War Not Easily Won
Summary: AU in which Eleven comes back to Pete's World to put flowers on Rose's grave. He finds a better adventure instead.
Ship: Rose x Eleven.
A/N: The story gets kind of vulgar here. One of my favorite cuss words is the f-word, apparently. Also! Thank you so much for all of the lovely reviews! This is the second DW story I've written, so here goes nothing, I guess. This fic has a mind of its own, because I definitely did NOT expect it to end up here. Truth be told, it was supposed to end last chapter. But I couldn't help myself! So enjoy. :D
( part two; beer and arguments )
It's a bit odd, the moment after. Rose thinks they ought to be still, and cuddling, or something like that. She remembers that— her back against a chest, arms around her middle, lips on her neck. But that was thing with regular blokes, human men with a taste for stillness. The Doctor is a man of movement, she realizes, and he of all living things is not one to continue being intimate after surrendering himself to a mere human girl.
Well, not quite human anymore, she muses as she stands back up. He hands her her shirt and she is amused at the way he looks at her in wonderment. Fifty years of not doing that with a man and she's still got it.
Rose has to laugh at that—a woman who doesn't look a day over twenty-five reflecting on the times of half a century ago. There's something deeply wrong with that image, surely.
She rolls her shoulders back, her previously stiff muscles relaxed from her release. Yawning (because even her immortality couldn't take away her post-sex sleepiness), she steals a look at the Doctor. He is shirtless (not a sight unpleasant, she adds to her thoughts) and he is staring at the rifles on the walls. Still sitting down, he cracks his neck and opens his mouth to speak. He closes it after a beat.
"Fancy a drink?" she asks, walking over to her desk to fix one for herself. He nods soundlessly, still scrutinizing the guns. Laughing, she bends down to the mini-fridge below her desk. "Beer okay? That's all I got."
"That's fine," he says absently.
Better be, she thinks as she digs her way for the last two bottles. It was John's favorite brand. She never liked it herself, but even a hundred and fifty years since his passing and she could not bring herself to stop purchasing a six-pack to keep in her stock.
The thought of John sobers her. One hundred fifty years is a very long time. Love lost is never gone, but then again, is he not the same man as the Doctor here? That was always the debate inside her, whether they are one or different people. Regardless, she came to love John, and she was happy for that. Is happy for that, she corrects.
Sighing, Rose closes the fridge and walks back over to the Doctor, who, not to her surprise, is still staring on the wall of rifles. Rose places the beer in his hand, waiting for him to break his trance. It did, thankfully, and he lifts his eyes to smile at her. "Thanks," he says. She nods briefly, popping the cap off the bottle and letting the bitter smell of the alcohol waft through the air. Drinking is something she's rather fond of, but she could do without the stink.
"Come, sit," The Doctor says after a moment, patting the spot next to him on the floor. She sets herself down right beside him, and as she does, he lets out a huff. "Tell me what you think."
"Of what?" She's slightly worried that he's talking about oh, the guns lining her beloved office, and maybe, just maybe, his disapproval of her change. It's a long story to tell, and she's not sure if she's ready to explain everything right away.
But the smile spreading across his face assures her that it's nothing wrong. "Of the bow tie, of course!"
Ah, yes, that rather quizzical thing he's seemingly fond of. "I love it," she says, grinning too. She really does - makes him look more brilliant than he actually is. "Rather fitting, though."
"How so?"
"It completes your look of a Cambridge professor," she says, nudging him in the rib with an elbow.
"Well, I think it's quite ravishing," he defends, puffing out his chest. "Cool, even," he prompts, lowering his voice as leans towards her.
"Oh, I do too," she laughs, a real laugh, rolling her head onto his shoulder. "Verycool, indeed."
He laughs too, bowing his head as his shoulders shake. "Oh Rose Tyler. Rose Tyler, how I've missed you."
There's a silence, then, and then they both drink at the same time. It's awkward enough with the given circumstances, but the tension here is just too much. She folds her hands in her lap and bites her lip — for all she knows, the silence is telling. And it's probably telling her that whatever they did was a mistake, but that isn't exactly what she wants to hear right now. Mistakes are second nature with her, but anything done with the Doctor — metacrisis or not — shouldn't be one.
The Doctor clears his throat after a few sips. "How long?"
She looks at him; he's staring straight ahead, unseeing rather than focusing. She swallows. "Little over two hundred years. Two-ten." His jaw clenches and the guilt on his face is almost palpable. She reverts her stare back to her shoes, her fingers reaching out to touch her laces.
"Been long for you too, I assume. Longer, maybe," she says, filling up the silence. Sighing, she lets her hands fall back into her lap. "But it feels longer than it actually is. Two hundred, two ten? Feels like a thousand lifetimes, you know."
She suddenly realizes that there's two living, breathing paradoxes in the room. Old, ancient people — the stuff of legends, really — stuck in the bodies of the youth. How damned, they are. And maybe she's not as damned as the Doctor, but she sure could give him a run for his money.
"How old are you, Rose?" His voice is gentle, not prodding. She wonders if it's a question to be answered.
"Two hundred thirty-five," she says after awhile. She hears his breathing hitch and she feels guilt settle at the bottom of her stomach. Of course he think it's his fault.
"You're old," he says simply, taking in a long sip of beer. She knows it's an observation, not an insult, and that he only does this when he doesn't understand something completely. But it still hurts. She doesn't want to be thisold. If anything, death is very welcome.
"Yep," she nods slowly, popping the 'p.'
"Have you... er... died?"
"Yes," she replies. "Five times...on accident." She adds the last bit with hesitance. She's not sure if should have mentioned it, but then again, what does she have left to lose at this point? Certainly not the Doctor - she's used to losing him, if anything.
"Well, death is almost always on accident," he muses, humor in his voice. Rose contradicts this in her mind, and she's about to say something about it when the Doctor cuts her off. "You haven't...?"
"Only once," she tells him, and she closes her eyes as she sees images of that night flash before her. A low point of her life she'd rather not relive, not even for the Doctor. She takes a long sip of the beer, letting the bitter rest over her tongue. "It's nothing."
"Are you sure?"
"It's nothing," she stresses, slightly annoyed.
"Nothing's just nothing, Rose Tyler," he counters; getting up from his seat, he continues, "Those scars on your back aren't nothing, they're something... they're marked tissue on the skin, from where trauma has occurred and... those are from alien, ancient, future torture devices, and I know them, I've seenthem before."
The Doctor's voice rises as he turns so that he looks straight at her. There's agony in his eyes and rage in his words, and if she hadn't been so accustomed to it, it would have scared her. "Those aren't NOTHING,ROSE," he yells, his hands clenched into fists and his jaw tightening in anger. "You shouldn't have—"
"We're not talking about this right now, Doctor," Rose declares right then, standing up abruptly. She stalks back to her desk, setting her drink on the top as she exhales. She really didn't need this right now. "I have a load of work to do and you're not helping me by trying to talk about something that frankly, I don't need to talk about right now!"
Rose closes her eyes and winces. There's a sharp pain in her temple and she tries to subdue it — anger doesn't help her migraines in any way. "Look, Doctor... we'll talk later this week..."
"I don't have later this week. I have three days until I have to leave," the Doctor says softly. He crosses his arms flat against his chest, walking towards her. His anger had seemingly subsided, but it's only temporary. Oh, she of all people knows the limits of a grieving Time Lord.
"I've come to ask you along."
Ask her along? She laughs at that. Oh, no he didn't, she's sure of it. The Doctor doesn't come back, not for anyone. Not even for Rose Tyler, an unlucky human girl who'd be happier six feet under than where she is now. No, he's only asking her along because it's convenient for him, because he's lonely now. She turns, fuming as she spews, "Go home, Doctor. Go back to the TARDIS."
"Rose-" he starts, reaching for her arm.
"I'm not going to drop everything for you anymore! I've got actual responsibilities, Doctor, and I can't just leave in three days," she says, exasperated by now. She laughs humorlessly as she shrugs off his hand. "Not even for you. You don't really expect that, do you?"
She waits to jump on his reply. When he doesn't answer and averts his gaze to the side, she shakes her head incredulously. "God, you're such a bloke! You think fucking me and confessing your love would be enough to convince me to leave home?"
"This isn't your home, Rose."
"You're in no place anymore to tell me where home is," she snaps. The audacity!
"Your home is the TARDIS, not the war-infested hell-hole this place is. You don't need to stay in the place that's caused you so much pain, Rose, just...please, come along," he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper.
He looks at her intently, but she doesn't give him a response. Instead she walks past him and gathers other articles of clothing they've abandoned along the way. He follows her, clearly not giving up.
"Don't let me lose you," he says quietly, turning her around.
"Too late," she mutters, shoving past him and taking his drink along with her.
"It's not too late, Rose, please—"
That's it. That's her breaking point. She turns on her heels and throws his shirt onto the ground. "You know what? Fuck you - how dare you try to guilt me? Don't you think I missed you too? That everyday was a goddamn marathon without you? God, Doctor, you think you're the only one who can be in pain? The only one who is allowed to miss people in this universe? I'm sorry I didn't kill the entirety of the human race and a thousand more on top of that, but damn you, you pretentious alien, I know how it feels to lose people I love. I know how it feels to watch people wither and die, and let me tell you, it's the worst feeling in the world."
She takes in a deep breath, reeling in from her sudden outburst. Tears dribble down her cheeks as she continues, "So don't you do this to me. Don't try to egg me into saying yes, I'm going to come with you and travel until the end of life as we know it because I'm not going to do it." She shakes her head, laughing at the irony of it all. "But you know that I know that I want to. God, I want to go with you. Drop all this.. this shit and jump into the TARDIS we go. But I can't. Oh my God, I can't do that, Doctor, you have to understand."
Rose braves a good look at him and his eyes are blank and so so sad. But dear heavens, he's got to know that she wants to be back with him more than anything else. More than mortality. More than death.
She's just not good for him anymore.
"Rose..."
So she tries, oh does she try, to antagonize herself. To remove herself from his attachments. Seething, she starts to yell at him again, "God, Doctor! Don't you see? There are guns everywhere. I bloody shot you for chrissakes, and I've told you I've killed countless people." She releases an angry breath, raging like a madwoman. "I am not your Rose Tyler anymore, and I'm not going to be her no matter how much you think you can fix me. Because two hundred years without you is enough time for me to change," she screams at him, her words piercing and punctuating. Her voice cracks as she continues, "I have to be here. I can't be with you."
Her heart falls to her stomach when she sees that his eyes are misted over. Crying is a weakness, especially for Time Lords. John told her that, once, and it pains her to see that the Doctor has been reduced to this.
She says nothing more, though. No word of comfort. No apology. She's still mad at him, after all.
"Tell me why you can't," he murmurs, turning so his back faces her.
"Doctor—"
"TELL ME BLOODY WHY," he screams suddenly, angrier than she's ever seen him be. So this is the Oncoming Storm in all his glory. His fury bubbles over as he runs his fingers through his hair, pacing. "Help me understand you."
"It's complicated!" she says sharply. Pointing at herself, she says, "I don't even understand it myself!"
And it's true. Sort of. Time has taught her that some things are better left in the dust, and while she has an inkling of understanding (because how could not?) she doesn't know why. Just how. Just what.
"I'm clever!" he replies, clearly exhausted. He walks towards her desk and leans over, his palms flat on the surface as he exhales slowly. "Very clever."
"Oh, and I'm not?" she rebuts, crossing her arms.
"Shut it, you know what I mean...You're human!"
"Not anymore!" she bites back all too quickly, throwing the empty bottle of beer on the floor in anger.
He stiffens when hears her say this. She notices. Closing her eyes, she curses inwardly — damn it, she hadn't meant to tell him that. She didn't want to reveal anything to him, not right now, not tonight. Too fucking late, then. So she takes in a deep breath and walks over to where he is.
"I'm... I'm not human, I have this thing, this adjustment to my DNA that permits me to live without dying or aging, for that matter," she explains, her words slow and soft. She gestures her hand to herself, continuing, "I can think faster than most. My brain makes more connections at three times the speed of the average human. I can read the emotions of people, what they're thinking, what they will be, what they were."
Rose laughs then, bitterly and boastfully. She's on the verge of tears, explaining everything to him, and it pains her to recount confessions. But maybe he could help her. And these days, she thinks to herself, she lives on maybes.
"I create myself, Doctor," Rose resumes. "I die, and I piece all my cells, every tiny atom back together. I am the Bad Wolf."
"Impossible," the Doctor says softly. "I took it out of you. The Vortex in you is gone—my last self was proof of that."
Rose is behind him now, standing off to the side. He's peering at the paperwork littered on the desk, his breathing now slow and steady. She whispers, her words like gun fire, "The Vortex changed my genetic information before you could take it all out. The last remnants of Huon particles don't exist only in the heart of the TARDIS anymore...combined with the Vortex, I guess, it just latched onto the helices of my DNA and stayed there." She reflects it briefly, remembering the words John had told her long ago. "You took out most of them, yeah. But not all. And my body survived on the few, then now, it makes more to sustain itself... I can't die even if I wanted to."
She crosses her arms and allows him time to take this in. This new him... he's not like the rest, that's sure. And he looks young, so young, too young, but Rose knows better than that. Silhouetted in that playful, boyish exterior of his is a man scorned, man in pain, mad man with a past too dark for many. She knows the feeling, unfortunately.
Without thinking, she grabs his hand. Thankfully, he doesn't let go.
"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head.
"For what?"
"For what happened to you."
"It's really not your fault."
"Seems like it is," he murmurs.
Rose has to laugh. "You think everything is your fault." She gives his hand a slight squeeze, then let's go. He turns his head at that, his eyes mirroring hers — questioning, wondering. He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it after a moment's thought.
"I can't come with you," she says once more, "because I'm not the same. Never the same."
"Try me," he tells her, reaching for her hands. "I promise you I can give you a run for your money."
A silence simply because she doesn't want to fight anymore.
"Thought you were dead," she says to change the subject, grasping both of his hands in hers. Their fingers intertwine, skin brushing skin so softly. She smiles. "Lake Silencio. River Song. The impossible astronaut."
"You didn't watch closely," he points out. "The Teselecta. My tricks up my sleeve, Rose Tyler, that's what you ought to watch for."
"Ah, see, I stopped watching your world when I thought you died. Didn't seem worth it."
The Doctor pulls her in closer, his fingers releasing hers only to travel to her hips. He drags her in closer, his voice low as he murmurs, "Always worth it, mm?"
"Yes, you are always worth it," she confesses her eyes locked on his. Something flashes in them, something crossed between delight and bemusement. She drowns in pale emerald. And for the first time in centuries, she thinks she melts under his stare.
"You haven't smiled in ages, before today," he notes, studying her carefully. She squirms under his sudden scrutiny; must he always be so keen to dissecting everything? He catches her discomfort and softens. "No laugh lines when I saw you. Care to tell me why?"
"No reason to smile when there's an ongoing war outside," she hums, nodding to the guns on the wall.
"Ah, yes, war," the Doctor repeats, eyes narrowing at the word. "Forgot you mentioned that. Got any war stories for me, Rose Tyler?"
Rose nods with a smirk; oh does she have war stories for him. Violent bits, things with blood and sweat caked in the cracks where she fell apart but came back together again. Oh, stories that ended with a bang and stories that ended in a whimper. She has war stories, loads of them, but she doesn't know if she's ready to face her demons yet. Because bombs still whistle and drums still beat to the sound of battle. And sometimes, she still stops to cry because fuck it, she is an old woman who should not have had to fight for her life.
She thinks she should tell him this herself, but she can't bear to. So she takes the coward's way out instead.
Rose takes a hand of his and pulls him to the other side of the desk — her voice hushed, she says, "Let me tell you the story of Torchwood One."
Pulling a journal out and plopping it in front of them, Rose cranes her neck to find a particular file out of the mess of papers in her desk. Yellow, with a pink post-it... damn it, where is it?
"Looking for this?" the Doctor asks, handing her the aforementioned file. She must look confused, as he adds quickly, cheekily, "Gotta watch your mental blocks around me, Tyler."
"Rude, and still not ginger, I see," Rose teases, giving the file to him to hold.
"But! Still foxy, and I think I'm pretty cool."
Rose hums in agreement, running her hand on the ripped and torn journal cover. Laden in these tattered pages are all her secrets, all her stories she has to tell. It is the only thing that is entirely hers. Inhaling deeply, she mulls over this decision she has to make. Inside is her story, the Bad Wolf's. It isn't something she wants to share... but she has to. If she wants the Doctor to know the full consequences of being around her, with her, this is it. This is the worst of Rose Tyler, and he deserve to know.
As if reading her mind, the Doctor wraps an arm around her waist and brings her closer. She feels lips on her shoulder, and she shudders. Tears are falling already, but there's nothing to do about that now. He makes her crumble with kiss. That alone is dangerous for the both of them.
"Nothing will make me stop loving you, Rose," he tells her, lacing through her fingers with his. "Not the darkest of you, not the lightest. Nothing."
"It's not pretty," she says suddenly, turning in his arms. She hands him the journal and sighs. "It's definitely nothing I want to read. But you... you have to know. And any questions, anything you need to talk to me about, I'm an open book. I might not like it... but tough," she says with a shaky smile.
"Are you sure?" he asks, holding up the journal and the file.
"Yes," she nods.
He looks at her intently, then puts them down and hugs her, his arms enveloping her entirely. She laughs with tremors running through her, her face falling into his chest. Settling into his warmth, she feels safer than she's been in years. Right here, in his arms, she can die the most painful death and come back to life with a smile.
"Let's go somewhere safe to... read this," he mutters into her hair. "In the TARDIS, yeah? Come along, Rose."
And so she does.
A/N: Ooh. Now, next chapter might be a bit of a brute to write, considering it's going to be mainly the Doctor sifting through her past via the journal and files. But... we'll see where my muse takes us. Don't forget to leave a review - I thrive on them! Now... I should go ahead and sleep.
