Disclaimer:Doctor Who (c) to the BBC.
Rose's bare feet made no sound as they made the long walk down the thickly carpeted hallways to the kitchen. Wearing a cheery pink dressing gown over her pyjamas, no make up, and hair unbrushed, she was the image of 7.30 in the morning. She passed the door to Mickey's room, hearing the shower running; he was making the most of having an en suite bathroom. Rose on the other hand found it bizarre, after living in a flat with only a handful of rooms for nineteen years, to suddenly be living in a house she had yet to explore completely.
She remembered her friend's concern on their first night back. She hadn't spoken a word on the journey and had gone straight to her new room and locked the door. Mickey and her parents (she was still coming to terms with having a father again) had paused outside, talking to her through the wooden door.
"It'll be OK, love," her mother had promised, not knowing that Rose was rigid with fear beside the open window, terrified that she was longing to throw herself into the cold comfort of death. It was the Doctor that made her slowly close the window, shutting off the cool London air that couldn't quite decide whether it was spring or summer. The alien she barely knew with two hearts that travelled through time and cheated death, who she knew better than she knew herself. His face shone in her mind, his expression radiating concern, but his eyes betrayed his disappointment. Wherever he was, Rose knew he could never forgive her if she just gave up hope. They both knew she was stronger than that. Hadn't she lived through both parents' deaths? Didn't she know more about aliens than anyone on Earth? No, she had to carry on living. Day after day, year after year, living the life he could never have. She had to live it for him.
That was three weeks ago. Almost four months had passed since the move, when they had not only moved house, into the mansion that her father owned in this world, but also moved dimensions. It was so different, yet exactly the same. The view from her window was unfamiliar, yet if she went to her old flat and stood on the balcony outside (there was, of course, a strange couple living there now), it was the same view she had looked at every day of her life before the Doctor. When she still longed for change, for excitement. Before she got everything she ever wanted, only to have it pulled away such a short time later.
Rose finally reached the kitchen, the plush carpet giving way to cold linoleum. The kitchen was bigger than their whole front room back at the flat, with shiny black counters and state of the art cooking equipment. The room was empty; Pete had a dozen kitchen staff and servants employed when he lived there with 'Alternate Jackie' (indeed, Rose herself had masqueraded as a waitress the first time she had been to the house). But his new family had all found it strange to have cooks and cleaners, when all they had at home was a rusty oven with only one heat setting, and a small, clanking vacuum cleaner. So he had sent his entire staff home, except a few maids to look after their bedrooms.
Rose poured herself a bowl of Cornflakes with milk, and a glass of orange juice. She was just sitting down at the breakfast bar to eat them when her mother came in, wearing a large purple dressing gown and fluffy slippers. She flashed Rose a cheerful smile that somehow conveyed all her worry.
"How are you this morning, love?" Jackie dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, fetching a jar of pickles from the oversized fridge. She was just starting her third month of pregnancy, and some of her craving made Rose gag. Like her current favourite: pickles and ketchup on toast.
"Fine." Rose hunched over her cereal, afraid the rings around her eyes would give away her sleepless night. She barely spoke any more, choosing to spend most of her time in her room or the library, writing about her adventures or sketching the Doctor. She was hopeless at both, yet desperate to make some record of the precious time with him. Jackie on the other hand, tried to cheer her up by prattling endlessly.
"I was just getting used to sleeping in, and then this baby decides it wants to wake me up at seven in the morning! Don't get pregnant love; the hormones are awful. I'll tell you who has got pregnant. You won't know her. Jan, my friend from new Bingo, her son's one to America you know. She's always bragging about the places he's been. Ooh, if she only knew. What's that planet called? Where you went? The one with the long name? Oh never mind. Well, her friend Karen's daughter…"
Rose tuned out. She had tuned out at the word 'sleeping'. Swallowing he last of her Cornflakes, she muttered something about being late for work and escaped Jackie's first bite of her sickening breakfast.
"You know what, this could use a bit of tuna…" Her mum's voice and the clattering of tins followed Rose down the hall.