Disclaimer: I do not own the Doctor, Rose Tyler, or Ace, or the TARDIS – if I did, I wouldn't have killed 7 with a hospital. That all belongs to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended, no profit made.
Between the Doctor brooding and her mum prying, Rose couldn't stand being in that flat a moment longer
Between the Doctor brooding and her mum prying, Rose couldn't stand being in that flat a moment longer. The Doctor was being impossible, of course, staring blankly out the window, completely deaf to any questions. Yes, she does suppose this is traumatic for him, but they are supposed to be a team, not… not separated every time he is reminded that his planet is gone.
She feels she could be angrier, if he hadn't looked so lost.
Her mum, on the other hand, has no excuse. She's always like this though, demanding that she know every last thing that is going on and then offering inane things to fix it – like ham sandwiches and tea and a cup of soup. The Doctor never seemed to hear her, leaving Rose to try and explain and fend off the incessant offers. Well… nuts to that. She has no idea what is going on here, and can only take so many renditions of 'Well, I don't know what you could be talking about, everything is fine, love, now how's about' followed by the next thing her mum could think of cooking up. It is funny though, how her mum's changed since she first met the Doctor. There was a time she'd be happily bouncing him out of the apartment, only too glad that he was down and out and that Rose was home. Still, she's not sure the incessant mothering isn't worse. She couldn't take more than an hour of it before grabbing up her purse and phone and heading for the door. The Doctor didn't even notice, or didn't bother to react. That settled it, really. If he couldn't even be bothered to ask where she was going, he can just deal with her mother himself. Serves him right. If he ever bothers to come out of that funk, he'll find himself walled in by heaps of well-intentioned if badly-timed food. That ought to keep him busy for a while.
Still, she decides, as she wanders amongst the shops and shoppers, aimlessly, it would be nice to have someone to talk to just now. She thought, briefly, about calling up Sarah Jane Smith, to catch up on what must be months, and to discuss what she should do with the Doctor now, how to get him out of this… mope, or whatever it is. But she decided in the end not to – this is her problem, and moreover, her Doctor. What would Sarah Jane think of her if she ran for help every time they hit a bump in the road? Sure, they came to terms by the end of their little adventure, but Sarah Jane had an… easiness, a connection with the Doctor that Rose had envied. Still envies, if she's being honest. She wonders, when she lets herself wonder, if one day that will be her, talking in cryptic phrases and smiling wistfully at the Doctor's back when she thinks he isn't looking. She really hopes not.
There's a sale for shoes in a shop she's never been to, so she pops in to see if there is anything interesting. After trying five different styles of admittedly pretty kick-ass boots, she decides that while they'll definitely turn heads, they'd be murder to run in. Running, she's found, is something one either becomes very very good at while traveling with the Doctor, or one becomes very dead in a hurry. Though of course, it's never his fault. These things just happen. Over and over and over. Like how they are supposed to be on vacation now, and instead he's moping in the apartment and she's shopping, alone. She checks her phone, but just like it said five minutes ago, there have been no calls.
She also wishes Mickey were here, but Mickey is so far gone now, locked away in that parallel Earth, doing big, brave, important things like she never really imagined Mickey doing. Perhaps that was the problem all along. She hopes he's doing alright. She only just avoids bumping into a heavily-laden woman, distracted by thoughts of her lost ex-boyfriend. Though, can he really be called an ex-boyfriend when they never really split up, but can't ever meet again? No one else, she muses, has to worry about what to call a relationship that spans over multiple universes. It's not exactly something you can just choose on your Facebook page, now is it?
She had stopped by the TARDIS, on the way out. Sometimes she's certain the ship is alive, the way it responds to the Doctor, the way the Doctor responds to it. She wishes she could remember what happened when she had cracked open the TARDIS. She wishes she could remember if there was a personality behind the energy that had burned inside her head. But she can only just remember that much, and sometimes she thinks she can only remember that much because that's all the Doctor is willing to say. The TARDIS had been dark and quiet when she had stepped in, humming to itself as it always does, not seeming at all different despite having thrown their lives into turmoil. She had circled the console a few times, trying to spot anything different, anything new that she could run upstairs and inform the Doctor of, but it had all looked the same as it always does.
She'll admit she yelled at it a bit, in frustration. But it is just a ship, right? She hopes it won't tell the Doctor on her. She's just worried.
Idly she notes that her old shop has been rebuilt and remodeled, looking as if that massive explosion that introduced her to the Doctor and his turbulent world never happened. It's a bit eerie, seeing it there. What would her life be, without the Doctor? Firmly, she shakes her head. This is all getting a bit too philosophical, and if she wanted brooding, she would have stayed back at the flat. She has the Doctor's credit card, and she plans on going on a bit of a spree. Traveling with the Doctor is awfully hard on the clothing.
He notices Rose leaving. He just doesn't feel up to an argument right now, so he lets her go. She will come back once she's blown off some steam. He isn't being fair towards her, blocking her out like this, and he knows it, but he's just… it just…
It hurts.
Why can't they leave him alone, these ghosts of Gallifrey? Why is it every time he gets close to accepting he is alone in the universe, every time he starts relaxing and enjoying the universe for what it is, something pops up to show him just how much he's lost? Like he would ever forget! All he has to do is close his eyes, and he can still see it all burning. Once he told his companion that the past sleeps in his mind. That he could call it up at will. It was true, then. He was much younger then, more innocent, freer… he had more to lose, though he didn't know it. Now, the past refuses to sleep. He can hear them scream, hear them die…
He sighs. He would gripe about this not being fair, but the universe hasn't been fair for a very long time, longer than even he has been alive.
Jackie has gone and turned on the tv set again. Evidently even she cannot listen to her own voice forever. He manages to crack a smile at that, though Jackie doesn't see it, being busy in the kitchen busily whipping up… something. He hopes it isn't green. Or have anything to do with head cheese. Some of the stuff she makes, honestly, it would choke a Judoon. Still, it's better than being slapped. He can do without being slapped, thanks.
Briefly he focuses on what's happening on the telly. Some sort of… comedy sketch, he supposes, something to do with a very loud woman in fussy clothes ordering a very brow-beaten man around. Humans are an odd lot, openly mocking behavior like that and then emulating it. Still…
His focus sharpens a bit when the sound is interrupted by music. Not much, just three short notes, and then the woman's piercing voice returns. Odd. But still, television signals are very primitive technology, comparatively, it'd be very easy for…
The same three notes ring out behind him, from the kitchen – it sounds as if they were made by metal on glass. Suddenly energized, he bursts from the chair he's been in for the last several hours and races into the kitchen. Jackie, looking beyond stunned and more than a little furious at him, immediately starts in on him for scaring her. It takes quite a bit of shouting to get her to stop.
Alright, quite a bit of shouting at close quarters.
Alright, quite a bit of shouting at close quarters with his hand over her mouth.
She blinks at him, surprised.
"That noise, that tune, what was it?" He asks, simply, into the ensuing silence. She blinks at him some more. "Look, I'm sorry, but I had to ask quickly and you were talking and…" The blinking turns into a narrow-eyed stare, and she abruptly grabs his arm and… oh yes. Perhaps talking his hand off her mouth would have been useful, there. He has a lot on his mind.
"Are you daft? What noise? I was just making you a bit of toast, which is burnt now, no thanks to you." She grumbles, looking very put out. He frowns at her
"Nonono, I mean, well yes, the toast, thank you, I'm sure, but the tune, you played a tune, just like the one that was on the television, why did you do that?" He asks again, trying to get her to understand.
"You've gone completely off your head, I didn't play a tune, play a tune on what?" But he's looking around now, and there's a fork, on the far side of the kitchen, lying next to three glasses of water. A fork and water, and he bounds away from Jackie to this new discovery. Cautiously, he pings the fork against the glasses.
It's the same sound, the one he heard not minutes before.
And repeated again, behind him, and he whirls to see Jackie setting down a spoon. Her face is eerily blank, with none of the fury and concern that had been on it just a second before. Oh, this is bad. This is very bad.
He needs to find Rose.
Without stopping to explain anything to Jackie (who doesn't much like this turn of events, having rapidly come out of her blank state and not seemingly overly effected by it), he dashes down the flights of stairs at a break-neck pace, stopping only a few moments to check on the TARDIS and to trace Rose's phone. He can't be sure this is why he was called, or if it is even remotely related, but he is here now, and once he finds Rose (and makes sure she will go on being alright), he is going to get to the bottom of this. Earth isn't much, admittedly, but it is the only home he has left, and he doesn't much like it being messed with.
Phone located, he sprints through the streets of London, leaving a trail of bewildered, angry, and shouting humans in his wake. He pays them no mind, only running faster when he hears, behind him, the same three notes. Faster, and faster, and dodging traffic amidst a hail of curses and shouts, and pushing faster when car horns sound in time the same three damnable notes, and the air burns in his lungs as his hearts labor to keep pace as he runs, and he sees her, there ahead, turning to see what the commotion is about, and he tries to shout but he has no air left, and she starts towards him when she should run, like he is running…
But the song beats him.
It surrounds him, the three notes, fleeting on ahead and sounding off of someone's cell phone. Echoed in voice, in instrument, even in footsteps on the pavement. All around him faces go blank, personalities disappear.
She disappears, freezing into a blank automaton, singing the same three notes over and over as the noise reverberates. It is building, adding on to itself as the echoes mount. He tries to shake Rose into wakefulness, desperately, bawling her name into her ear.
She doesn't respond. He wasn't fast enough. None of them will respond, he knows, looking around at a sea of blank, staring faces. As gently as he can he picks Rose up, hoping that on the TARDIS, he will be able to stop this. Hoping that his natural immunity won't wear off before he gets there. He can feel the pull of the notes on his nervous system, playing up and down spinal tracts as he carries his zoned-out companion back along the reverberating London streets. Just a bit more, a half mile, not even that, he has to keep walking or all is lost, because it won't stop in London, it never stops, and, it is so very hard to resist, so very hard to fight as the notes pound up from the pavement through the soles of his shoes, pounds into his ears, seeps into his brain despite every attempt to throw up blocks against it. He is losing, even with the TARDIS in view he is losing, he won't make it, the world, the universe is lost and he is so sorry.
Then the world collapses in a blaze of heat and light and glorious, roaring, nonsensical sound. He laughs giddly, joyfully, even as something tackles him, taking both him and Rose to the ground. It's stopped. It's stopped, for just this moment, the song has stopped.