A/N: I'm sorry I didn't update yesterday, but I'd like to think that graduating from college (w00t! \o/) is a good enough excuse. ;-P
Feedback: Is love. Please review!
He's beyond antsy now. One week after three months and the device still hasn't lit up—and there's nothing he can do about it.
"It could be practically anything," he explains to Rose, pacing in front of her, "from a faulty light to a broken circuit to something else entirely that I just can't imagine anymore. And I can't try to fix it, because I'd probably just break it now, and then we'd really be in trouble." He runs his hands through his hair in agitation. "And worst of all, what if it's not even broken? What if I miscalculated their lifespan? Maybe it wasn't three months—maybe it was six, or nine, or twelve, or even thirty. Or maybe it wasn't months—maybe it was years. Rose—" He looks at her helplessly.
She's not feeling the best herself, but it won't do any good for both of them to panic. "Is there anything we can do about it right now?"
He deflates a little. "No. Just wait."
She nods. "That's what we'll do, then. We'll wait a few more days, and if the detector is still dark, we'll talk about opening the watch. That okay?"
He sighs, still anxious but willing to go along with her plan. "Yeah, that's okay."
The next day finds him in Milton's shop, manning the register and nervously tapping his fingers against its side. A few more days. He can do this.
The bell above the door rings, and he looks up to see a young boy of around ten or so enter the shop and stiffly walk up to the counter. The Doctor frowns. That's not how little boys should walk. "Are you okay?" he asks.
"I'm looking for the doctor," the child says in a disquieting monotone. The Doctor's even more concerned now. "Why? Are you hurt?" he asks, starting to come out from behind the counter. Milton has also heard the boy, and appears from one of the aisles. "We can call for help, son, if you can't walk far."
"No," the boy says, sounding vaguely irritated now, and the Doctor and Milton both relax slightly until he continues speaking. "Not a doctor—the doctor. I'm looking for a man called the Doctor."
Blood's rushing, pounding behind his ears, but he can still hear well enough to hear Milton say, "Hey, John, doesn't your bird call you Doctor?"
The boy turns sharply to stare at him…and sniffs.
'Stupid, stupid, stupid. Bloody idiot,' a small portion of his brain screams at him. 'A strange person starts asking about "the doctor" and you think he's just sick? Idiot.'
But a far larger part is frozen, horrified, keeping him rooted dumbly to the spot. 'Oh God,' it says. 'They've found me. They've found me, and there's nothing I can do. They've killed this poor little boy, and now they're going to kill me, and Rose and Jackie and Milton and the rest of London and there's nothing I can do. Everyone's going to die, and it's all my fault.' His palms start to sweat, his stupid human body unable to control the reaction.
"It's…it's just a nickname," he finally manages to choke out. "Just an inside joke."
Time stands still as the child eyes him intently, and sniffs the air once more.
But he's just John Smith now, completely and utterly human, not a trace of Time Lord for this member of the Family to find, and without any other reason to interrogate him the child reluctantly steps back.
"Okay. Thank you," he says, without a trace of warmth in his voice, and turns and walks back out of the shop.
"Well, that was strange," Milton remarks.
The Doctor doesn't respond. He just stands completely still until the boy is out of sight.
And then he bolts from behind the counter, past Milton to the toilets. He retches, heaving until there's nothing left to come up, until he's gasping with his cheek against cool porcelain, body shaking.
Milton, concerned, gives him the rest of the day off. He goes back to the Powell Estates and sits in his darkened flat until Rose comes to get him for dinner.
Both Tyler women can tell that something is obviously wrong, as the Doctor just silently picks at his food, not contributing to the conversation in his usual animated fashion. When the meal is over and the dishes are cleared, Jackie turns to him. "Well, out with it."
He starts. "What? Nothing—it's nothing."
Rose snorts indelicately at him. "Come off it. We can both tell something's wrong—just tell us what it is."
He's silent for a moment, staring at his hands in his lap. And then—"The Family is still alive. I saw one of them today."
There are instantly noises of concern and distress from the two women, but he waves them off. "He couldn't detect anything Time Lord related, so he left. Nobody got hurt."
Rose is still concerned. "But they'll keep looking, right?"
"Of course. But their tracking capabilities are quite powerful. If they don't find any hints of a trail in the next few hours, they'll leave London, and then England, and then the hemisphere. I wouldn't be surprised if they leave Earth in less than a day."
"Well, that's good then," Jackie says. "Danger over, and you'll be able to change back."
He pushes away from the table. "But that's just it—I can't! Even if they're not on this planet, they'll be able to detect it if I open that watch. No, it's still not safe. The only thing this did is prove that my detector is still working—it was never broken. I just miscalculated how long they had left to live, and I don't have the ability to redo it. Now…" he stares across the room, blank expression on his face. "Now we wait."
Knowing he shouldn't be left alone tonight with his demons, Rose leads him over to the sofa to watch some telly. Mindless entertainment is a good diversion, she knows, keeping you distracted from what's troubling you.
It wouldn't have worked on him before—he was capable of dividing his attention among dozens of separate thoughts and tasks.
It works now.
He hates that.
He hates the cold, too. The start of winter has arrived in London early and with a vengeance, bringing stinging pellets of frozen rain and bitter winds that howl through the streets and between buildings, and he hates it. Before, with two hearts and a better physiology, he could go anywhere—even Woman Wept—in just his suit and coat. This burst of inclement weather is mild in comparison, but now it leaves him freezing, burrowed into sweaters and thick jackets and hats and scarves and still he's never truly warm if he's outside. He goes from his flat to the shop and back to his flat, rarely deviating from the routine. Rose is over constantly, bringing hot cocoa and smiles, but his answering grins are but pale comparisons.
He checks his device every night before he goes to bed, his own version of a prayer.
It stays silent.
He gives Rose the watch, for safekeeping. He'd like to think that he's stronger than that, but sitting in his bedroom, mocking him every time he lays his eyes on it…
No. It's better this way.
Less of a temptation.
Milton idles up to him in the shop as he's replacing some wires in a toaster. "Is everything okay, John? You've seemed out of sorts for the last week or so."
'The aliens hunting for me are still alive,' he thinks, 'and I'm stuck in a body that's not mine until they die.' He keeps his eyes on the electronics in front of him. "It's nothing, Ed. Just a case of the blahs because of the time of year. I'm sure it'll be over soon."
His boss doesn't look like he's entirely convinced, but he lets it pass. "Well, then maybe this'll make you feel better." He leans against the table, facing him. "I've seen this shop through a lot of years, but I'm not getting any younger. I need someone to help run things, to take over when I can't do it anymore, and I think you'd be perfect for the job. What do you think?"
He refuses to have something that ties him to this place, this time. Just one more thing to mock him, to tell him he's never going to get to go back. "Ed, I…I can't."
Milton scoffs at him. "'Course you could. You're amazing, fixing everything that comes in here and making all the customers happy. You'd be a natural manager, John."
He can't. "I really just don't think it'd be a good idea."
Milton concedes for now but refuses to take no for an answer, telling the Doctor he'll ask him again after he's had some time to think it over. But he's never going to change his mind. Putting down roots would be the first step in admitting that he's stuck here forever, and he'll never do that. Never.
He gets in his first huge domestic with Rose a few days later. She asks him to go out with her and go to the pub, go watch a movie, something, anything, and this is the request and refusal that break them both. Voices are raised, insults are hurled, and soon his door is being slammed so hard the walls shake. He stands in the middle of his empty living room for a moment, trembling silently, and then leaves himself, walking briskly through the streets, trying to use the weather to cool his heated emotions. When he returns Rose is waiting for him, having used the spare key he'd given her when this all first started.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have gone off on you like that." She hesitates for a moment. "I miss it too, you know, the travelling and adventures. But you can't just…curl in on yourself like this. You can't stop living."
He looks at her helplessly. "I can't keep doing this, Rose. I can't…I'm forgetting things," he tells her. "The human brain isn't meant to hold as much as that of a Time Lord. Things that happened in my first body are getting fuzzy. I can remember the general ideas, but the specifics are gone—a random person's name, the colour of the light when the sun sets on a planet light years away. And it's going to keep happening, to my second regeneration, and my third, and my fourth, on and on until I can barely remember any of it."
"It'll all come back when the Family is gone," she tries to reassure him, but he's having none of that.
"But what if I was wrong, Rose? What if it never happens? What if the detector never goes off? I'm not going to risk your life, or Jackie's, or anyone else's. What if I have to stay this way forever, live life in a straight line, grow old and then die?"
"It'll go off, Doctor."
"But what if it doesn't?"
The look of despair on his face tears at her heart. "Then we'll regroup and keep going, like we always do when something bad happens. And you'll survive, like you always have."
"I'm not that man anymore," he whispers, and she moves forward to enfold him in her arms.
"Oh, Doctor, yes you are," she murmurs into his ear, "even if you don't believe it anymore. And I'll always be there for you, to remind you."
They stand there for untold moments, him savouring the feeling of safety he gets from being in her embrace. "It was a stupid plan," he says softly. "You were right—I should have stopped and thought about it some more. There was time—there's always time. I was just too convinced that I had it all figured out. Stupid, stupid plan."
"There's nothing we can do about it now," she says. "Just have to make the best of a bad situation." She pulls away from him and heads toward the door. "I'll be right back."
She returns in a few minutes with the knapsack that he recognizes as her overnight bag, used when they'd stop by to visit and Jackie would insist Rose stay in her room instead of on the Doctor's ship. He doesn't question her, instead letting her get ready in the bathroom while he changes into his pyjamas. In bed she pulls him to her, wrapping her arms around him and spooning up behind him. He's done this for her so many times on the TARDIS, staying with her to fight away the nightmares.
It's time she returns the favour.
Rose's benevolent gesture helps, but it only delays the inevitable. By the end of October he's hit bottom, and one day after work he goes to the pub with the intention of getting utterly pissed—anything to make it all go away, if only for a while. (It still takes only a few pints before he's completely soused, which irritates him to no end.) Rose finds him later that night and silently takes him back to her flat, to the sofa again. And just like last time he wakes to a brilliantly splitting skull and a foul taste in his mouth. This time, however, Rose is nowhere to be seen. "Rose?" he groans, struggling to pull himself into an upright position.
"She got the day off for you," Jackie says, coming into the room, "but she still had to work herself." She hands him painkillers and some water, which he downs without hesitation. His headache abates a little as the cool liquid slides down his throat. Maybe not as hungover as last time, then. A slight improvement.
Jackie watches as he sets the empty glass down in front of him. "There you go, should be feeling better in a jiff. What's gotten into you lately anyway? I've never seen you so depressed—you're always cheerful and bouncing off the walls—"
Her words are the last straw, what finally set him off. "That's because I'm not that man anymore, Jackie!" he shouts. "I'm not a Time Lord travelling through time and space; I'm a human who's stuck in one place for the rest of his life! I'm not the Doctor, even if you and Rose keep calling me that. I'm John Smith, stupid, weak, miserable, worthless—"
His rant is cut off by Jackie suddenly sitting down beside him and pulling him into her arms, head on her shoulder. He resists weakly for a moment, but it's a useless endeavour, and his breath hitches once before he's crying, sobbing out four months of anger and frustration and fear. Jackie just holds him, rocking him back and forth like a child—and that's almost what he is, isn't it? Doesn't matter if it's his own fault or not, he's been thrust into a life that he's never known before and has no idea how to handle.
She holds him until he cries himself out, then slowly releases him to let him sit up straight again. He scrubs his hands over his face in obvious embarrassment, and she tactfully ignores his pale skin and puffy red eyes.
She waits until he's composed himself before she speaks again. "I worked from home as a hairdresser to keep Rose in this flat. Does that make me worthless?"
His gaze snaps up to hers, his eyes wide with confusion. "No!"
"What about Rose? Is she worthless for working in a shop before she met you?"
"Of course not!"
She covers his hands with hers. "Then do the same for yourself, Doctor. I know it may not be what you want to be doing, but you're putting in an honest day's work to keep a roof over your head and food on the table. Don't ever be ashamed of that. You do that every day, and most importantly, you make Rose happy. Keep doing that, and you'll never be worthless, not in my eyes."
He gives her a tremulous smile. "Okay."
"Okay, then." She stands. "Let's get you a cuppa." But before she can take a step, he speaks.
"Jackie…"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"Anytime," she says, and impulsively leans down and places a kiss on his forehead, like the mother she is. He closes his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"And next time you decide to go get pissed," she throws over her shoulder as she walks to the kitchen, "you can sleep it off in your own bed. You ever throw up on my carpets and I'll slap you back to your flat."
"Yes, Mum," he says sarcastically, and Jackie stops short, the beginnings of tears shining in her eyes, before she reaches for the kettle.
The Doctor doesn't realize what he's said until later.