Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.
A/N: Surprise! Extra long chapter. You're welcome. And I'm tired.
"Welcome to fair my city, Marius Maximus," the queen intoned carefully, though Rose could see the gleam of reluctant amusement in her eyes as Jack regained his feet. Rose couldn't help smirking, knowing precisely the rogue's full range of facial expressions, including the combination of winsome confidence and ungrudging deference he reserved for those accustomed to demanding a high degree of respect. "What news of Rome?"
"I'm afraid my Pharaoh would know better than I. We left over a year ago, Alexandria was meant to be our last port before our return," he replied, and Rose had to admire his deft evasion of the question.
"A long time for a merchant to be abroad," Cleopatra commented, her chin rising incrementally. There was a breath of skepticism in her tone, subtle enough to be dismissed by most, but not by a crew who'd traversed all of time and space.
"I'm an importer," Jack explained without pause, "The bare bones of daily operations can be seen to by my staff. I'm of much better use arranging trade agreements and negotiating with new suppliers."
"And from whence have you arrived in my city?" If any question gave him pause, it was this.
"Syria," he said, covering his pause by expounding, "by way of Cyprus, if that matters. We had some, uh, boat trouble." Rose didn't realize the Doctor had been holding his breath until she felt him release it gradually. She looked aside at him, suddenly serious and disinclined to pay further attention to the manner in which Jack's speech had devolved in eloquence from 'my Pharaoh' to 'boat trouble.'
"I see," his response seemed to have marginally placated the canny monarch, "That is quite a journey. Being so long from home, it's no wonder you brought your concubine on this voyage." Rose might never have paid attention to the word choice had such terminology not been leveled at her before. As it was, her head snapped toward the queen in shock.
"Oi!" the Doctor protested, "Tha's quite enough." His fingers wrapped more tightly around Rose's hand and he made an instinctive step toward the dais before all half dozen Roman soldiers turned toward him and brought their weapons to bear. He complied, halting mid grumble, but losing nothing in the aggressive set of his shoulders, nor the open look of challenge in his dark eyes.
"Who is this slave that he speaks so?" Cleopatra demanded, meeting the Doctor's brazen glare and matching its intensity.
"I'm sorry, my Pharaoh," Jack spoke quickly, putting his hands up in a plea for patience, "The woman isn't my concubine, you see. He's just..." For a second, Jack clearly struggled to explain away his servant's unruly outburst. Rose tugged gently at the Doctor's hand, trying to signal him that he might back off, just a touch, and make Jack's job a bit easier. Then, Jack had a flash of inspiration, "She's his wife."
Jack's hasty explanation was the only thing that could have possibly torn the Doctor's attention from the indignant queen, and Rose couldn't have been more shocked than if he'd slapped her across the face with a dead mackerel. Both of them shot a stunned look at their willful accomplice, eyes wide and jaws vaguely slack; and Jack had to force back the triumphant grin that threatened to break across his face. Instead, he winced and shrugged one shoulder apologetically. He watched, almost giddy, as the usually surly Time Lord and the clever, impish blonde glanced tentatively at each other, unsure how to respond, before they returned their now subdued attention to the Pharaoh.
"I must apologize, your highness," Jack continued, "Tacitus served my father, and he's sometimes overly familiar, but he's like family. There's no one I trust more, and he refused to attend me on this trip unless Rosa came with him. He was merely defending his lovely wife's honor; he meant no offense." Jack realized as he spoke that his words were, at least in part, truthful. The Doctor was frequently prickly; rude, even; but he was unfailingly honest and steadfast. Putting aside his general distrust in the aftermath of the Time Agency's meddling, Jack couldn't imagine trusting anyone as much as that madman in the blue box.
"I understand," Cleopatra replied after taking a moment to study both Jack and his mouthy 'servant.' "And I accept your apology on your man's behalf. Do try to keep him in hand during your stay." The Doctor resumed his mutinous scowl, but he possessed the wherewithal to keep his mouth shut.
"Yes, my Pharaoh," Jack bowed. Then, hesitantly, he added, "Our stay?"
"Yes, Marius. It's unfortunate that I had to welcome a respected merchant to my city in this rude manner, and I must insist that you take advantage of our hospitality before you depart for Rome."
"That is most gracious, your highness," Jack acknowledged.
"Nice digs," Rose commented appreciatively as the guards shut the large double doors behind them. She knew she ought to scold Jack, maybe even clout him over the ears, just to make a show of it. Jack's excuse for the Doctor's outburst had been mortifying, and even if it weren't his fault, it had clearly made the Doctor uncomfortable. Rose taking Jack to task would save the conman from a measure of the Doctor's temper, if not all of it. As she'd made to speak up, however, a knot had formed in her gut reminding her of the thrill, both wonderful and horrible, that had gripped her at the very idea. In the end, she could only manage to comment on the opulence of their accommodations.
"I get the feeling we're not guests so much as prisoners," Jack replied with a wry twist to his mouth as he strolled ahead and examined the large chamber. "No windows." Rose and the Doctor stayed by the door, standing several feet apart. Jack turned back, looking to the daft alien and the clever human for some kind of solution. As he took in their suddenly distant, awkward stance, he groaned inwardly, "Look, I'm sorry. It's the only thing I could come up with."
"Right, so what's the plan, then, 'Master?'" the Time Lord mocked.
"Doctor..." Rose chided under her breath.
"Hey, I told you both to change," Jack reminded.
"I'm done wearin' dresses, thanks," Rose insisted.
"Yeah, me too," the Doctor added, and when Rose darted a look at him, he gave her a rather laborious wink.
"So much for professionalism," Jack chided with little force. He couldn't find it in himself to be sincerely critical when the Doctor was cracking jokes, never mind imagining the great grumpus in a dress. He wondered idly if all Time Lords lacked the ability to wink properly.
"Guys," Rose cut in before the two could get a proper tiff going, "What ye plan to do about gettin' out?" At that, both men sobered, no brilliant schemes immediately forthcoming. "Or the fact there's only one bed?" Immediately, Jack turned around, noting for the first time only one proper bed, draped in richly dyed silk bedclothes and piled with a ridiculous surplus of pillows. Along the wall to their right lay two modest cots, pushed together, with plain linen duvets rolled at the foot. Clearly, these were intended for Marius' 'servants.' For a second, Jack and the Doctor just stared at the cots.
"Well," Rose continued when neither of them made a move to sort the issue, "I'm not sleepin' on the floor." With her announcement, she breezed past Jack and pushed past the sheer linen curtains surrounding the generously appointed bed, stepping up onto the low platform on which it rested and throwing herself backward into the field of silken cushions. "Oh, that's just heavenly."
"Hey, hang on," Jack protested, "Won't it be a little suspicious for my slave to be sleeping on the bed?"
"Tough," Rose shrugged, grinning up at the ceiling painted with a dark blue depiction of the heavens as understood by the ancient Egyptians.
"You know, there's room for two on that bed," Jack pointed out, trying for compromise, "Plenty of room." He was standing beside the bed, looking down at her with that suave, suggestive smile that Rose simply couldn't take seriously. The Doctor had followed his two companions, arms crossed and suppressing a severe eye-roll, behind the gauzy drapes and was standing at the opposite corner of the bed, regarding the whole debate with good-humored disinterest; until now. Jack watched, rather proud of himself, as the too-good-for-this-conversation Time Lord's head snapped up and his hands dropped. Within seconds he took a couple of steps and tossed himself, ever so casually, onto the bed beside Rose, long legs crossed and hands clasped behind his head.
"Yes, there is," the Doctor grinned at him smugly. Rose glanced back at him, surprised, but quickly turned her face back to the ex-Time Agent and grinned at him as if it was a plan she'd been in on all along.
"Do you even need to sleep?" Jack protested, crossing his arms and doing his very best to look properly put out in spite of his wildly gloating inner child. Damn if he wasn't good, and as long as he could count on the Doctor's veiled jealousy and Rose's not-so-secret affections, his end goal was a foregone conclusion. Still, it was crucial that the Doctor think he was trying in earnest. To be fair, if Rose wasn't so clearly infatuated with the Time Lord, he would be.
"'Course I do," the Doctor scoffed, "Due for another wee kip tonight, in fact." It was a bald-faced lie. He'd gotten a good five hours the week before, just before Jack had come on board. Still, he could manage a nap. Probably.
Predictably, 'Tacitus' and 'Rosa' were not invited to that evening's lavish dinner. So, when 'Marius Maximus' walked out the door with his swagger and his smiles; and an ornate new chiton and matching toga, provided by their generous 'host;' Rose and the Doctor were left to their own devices. Cleopatra had also provided more – appropriate – attire for Jack's attendants, attire which they both outright refused to wear. As the doors shut behind the incorrigible Captain, Rose mused that he'd been a little too keen to see the Doctor in a chiton. Not that she could blame him.
"So, we're gonna go pokin' around, yeah?" Rose said, still lying on the astoundingly comfortable bed as the Doctor nosed about the room.
"No point," he shrugged, flipping open the lid to a cedar-wood chest that wound up containing only blankets and fresh bedclothes, "There's guards outside. If they don't want us slaves knockin' about the city unescorted, they certainly won't take kindly to us roaming the palace as we please."
"Yeah, why is that?" Rose asked, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look at what he was up to. Having abandoned the cedar chest, the meddlesome Time Lord had moved on to examining the contents of two shallow drawers in the side table by the door. His back was turned to her, leather-draped shoulders hunched intently over his snooping.
"Could be anythin'," he shrugged, closing the drawers and turning around to lean back against the table, arms crossed, "It's a delicate point in history. Julius Ceasar's been assassinated and there's a power vaccuum. Three men are sharing control of the empire."
"That can't end well," Rose cringed.
"No, it can't. And Marc Antony spent the winter here, gettin' cozy with the queen," with that, the Doctor's brow crinkled in thought, "Must have just left. Cleopatra gives birth to their twins about nine months from now. That might explain it. The truce is holding for now, but Octavian's ambitious. Cleopatra certainly doesn't trust him, and with Marc Antony gone, she's on alert."
"S'at why you were nervous about Jack's answer? 'Bout where we been?" Rose asked, and the Doctor smiled broadly.
"Tha's right," he acknowledged, pushing off from the table and ambling toward her. She was so very clever, his Rose. Clever and perceptive, catching the little details he often missed. "The territories are divided between Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus. All still technically part of the Roman Empire, but the Captain was clever enough to mention territories controlled by Antony." By now, the Doctor had reached the platform, pushing past the curtains and leaning against the sturdy square bedpost in that supremely confident manner of his.
"Did you just call Jack clever?" Rose asked, her tongue peeking out from behind her brilliant smile.
"No," the Doctor scoffed. When Rose raised an eyebrow at him, he rolled his eyes and lowered his arms, standing up from the post, "All right, maybe a little."
"You called him clever a little?"
"Well, he's not clever as me, that's for certain."
"Oh, of course not," Rose agreed with mock dignity. The Doctor narrowed his eyes, stepping closer until he loomed over her.
"That's right," he insisted, chin slightly elevated, "Genius, me."
"But you admit he's maybe not so bad. Maybe even a bit helpful."
"When he's not flirting," the Doctor qualified, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, "Most Time Agents are just cowboys, Rose. Idiot children playin' with things they've no comprehension of."
"But Jack actually knows his stuff," Rose concluded, shifting onto her side, head propped on one hand and careful not to come too near the Doctor. They were rare, these moments when he was so unguarded, when he'd come so near during the calm and the quiet. They'd become rarer since Jack came on board, and she didn't want to break the spell, didn't want to frighten this flighty bird away.
"Yeah, sometimes he knows his stuff," the Doctor agreed with a gentle smile. He hated the conman's persistent flirting, but underneath all the charm and bravado, the Doctor could tell that he held a genuine regard for Rose. It tore at him; his inability to simply despise Jack, the knowledge that he himself could never be everything to his brilliant girl, and that Jack, for all his faults, may very well be the only man in the universe who could even come close to being good enough for her. Yes, he hated the Time Agent, but he loved him, too; for saving her on the Aberdeen, for saving her in the bell tower, and for being her one shot at true happiness. As he sat near, basking in her light, he took a deep breath and ignored the constricting pain in his chest. His Rose was perceptive, sometimes too perceptive, and he didn't dare let these stolen moments linger too long.
"Come on, then," he said cheerfully, taking his feet and holding out a hand, "They've got a chess set."
Rose lay in utter darkness, warm and cozy in a cocoon of silk but wholly unable to sleep. Jack had come ambling in late in the evening, merrily inebriated and eager to chat about what a wonderful evening he'd had. Rose and the Doctor had tucked themselves into the cots on the floor in the name of keeping up appearances, but as soon as the doors had shut behind their sloshed companion, they'd hopped to their feet and retreated behind the gauzy curtains. Jack had scowled and stuck his tongue out at them in part to protest their unwillingness to stay up and gossip with him, and in part for making good on their threat to make him sleep on the floor. There was some brief grumbling about being treated no better than a dog before Jack passed out, snoring thunderously.
It wasn't the snoring, however, that kept Rose awake. Hell, she was almost glad for the constant reassurance that her friend hadn't yet succumbed to acute alcohol poisoning. No, despite being nearly as comfortable as she'd have been in her bed in the TARDIS, Rose found herself lying on her side, staring futilely into the stark blackness where the Doctor lay, presumably asleep. He'd removed his boots and jacket before climbing into bed, but he'd settled himself atop the covers, stretched out on his back with one hand cradled underneath his head and the other resting absently on his chest. She couldn't hear him breathing for the incredible racket originating from the incapacitated captain, but she was hyperaware of his presence, of the pronounced dip in the primitive mattress and the fact he hadn't moved an inch in hours. As a result, neither had she.
Eventually, her eyes adjusted to the singular night until she could just make out his profile. He appeared so peaceful, so unnervingly still in the shadow of his frequently manic wakefulness. In time, she was able to discern the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the only sign of life. She didn't want to stare, to be weird about the whole situation, but she couldn't get beyond the fact that, despite the respectable distance between them, she was lying next to the Doctor. She'd not dwelt overmuch on the realization she'd come to on the Aberdeen, but in that tranquil stillness; with that insane, rude, wonderful alien sleeping inches away; she couldn't stop her mind from wandering and her lone heart from aching. A single tear slid, unannounced, over the bridge of her nose, and it was everything she could do not to reach out and lay her hand, just one hand, over the long, rough fingers resting over his twin hearts.
When the Doctor stirred, panic curled in Rose's chest and her eyes bolted shut. Pulse drumming in her own ears with frantic clarity, it took a moment to realize he'd only moved slightly, his right hand removed from behind his head to rest at his side and his face turned toward her. When she dared peek, she saw his eyes firmly closed and worrying crease in his brow. Was he dreaming? Rose nestled herself deeper into the pillows, hoping to keep one eye on him while hiding most of her face on the chance that he suddenly awoke. Then, his lips parted in a silent gasp and a rolling grumble started to climb up from somewhere deep. Rose held her breath, staring at him, unsure what to do.
"Nnnnn," the Doctor mumbled, the fingers on his left hand twitching with an irregular beat, "No. Nonononono, no." He sounded faint, breathless, whether from sleep or panic Rose couldn't be sure, but she slowly lifted herself onto one elbow, careful not to disturb him but readying herself to wake him if she felt it necessary.
"You can't," his utterance, passing through barely opened lips, was only just discernable, "Itassastop. No choice. No choice. Not anymore." Rose swallowed hard, now sitting fully upright and inching closer to the disquieted Time Lord. His head thrashed suddenly to his right and Rose started, hesitating. He wasn't moving much, save for his head, but his whole body was rigid, his right hand fisted in the fine silk bedclothes and the fingers of his left still tapping out a discordant rhythm on his chest. He didn't move or speak for several moments, and Rose was torn between waking him and letting the dream run its course, leaving him none the wiser in the morning. Then, he spoke again.
"No more," the Doctor breathed with a weak, rasping voice, and Rose released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
"Doctor," she whispered, her voice shallow with fright, "Wake up." Without a clear plan, she reached out and wrapped his restless fingers in her steady hands, pressing tightly. For a second he stilled, and his brow relaxed.
"Rose," he mumbled, and she knew he was still asleep, "Rose, no. Nononono. Y'cantbehere, Rose." His momentary stillness broke into an increased panic, his eyes clenched shut and tears glistening along his lashes in the dim light. She had to wake him.
"Doctor," she hissed as loudly as she dared, grasping his hand more tightly between her own, "Wake up, Doctor. Please! Wake up!" Rose risked a glance in the general direction of the cot, but the Time Agent was still snoring soundly. Jack couldn't see the Doctor like this. Not ever.
"Rose?" Her name was enunciated clearly this time, and she turned her attention back to the Doctor. He was awake, his eyes open but unreadable in the dark.
"Doctor," Rose sighed, relieved beyond measure, "Doctor, you're all right. You're here with me an' Jack. We're in Egypt, in Alexandria, in – oh, hell, when are we?"
"40 BCE," the Doctor supplied, though the question had clearly been reflective. He remembered the dream in horrible, consuming detail; and, more critically, he remembered her face appearing before him, glowing gold and fierce. She wasn't supposed to be there, not there. Not one of the thousand dreams he'd had since the fall of his world had shaken him so thoroughly. Now, here she was, safe and sound and – what was that racket?
"Doctor," she said his name with the reverence of a prayer and released his hand, collapsing onto his chest in a fierce hug that startled him from his curiosity over that terrible noise. On instinct, he wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking her head and bringing his own breathing back to normal.
"It's all right Rose," he whispered into the soft waves of hair resting just beneath his chin. She chuckled in response, hugging him tighter.
"Isn't that s'posed to be my line?" she asked, her words muffled against the wool of his jumper. A wry smile creased his mouth. He ought to be embarrassed, but he just couldn't manage it.
"Thank you for waking me," he said, untangling his fingers from her hair with gentle reluctance and reaching for the hand grasping his shoulder. It was by turns surreal and utterly fantastic, her half-lying on his chest, but he knew better than to let it go on. As he made to ease her hand from his shoulder, however, she gripped tighter and nuzzled against him, warming his hearts even as she broke them. Still, he acquiesced, allowing her to stay put and wrapping long fingers around her petite wrist, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. She still had that mess of bracelets on, and as the lay there in the dark, he took to fiddling with them, never able to keep totally still for long.
Then, just as Rose's breathing was returning to normal, he pushed one of the bangles aside and felt something odd – and oddly familiar. It was the worn leather band and smooth, rectangular crystal face of a watch. A men's wristwatch, if he had to guess, as it was a touch too large in proportion to her wrist. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel it ticking, hear the subtle swish and click of the movement in the dark. He swallowed hard, knowing damn well his watch was still on his wrist. How long had she been wearing it? Had he given it to her after he regenerated? Had she found it herself? Had she asked for it? She must've had it on when she came through the void. Had she actually missed this rude, manic form and this – unconventional – face? When Rose's fingers flexed and she began to ease herself up, he schooled his features and suppressed the urge to pull her back to him.
"You all right then, Doctor?" she asked, propping herself up on one elbow, her other arm still slung over his chest, hand curled inside his. For several heartbeats, he didn't answer, his impressive Time Lord mind still reeling: 'She's wearing my watch. His watch. Whatever.'
"Did I ever tell you its name?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them, "My planet, I mean." Of course he hadn't, that much was obvious, but she knew what he meant.
"No," she whispered back, "Never."
"And you didn't ask?"
"Figured he'd tell me when he was ready." He felt rather than saw her shrug in the dark. Of course she wouldn't ask. So very perceptive, his Rose, and he couldn't help smiling.
"Lay back down," he said, "Long way 'till morning." Rose hesitated a moment, but when he made no move to release the hand held at his shoulder, she lowered herself down, resting her head on his near shoulder and finding his other hand loose at his side. She twined her fingers through his and closed her eyes. When he spoke again, several minutes later, she almost couldn't hear him.
"Gallifrey," he breathed, feeling the monumental burden lighten, if only for a moment, "It was called Gallifrey." Rose nuzzled closer, squeezing his hand to let him know she heard, and that he didn't need to say anything else. Jack was still snoring soundly in the corner. He'd give them no end of grief if he awoke before them, and the Doctor didn't much care. This would never happen again, he couldn't let it; but for just this one night he could lie next to her, feel her precious heart and her steady breathing by his side. Then, as if there were a god out there somewhere, a god who clearly hated him (not that the Doctor disagreed), Rose's head suddenly lifted from his shoulder and she took her hand from the one at his side in order to support her weight.
"Doctor?" she whispered, gazing at the parallel wall, "What is that?"