad Wolf Bay.
She stared up at him, a look burdened with betrayal. He felt her release his hand but not his eyes: she looked at him with hurt and distrust and misery. Then her eyes dropped from his and numb with pain and grief and anger, she abruptly turned and walked away from him, following her mother, never turning back.
17 days, 5 hours, 11 minutes, and 19 seconds since she last looked him in the eye.
"Well hurry up then!" Jackie's shrill tones, stung like the cold wind as they reached his ears. He could see her shaking her head in derision, beckoning him with an outstretched arm. And there was nowhere else to go. Not that he wanted to go anywhere Rose wasn't, even if it meant that he would have to contend with Jackie as well. He followed the two women away from the bleak beach toward the little village further inland.
Jackie led them to a small inn. "We'll jus' have to stay 'ere again. Jus' like the last time! At least we had our own car that time." She pierced him with an icy glare. "You'd think with there bein' two of ya, three if you count that Donna woman, ya'd 'ave been able to land us closer to home this time!"
His head drooped. "'M sorry, Jackie. I…"
"Oh, God! Oh, no, sweetheart," she blurted out, apparently repenting her thoughtless comment. She linked her arm through his, and she attempted to sooth him, awkwardly patting his hand. "I'm sorry. I really am! It's just been a long day."
He huffed in response: a long day indeed. He ached for the hum of the TARDIS in his empty mind as much as he longed for the touch of Rose's hand, and the warm, golden tendrils of their bond, forged in the days just before he lost her at Canary Wharf. Somehow the bond had remained through the metacrisis, dormant, tucked away safe in his mind, a beacon of hope and comfort, patiently waiting for Rose.
"C'mon, we'll bunk 'ere for the night, and take a cab into Oslo in the mornin'. Pete says he's sendin' the zeppelin for us straight away." Jackie tugged him through the doors of the inn. "C'mon Rose! In you come. Mind you, those airships are so bleedin' slow it could be ages before…"
He allowed the sound of Jackie's voice to fade into the background, as he turned to look at Rose. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her eyes staring blankly ahead, deadened. He knew that expression. He was the expert at that expression: a mask; a façade; a barrier to ensure that no emotion could get in and no emotion could get out. The ultimate defense against hurt… except that it wasn't. Especially not for Rose.
"Are either of you actually listening to me? Honestly, ya'd think I jus' liked to hear the sound of my own voice. And no smart remarks outta you, Missy," she addressed Rose. "Now, two rooms, yeah? I'll take one, and you two…" She left the suggestion hanging expectantly in the air.
"Weeell…" he began, rubbing the back of his neck in insecurity.
At the same time, Rose's hoarse voice crackled quietly in the air, barely a whisper. "I want my own room."
"Are you sure, sweetheart? The Doctor–"
"That's not the Doctor. My Doctor is in my universe. This is a copy, a clone." Her words were cold, hostile.
"Don't be ridiculous! Jus' look at 'im! Course 'e's the Doctor. The way 'e looks at you. 'E's the same man, no question. Rose? Love?"
"He's not the Doctor."
17 days, 4 hours, 52 minutes, 42 seconds since she linked the name "Doctor" to him in any way.
Two days later, they arrived at Pete and Jackie's mansion, a new one. Pete had sold the old property and built a new home in a secluded spot on the outskirts of London, an easy commute to Torchwood. New home; new start; new memories. The Doctor was offered a small apartment on the upper floor of the building which he accepted with gratitude. He would still dine with the family, but otherwise he could keep as private as he wished.
Rose spent that night at the mansion, in her old bedroom, but slept at her London flat every day after that. She rose early that first morning and with single-minded determination, against her parents' remonstrations that she needed to take time to recuperate from the stresses that she had endured over the past year, she insisted that she go back to work on the Dimension Cannon immediately.
"I'm gettin' back to him. I did it before. I'll do it again." The Doctor listened to her firm resolve from behind the doorway to the kitchen. His single heart clenched in anguish at her words. She would never be able to do it again: the cracks between the universes were healed… permanently. He placed a hand on the door, ready to enter, to tell her not to hope for that impossibility.
Pete's exasperated voice stopped him: "Rose… love… I've had a look at all the readings. They all suggest that the pathways between our universes are sealed… for good… ever since the stars came back. The only reason it ever worked before was that the walls were breaking down. Our universe was dying."
"I'll find a way. I'll get back to the Doctor."
"You saved us all, love. But there's no going back. I'm sorry."
"I'll find a way," she repeated staunchly.
The Doctor entered the kitchen, his gob ready to spout off all of the scientific data that would support Pete's argument. But one look at Rose's beautiful, forlorn face and the only words that left his tongue were: "I can help. We'll find a way." He ignored Pete's groan of frustration.
"You'll help me? Seriously?" She refused to look at him. She spread butter over her toast.
The bright grin he forced on his face felt tight, strained. "Course I will! Who better? Genius me!" If it would make her happy, he would do anything. And maybe, in time, she would learn that he was the same man, had the same feelings.
"Right… well, that'd be great. Yeah… thanks for that. I'll be off! See you there. Pete will see that you get clearance."
"You could take him in, y'know?" Pete spoke up, winking at the Doctor.
"No. I need to get started on the cannon right away, not waste my morning runnin' around a paper trail with him." She stuffed the last piece of toast in her mouth, swiped her keys off the counter, and walked out.
14 days; 8 hours; 53 minutes (fuck the seconds! Too many seconds.) since she could stand to be in the same room as him for more than a minute.
He took the name James Wilfred Noble as his alias, but everyone called him "Doctor". Everyone but Rose.
They made no progress with the cannon. Of course they didn't. But he pretended for her. He interpreted data for her, pointed her in directions that he thought maybe-possibly-might work, but not really. Nothing would. Ever.
She never allowed him to speak to her directly: emails only. Not even texts: far too personal. Although he tried to make the emails a little more friendly: smilies; winkies; other silly emoticons. And sometimes he would leave data on her desk with a hand-written note: "I miss you," or "We should go for chips sometime," or "Please, Rose, we need to talk." And always signed "James".
8 days; 3 hours; 35 minutes since she left his notes crumpled on his desk.
He played on the floor of the television room with Tony. It hurt when he looked into that little boy's eyes, so like Rose's, and saw the mischief and sense of adventure there that he used to love seeing in her eyes. And the adoration and awe… oh, more of a hero thing from the three-year-old, but still, it evoked memories of the way Rose had looked at him, back on the TARDIS, before this Davros-damned metacrisis. Before she realized that she was going to be stuck with a defective copy.
"Right then, Tony," Jackie's voice rang from the doorway, "time for a bath. And then you can hang your stocking, and get to bed. Santa won't come if you aren't in bed and sound asleep, young man."
Tony pouted. "But I'm pwayin' with Doctah…" he whinged, frowning at his Mum.
"Tony," she warned, expression stern.
"How about…" the Doctor piped up, "what d'ya say I give you your bath and after you've hung your stocking, I'll tell you a bedtime story?"
The little boy's eyes lit up with glee. "A stowy 'bout Wose and you and the daweks?"
"Sure thing!" He couldn't help but smile as the littlest Tyler took his hand and dragged him along the hallway. "C'mon Doctah! Wun!"
Several hours later, after Tony was asleep, Jackie met him in the hall. "Thanks for that. It would 'ave been holy hell and tantrums if you 'adn't offered to 'elp out. I wish I'd 'ad you around when Rose was that age. Honestly, the lungs on that one! A right little madam! Stubborn she was… She still is, mind, but–" She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with apologetic distress. "Oh, Doctor," she spoke with gentle sincerity, "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I don't think what I'm sayin' half the time. I keep sayin'… I didn't mean to… I can't imagine what this has been like for you."
He shook his head in response, running a hand down his face in a gesture of fatigue. "It's alright, Jackie. I'm a big boy."
"'Ave you been gettin' enough sleep, then?" She peered at him in a motherly way, and reached out to place the back of her hand against his forehead. "You're lookin' right peaky, you are. And I don't like the look of those dark circles under your eyes."
"Just adjusting to this new body. Not used to sleeping much, me. Certainly not as much as I need to now."
"An' you jus' pick at your food. You need to eat, Doctor. Skinny bloke like you: not much to fall back on, yeah. You'll get sick, you will. You need to take better care of yourself."
"Don't worry about me, Jackie."
"Of course I'll worry about you! And Rose," she assured him candidly, patting him on the cheek. "You're family, and that's my job: to worry."
Early the next morning, he found himself helping Tony to unwrap his many gifts, as Jackie and Pete looked on. Immersed in the joys of watching the little boy play with the boxes as much as with their contents, they didn't hear Rose come in.
"Well, isn't this a cozy little family gatherin'?" She didn't bother to conceal the snide tone in her voice.
"Sweetheart!" Jackie gushed. "Merry Christmas! Tony couldn't wait to find out what Santa brought for him. Come on, then! There's plenty under the tree for you, too!"
"Merry Christmas, Love!" Pete called out.
Rose stood frozen in the entry, eyes flickering nervously to where the Doctor sat on the floor beside the Christmas tree. "I can… come back, later…" she stammered.
"Well, I never 'eard the like! You get in 'ere, right now, Rose Marion Tyler."
"WOSE!" Tony yelled, scrambling out of a huge box, and running to wrap his arms around his sister's legs. He reached up to grab her arm. "Come see all the fings! Santa bwought me a snonic scwewdwiver!" He thrust the little light-up toy, that the Doctor had cobbled together, towards Rose's face.
"I…I… have things… erm… presents in the car."
"I'll get them," the Doctor announced, seizing an opportunity to put Rose at ease. "You come and sit. Keys?"
"The boot's popped already." She kept her eyes averted from him and allowed Tony to drag her into the living room. "So, Little Man, show me all these wonderful things that Santa brought."
The voices faded away as he trudged outside to Rose's car, leaving him to his thoughts as he gathered the presents in his arms. Maybe today he could make some progress with Rose. Perhaps she would be willing to speak with him. Maybe she would even accept his little gift, silly though it was, and truly see it for what it represented. Maybe she would finally realize that despite a few physical changes, he really was the same man as the Time Lord. Maybe she saw already. Maybe that was the problem.
She never looked at him when he brought the gifts in. She never acknowledged his presence other than to pointedly leave the room while he was there. So, hopes for reconciliation crushed, he quietly left the Tylers to celebrate Christmas on their own and made his way up to his rooms.
An hour later, he found himself cursing his superior Time Lord senses that seemed to have been left unaffected by the changes in his biology: he could hear Jackie arguing with Rose from the other end of the building as clearly as though she was in the room next door.
"W'at the 'ell is this?" Jackie barked. "In the bin? Unopened?"
He couldn't make out Rose's reply, but it didn't require his superior intellect to determine that Rose had thrown away his gift to her.
"You don't deserve that man. You're bein' a right little cow, Rose Tyler."
"I don't want that man. I don't want his gifts. I don't want his help. I don't want anythin' to do with him! I want the Doctor!"
There was a brief pause before Jackie responded. "I don't think I know who you are anymore. The Rose I know would never treat anyone the way you've been treatin' the Doctor. Yes, 'the Doctor'! Don't you give me that look! 'E's lost absolutely everythin'! Everythin', Rose: that daft spaceship of 'is; 'is entire universe, gone; all 'is people; and now, 'e's lost you too. And as for that last, good riddance, I say! Better off without ya! Maybe 'e'll have the sense to go out there and find someone else… someone who actually gives a damn!"
There was a palpably hostile silence that seemed to carry on interminably. And then, suddenly, the anger-charged air was rent with Tony's despairing cries of "Mama" and "Wose" as he reacted to the rage that the two women were projecting at one another.
"Look, I'm leavin'! Give me that gift back! Now!" Rose demanded. Then her voice softened, "'M sorry, Tony. You have fun playin' with all those toys, yeah. I'll see you soon, Little Man." A few moments later, doors opened and closed, and Rose's car could be heard leaving the grounds.
The Doctor despairingly packed his meagre belongings into a rucksack, and left a note to Jackie and Pete thanking them for inviting him into their home, but explaining that he didn't want to be responsible for tearing the family apart.
He left by a rear entrance, hopping into the little car he had purchased with his few days' wages from his work at Torchwood.
6 days; 11 hours; 34 minutes since he decided to leave the Tyler mansion for good.
The next few days he was living rough. He had stopped going in to work at Torchwood. He ate little, could afford little, and didn't care much anyway. He slept, when he could, in the back of his car, burrowed under two ragged blankets. It wasn't nearly enough to stave off the biting chill of the winter air. He parked the car by a park close to Rose's flat. He just wanted to keep her close, despite everything that she had said. He had promised the "real" Doctor that he would never give up on her. And he never would. He loved her and was bound to her for as long as he lived. He didn't think that would be too long…
He was empty inside; isolated; he had never felt more alone or more vulnerable. He began to get feverish and achy. Lack of sleep and poor eating habits over the few weeks in this body, already weakened with regeneration sickness, had taken their toll on his developing immune system. Coughs wracked his body as he huddled in his car, and he knew his temperature was dangerously high. He drifted in and out of consciousness, tormented with nightmares from his past.
He knew he didn't deserve any better: born in battle; full of blood, anger, and revenge. This was his punishment for all those crimes that he had committed: the genocide of his own people; the deaths of countless others affected by his actions over the years; and most recently, the slaughter of Davros' army of Daleks on the Crucible, fulfilling Caan's prophecy. It seemed that this universe was being no more forgiving to him than the last one had been.
All he had left was the piece of TARDIS coral bequeathed to him by the Time Lord. He absently fingered the little piece of home kept snug and safe in his pocket. He could have started growing her. Then, in just a few years, he could have been off, free to travel this new universe: new everything to explore! But without Rose by his side… what was the point. He had wanted this TARDIS to be theirs, together.
He had to see her one last time. To let her know that she was loved… so loved. By him. By the Time Lord. No one could be more loved than she was, in either universe. She needed to know.
And he needed her to look after the TARDIS coral; to grow it if she could; it might, eventually, even get her back to the prime universe, to the Time Lord, to his TARDIS, drawn to it by an indefinable bond of Mother to Daughter. Not likely. But, it would be her best hope.
0 days; 0 hours; 5 minutes since he decided to give Rose the TARDIS coral to look after. She would treat her with the respect she deserved.
And so here he stood. New Year's Eve; pouring rain; standing on the pavement outside Rose's flat, drenched to the bone; shivering with fever; barely able to keep upright.
Dazed, his legs buckling under him, darkness descending around him like a shroud, a golden vision of her face swirled before him. "Oh, God! My Doctor! Please… NO!"
0 days; 0 hours; 0 minutes; no more seconds. He'd lived too long…