Chapter 3: Hope

"Don't be daft," John said and she blinked at him, shocked. "Of course I want to help," he clarified and grinned. "I seem to have a feeling that this happens a lot."

Rose gave him a questioning glance. "What does?"

"Oh, this. Stuck in some jail, needing to escape, running for our lives," he replied.

A shiver of recognition passed through her. Impossible, she repeated to herself. Completely impossible. "Our lives?" she repeated, emphasising the first word.

"Well, my life. What do you think? Do I look like a professional prison escapee?" She didn't react to his antics and a flicker of sorrow crossed his face. John spread his arms wide and then looked at his tunic, smiling ruefully. "Good point. The prison uniform doesn't do my figure any favours. Got it."

He shifted again, moving around Alma's body to crouch beside her. In a quicksilver change of mood, his earlier humour seemed to be replaced by sympathy. "Are you all right?" he asked softly. "No, wait. Now that is a daft question. Course you're not. I just…Sod it. Rose, I'm sorry."

"'Bout what?" she asked, deliberately misunderstanding. "Not your fault."

"I'm rubbish at this, aren't I?" John asked. She assumed it was a rhetorical question as he continued, "Look, I'll sort this-" He indicated the bodies with a quick wave of his hand. "-we can talk tomorrow about, well, getting out of here."

Rose nodded and stood, realising that her fingers, where they'd been resting on the ground, were now stained with blood. Once again, her fingers were coated with blood that wasn't hers. Firmly pushing that thought away, she started to walk towards the sleeping area, but paused and turned around, resting her hand on his shoulder. "John?" she asked.

When he looked up at her, she smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks."

He smiled faintly at her, touching her hand with his own briefly. "You're welcome. Now get some rest." He made a shooing motion with both of his hands, encouraging her to head to the other room.

"Yeah," she replied, though she doubted that what sleep she'd get would be restful.

She was right.

Rose slept fitfully that night, never quite able to relax her mind long enough to indulge in true sleep. In her dreams, she found herself walking towards someone lying on the floor. She knew what she was about to see, but her dream-self couldn't back away from this particular truth.

It was the Doctor.

His eyes were open, but glazed with death. His body was bloodied and one hand was outstretched towards her, almost as if he was reaching for her again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling the burn of tears. She didn't know if she was crying in reality, or just in this cruel dream, but the ache of loss felt as though it would consume her.

"You left me," the Doctor said and she gasped as he turned towards her. Paradoxically, he seemed to heal before her eyes, until he was able to stand up and face her. "You left me," he repeated.

"No." Now she was able to take a step back, to move away. This wasn't possible. He was dead. God, he was dead.

"Rose," he said, and strangely his face shifted into John's. "Rose, wake up."

"No," she cried and the words were repeated again, this time with gentle insistence.

She finally realised that the words, that John, wasn't part of her dream at all. When she opened her eyes, she blinked blearily, trying to focus on the hazy form leaning over her. "Whuzzat?" she asked, unable to manage a coherent sentence, let alone a proper word.

"You were crying out," John said softly, his hand cool where it rested against her shoulder. "I thought it best to wake you."

In the dimness of the room, she was glad that he couldn't see her tears. "Thanks," she replied and wished she hadn't when her voice broke over the word.

There was a rustle of cloth and then John was sitting beside her, pulling her into a warm embrace. He didn't say anything, just held her, and for the first time in what felt like a century, she let herself finally mourn.

In the daze of her grief, she could almost imagine that she heard two heartbeats where her head was pressed against his chest. For a moment, it was as though he was holding her again and, when her tears slowed to the occasional sob, she loosened her hold on John.

"All right now?" John asked.

"Yeah. Sorry you had to see that," she said, dragging her hand across her eyes in a futile attempt to wipe away the evidence of her tears. It occurred to her then that she was rather glad that she no longer could wear mascara. She would've looked a fright if she had.

"Don't apologise," John chastised her gently. "I think you needed that, really. Good thing, tears. Sometimes you've got to cry if you want to heal."

"An' you know that?" she asked, suddenly remembering her father and the tears she'd cried in the Doctor's arms after he'd died saving the world from her mistake.

"Yeah, I do. Mind, it's all in bits and pieces and it doesn't make much sense, but I know."

"You're remembering?" She firmly pushed aside her memories of her father and the Doctor and clung to this new knowledge in the hopes that it'd somehow make the hurt seem less intense.

"A bit," John admitted. "I apparently had, or else have, a fascination for scarves. And leather too, but not at the same time. Blimey, that doesn't really shed a good light on me, now does it?" She could see the flash of his grin as he continued, "But I still think you're the key to my memories for some reason. Can't quite put my finger on why, though."

She doubted it, but he already knew that. "What else do you remember?" She should probably give him a bit of space, pull away from the comfort of his arms, but she couldn't force herself to move and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to release her.

"Running," he immediately replied. "Lots of running. With and without someone at my side."

She wondered if she should be surprised by the surge of jealousy at those words. "Married?" she asked.

She could barely see his brow furrow as he considered her question, but she was also thankful for the semi-darkness. "No. Well, maybe once. Not any more, mind. But once. As for now, I suppose you could say I'm available," he said and there was another flash of his teeth as he grinned.

"I believe that my friends were running along beside me, actually. Just wish I could remember more about them. It's a bit like there's too much information in my memories, all crying to be let out. Could be hundreds of years' worth of knowledge up here." Lifting one of his hands and keeping the other loosely around her, he tapped the side of his head.

"If you do, you look good for your age," she replied, finally smiling.

"I do, don't I?" John's laughter echoed in the small room. However, he sobered quickly as he touched her cheek. "Are you up for a bit of scheming, or would you like to get some more rest?"

She let out a short bark of laughter, knowing that the dream would return the instant that she closed her eyes. "Doubt I could sleep, actually."

"Okay," he agreed readily enough. "What were you thinking of trying for our grand escape attempt?"

"That scientist-"

"He's no scientist. Doesn't even have the right to call himself that," John cut in, venom in his tone. "Sorry, go on."

"-bloke comes by for someone else every few days according to Alma," she said, continuing as though John hadn't interrupted her. She was pleased that her voice didn't break when she spoke her friend's name. Probably, she realised, because she was still worn out from crying earlier. "From what I've seen, he's always got two guards with him. Any one of them has access to the doors in this place. Problem is that I don't know the layout outside of this infirmary beyond the prison row where I woke up when I first got here. I don't know the guard's shifts or the way to the exterior wall."

"But I do," a new voice said.

Both she and John jumped as the speaker switched on the lights. Exir smiled as he leaned against the wall, keeping his body between them and the door. "So sorry for interrupting your private little moment."

"Time for my shift?" Rose asked, deliberately ignoring his comment.

"Yes, it is."

"Right, then," she said and began to gently pull herself free of John's embrace. John let her go willingly enough, but she got the impression that he was holding himself ready to pull her out of harm's way should it prove necessary.

"I can help you, Rose," Exir commented. "You need to know the guard's schedules and I know them."

"All right, I'll bite. How do you know them?" she asked.

"The scientist sometimes likes to let his toys catch a glimpse of life outside these walls. Calls it 'letting us see how our betters live' before he takes us back in for another one of his sessions." Exir's expression was dead-pan and she could see a shiver run through the man's slender frame. From this position, the scarred portion of his face was almost-hidden from her sight.

She had to stop this. No-one else should have to suffer like Exir.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Exir turned his ruined face towards her, quirking his damaged lips into a half smile. "Oh, you never know. I might not be the next lucky victim."

She knew what Exir was implying. Next time, she might be chosen. If she was, she doubted that John would stand aside and let her go. She wasn't about to let someone else she cared about die because of her.

"Doesn't matter," she replied.

"True," Exir said. "Do you want my help?"

She looked at John, but his nod implied that the final decision was hers. "Yeah, all right."

"The guards change shifts every six hours. The patrols sweep the corridor outside this room every half hour and they move through the prison wards in a circular pattern, starting from north and heading east. I can't describe the way out. I can, however, show you."

"How do you know this?" John asked, apparently suspicious.

"Another one of the scientist's fond little tricks." Exir's smile stretched into the rough parody of a grin. "Show the vermin the exit and watch him run. Then he stopped me at the last second." He pointed at the melted side of his face. "You can see the results."

She drew in a breath, hardly able to imagine the cruelty that had done this to Exir, to Alma, Rulan and all the others.

"Just take me with you," Exir said.

"Okay," Rose replied.

Soon, it became something of a tradition to meet in between their shifts, to talk about their plans and then to sometimes bring others in as well. Not everyone was willing to defy the humans. Some were too frightened, others too weak.

She refused to force anyone into doing what they didn't want, insisting that it would make them as bad as the other humans if they tried. John agreed wholeheartedly with her, while Exir tended to prefer to encourage as many people to rebel as possible.

And, while their plans matured, she found herself growing closer than ever to John. They started to spend their evenings together, talking quietly into the night about anything and everything. He never seemed to grow tired, but he'd willingly rest when she did, including the one memorable time when she fell asleep on his shoulder. She'd woken the following morning in his embrace, listening to him snore softly.

He'd share bits and pieces of what he remembered, including a few stories that struck a chord within her, almost as though she knew what they were about. It was in the middle of one of those stories that she realised that she couldn't even remember how long she'd been here. Weeks, if not months, she decided.

"You, Rose Tyler, aren't listening to me," John said, pointing at her accusingly.

"'Course I am!" she protested, even though he was right.

"I was just getting to the best part, too. If you don't want to hear about it…"

"Of course I do," she reassured him, grabbing his hand and wrapping her fingers around his.

"Okay. You see, there were these things. I call them things, mind, because without the controlling consciousness they were nothing more than lumps of plastic."

She shook herself and stared at him hard. "The Nestene Consciousness," she said, somehow remembering what the Doctor had called that vat of roiling, boiling stuff that had taken Mickey. How could John know about that? As far as she remembered, she hadn't told him this particular story. Sure, she'd told him about the Doctor, but not about how they'd met.

"That's right," John said. "Have I told this story before?"

"No," she replied, shifting her fingers so she could touch his pulse-point.

"Anyway, these things got me. I'd even had this brilliant speech worked out-"

She tuned him out as she focused on the sensation of his pulse. It was a reassuring rhythm, one that was uniquely his.

Thud-thud-da-da-thud-thud-da-da

With her free hand, she pressed two of her fingers against her own wrist, focusing on that particular feeling.

Thud-da-thud-da-thud-da

Oh God, that was impossible.

"And then I danced in a pink tutu…"

"What?" she asked, turning her full attention to him.

"You weren't listening to me again. Might start making a bloke think you didn't like him any more if this keeps up." The twinkle in his eyes betrayed the truth behind his words, however.

"John, this is important. When you were talkin' to the Nestene Consciousness, when everything went wrong, was someone else there?"

"Of course there was, Rose," he replied, staring at her intently. "Said so, didn't I?"

Impossible, she repeated to herself. But she couldn't help it. She had to ask. "Doctor?" she whispered, eyes wide.

John – no, the Doctor - grinned. "Hello."

She was staring at him, thunderstruck, barely – he assumed – able to fathom that he was who he believed he was. No, that was wrong. Who he knew he was.

That was the problem, actually. It'd taken a while for his synapses to start firing properly. Without tannin or a similar stimulant, his memories had slowly slid back into place, just not in the right order. He'd told Rose stories about his encounter with the Aztecs as though it'd happened relatively recently, even though that had been over seven, no eight, hundred years ago. Relatively, of course.

Rose, actually, had a fair hand in that. If he hadn't had her around, he probably would still be wandering around with half of his memories. Rose! He was definitely daft, letting himself ramble on – even if it was purely internal dialogue – while Rose was looking like she'd seen a ghost.

"It's me, Rose. Really, it is." He caught her as she swayed, steadying her as best he could. He wanted to bring closer for a hug, but he suspected that that might be a bit too much for her right now. "Just didn't realise it before now. Well, I say that. Had inklings, of course, but nothing solid. Not until you said Nestene Consciousness. A bit like a call word, that. Safe word? Nah, nothing safe about the Autons."

She was still looking at him, not saying anything, just staring. He was starting to feel rather uncomfortable about that when she finally managed to ask, "H-how?"

"Ah, yes. There's this thing I can do. Suppose you could say that I can cheat death. One moment, I'm dying, the next I change. And it's a complete change, mind. Body and personality. Lots of things stay the same, of course. My memories and how I feel about-" He cut himself off and decided not to complete that sentence. This wasn't the time to go into that. Not yet, at least. That could hold until they were safely back in the TARDIS and as far away from here in space and time as he could manage.

"When it all comes down to it, it's still me. Just with prettier packaging. And smaller ears," he offered with a grin.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. "I mean, if you could do this, one day I might've just woken up an' you wouldn't be you any more. Didn't you think I should know about it?"

"Course I did! Just never really got around to it." He rubbed the back of his neck, silently cursing himself. Middle of a prison, in trouble, and they were having this conversation. "I've always been a bit cocky."

She gave him a look.

"All right, a lot cocky. Thought I could get out of just about anything, really. I just wasn't expecting this to happen. Rose, I'm sorry." He gave into the temptation and touched her, cupping her cheek as he was once apt to do. Still was, really. As John, he'd certainly done it enough. Wanted to… Right. He wasn't going there. "If I'd known-"

"Stop it," Rose said as she leaned into his touch. "'S not your fault."

"Who's the designated driver?" he asked.

"Thought we'd crashed," she replied, grinning at him, and hope began to rise within him. She was accepting him. She'd said 'we'.

"If you want to be technical about it. You try driving next time," he challenged.

"All right, I will. Bet I can do better."

"That a challenge?" he asked, arching his eyebrows.

"Yup."

"You're on. As soon as we get out of here," he replied.

That was the signal for the teasing mood to dissipate.

"Jo-Doctor, do-" she began, but her words were cut off by Exir's arrival.

"Rose, John, it is time!" Exir said, gesturing excitedly towards the room. "The scientist is coming."

He rose to his feet, pulling Rose up with him. "Think it's about time we start doing what we do best," he told her in a low voice.

"Yeah," she said and, together, they followed Exir from the room and into complete chaos.

Exir had lied to them. The scientist wasn't coming; he was already here, along with far more guards than usual.

"It's them! They're the ones who were planning on escaping!" Exir cried, pointing at them accusingly. "They started it all!"

"Exir!" Rose exclaimed, but the Doctor gave her hand a warning squeeze.

"Don't," he murmured. It wasn't worth it. The look he gave Exir was a mixture of anger and pity. He should've seen it earlier, really. But he hadn't, and this was his reward.

"Still haven't learned your place, have you, 42398?" the scientist asked with a sneer. "Or you, 358977?"

He grinned. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. You see, you build a prison. And I? I escape from it. It's the simplest equation of them all. I'd say I know my place quite well. Wouldn't you, Rose?"

"No doubts from me," she replied and he got the distinct impression that she wasn't just referring to his words. No, she was referring to him. Who he was. She believed him.

He straightened his posture even more and took a step forward, dropping Rose's hand as he did so. Wouldn't do for her to get caught in the hopefully metaphorical crossfire. "And you know what I do after I escape?"

The scientist apparently decided to humour him. "What?"

"I rescue the people you've got imprisoned here and then, just to top it off, I burn this place down. You see, no-one has the right to imprison someone just because they're different. Least of all someone who dares to call himself a man of science."

"Your entire plan, it seems, relies on one thing, 358977," the man said, unconcerned.

He just grinned, tilting his head slightly as he waited for the rest of the threat.

"It relies on you and your little friend's ability to walk out of this place. By the time I'm finished with you two, you'll be begging to be brought back here." The scientist's lips stretched into a grin. "Seize them."

The guards began to move in.

To be continued...