Disclaimer: The disclaimage of this disclaimer is beyond comprehension.
"Can you hear it?" he asked, turning to her. He watch in interest as her face scrunched in concentration. She cocked her head to the side, her brows crushed together. Her beautiful, perfectly arched brows.
"Is that... music?" she asked, her full perfect lips forming around the words slowly. The Doctor admired them silently for a moment before pushing the thoughts from his head. He grinned and nodded. "Oh my God. Is that- is that Elvis singin'?" Her eyes widened in disbelief, and her smile took his breath away. Thank goodness for respiratory bypass system.
"I promised you Elvis, and here we are. It's a beautiful October night. There are no face-stealing aliens about. And just through those doors, he's preforming live in front of one hundred and fifty-two people."
Her grin widened, a hint of pink tongue poking through her teeth. "About to be one hundred and fifty-four," she said with a giggle.
"Join me, Rose Tyler?" He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers. Rose laughed.
"Gladly." She took his hand, their fingers lacing together comfortably, fitting like a puzzle. Their hands seemed to fit so perfectly before, in his last body, but now he realized that that had been nothing compared to now. These hands were
made to hold hers. Everything about his body, it seemed, was made perfect for her. Especially his new 'pretty boy' look. Rose did always have an eye for pretty boys...
"Off we go, then. Allons-y!"
John sighed, sitting up in his bed. He stared at the wall for a long moment, deep in thought, before getting up with a groan. The cold air that struck him once the covers were gone had him shivering after the sweat from his sleep. He couldn't quite remember his dream completely, but he knew that she was there, the mysterious Rose.
A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts, and he quickly pulled his dressing gown over his pajamas. Martha strode in, a tray held against her hip.
"Good morning, Mr. Smith," she greeted warmly. John nodded, giving her a tight lipped smile.
"Good morning, Martha. And what's on the menu today?" he asked, taking a seat at his desk. Martha brought the tray over and set it down in front of him.
"Same as yesterday, I'm afraid. The cook needs to take a trip into the market for more ingredients. Can't say Mr. Watson will be too happy."
John nodded understandingly, scratching his chin. "No, I daresay he won't be. Tell me, Martha, how is Miss Tyler?"
Martha began pouring a cup of tea for him as she answered. "She is well. Her injury seems to be healing at a rather normal pace now." She handed him his cup carefully. "She's not been sleeping very well, though," she added with a frown.
"I can't imagine she would be. Not remembering anything about yourself or who you are... It could drive anyone mad," John sighed.
Martha nodded, but something in her expression made John suspicious there was more she wanted to say. However, she excused herself and quickly left the room, choosing not to press the matter. John shrugged it off and was left to eat in silence, his thoughts drifting slowly back to his dreams.
Rose sighed heavily, punching the pillow under her head, trying to get comfortable. She hardly slept a wink the night before due to the discomfort provided by the lumpy 20th century mattress. It was hell. She had grown far too used to her expensive, beautifully comfortable bed at the Tyler mansion (from the few nights that she actually did sleep), and now anything less seemed to just be impossible to sleep on.
Of course, she knew if she were on her bed in the TARDIS, she'd be sleeping wonderfully. That bed was perfect, and the humming and singing of the old machine always managed to lull her to sleep without fail. There had only ever been one time that she'd found herself struggling, due to terrible nightmares that plagued her after they left the planet orbiting the black whole.
And rather than the expected dreams of dying, or being attacked by Satan or anything of the sort, all she saw when she closed her eyes was the Doctor, alone. It terrified her, and it made her so very sad for him. She never wanted to leave him, never wanted him to be alone. The dream was so crippling that it wasn't until she had the Doctor holding her, calming her violent sobbing that she realized she was crying at all. That night, she just held onto him for dear life, crying silently into his shirt until she fell asleep. He was gone when she woke up, and they never spoke about it again, but the nightmares never returned after that. Just the terrifying thoughts that haunted her when she was alone.
She sighed, knowing she wasn't likely to get any sleep any time soon, and threw the covers away, sitting upright. Sunlight peeked through the curtains on the windows, lighting up the small room. She stood, shivering at the feel of the cold wood beneath her bare feet, and walked to the window. She yanked open the curtains and smiled at the view.
The school was beautiful and old, sitting on a high hill overlooking fields of green grass and crops. The tiny village to the North was adorable, in Rose's eyes, and something she'd definitely have to check out in her time there.
She froze, a wave of fear once again washing over her. How was she going to get back? In the future, though it seemed distant to anyone else, her entire planet was in danger, and it was her job to save it. But now she was stuck here, with no clue how she got there or how to get back.
Tears rose to her eyes as the realization struck her. She didn't know what she'd do if she ended up stuck there forever. Ever since her separation from the Doctor, she'd been trying with everything she had to find a way back to him. And now she was stuck in 1913, in the middle of one of the worst wars in history.
She bit her lip, wishing more than ever that the Doctor were with her. She would at least like to be stuck with him. But instead all she had was this strange man that looked just like him, and yet couldn't be more different. She could see just from observing him for a few seconds that he was far too clumsy, far too human, far too sane, and far too John Smith. Never mind that it was the common surname the Doctor often used.
Another obvious sign was that he was far too unexcited to see her. Her Doctor would have swept her up in his arms and held her close, laughing with joy at seeing her again, despite the seemingly impossible circumstances.
Pulling herself from her thoughts, she moved away from the window and decided to inspect the bookshelf. It was a rather decent sized collection of books, most of them ones she'd never heard of, no surprise there. Her breath caught however when her eyes fell on a particular, impossible book. After meeting Charlotte Bronte herself with the Doctor in 1845, Rose had instantly taken to reading her works. Her particular favorite was the book Jane Eyre, and so she'd been more than disappointed to find out that in the alternate universe, it had never been published. So something was definitely wrong (or possibly very very right) if the book was sitting there on the shelf, right in front of her.
With a shaking hand, Rose reached out and pulled the book from the shelf, inspecting the cover. She stared at it long and hard, searching for any hint or sign that it wasn't real. She half expected the title to change to something else at any moment. When nothing happened, she took a deep breath through her nose and began walking towards the window seat. Holding the book like a life-line, she sat down and opened it. The feel of the paper was so strange compared to the books she was used to, and somehow it made it seem even more magical. Still struggling to believe that what she was seeing was real, Rose began to read. As she read, she forced herself to ignore the implications of what the book's existence meant, and enjoy herself.
She was reading for nearly an hour when a knock on the door interrupted her. The door opened, and Martha walked in, carrying a heavy-looking tray.
"Good morning, Miss Tyler," she greeted brightly, setting the tray on a small table by the bed. "How are you feeling this morning?"
Rose smiled. She closed the book with her finger between the pages to hold her place. "Sore, and the would itches a bit now, but otherwise I'm feeling much better." She stood, walking towards her.
"Any luck with you memory?" Rose shook her head, beginning to help Martha with setting up the food. Martha blinked in surprise. "Please, Miss, you don't have to do that."
"Let me help," Rose insisted kindly. "I'd like to do somethin'. I don't think I'm one for bein' cooped up in a single room."
Martha grinned. "Thank you." She finished and straightened. "I can understand how you feel. My mum, she'd always been so protective of me and my sister, Tish. Still is, really. She's always trying to keep me in one place. But I love to travel."
Rose silently agreed. "Where do you travel?" she asked curiously, lifting the cup of tea to her lips. She blew on it gently before taking a sip. The scalding liquid felt like a wave of relief running down her throat. What she wouldn't do for a cup of her mum's tea...
Martha shrugged. "Anywhere. Imagine, Jackie, if you could go anywhere in the world, the universe." She grinned. "Out to the very stars."
Rose laughed, smiling at the fond memories. "If only I could..." she sighed. She smiled cheekily at Martha. "Is that where you go? You go out to the stars and planets, see whole other worlds, then?"
"Do you believe there are other planets, other worlds out there?" was Martha's quick retort. Rose blinked in surprise at the question.
"I- I don't know. I think so. I mean, why not? It'd be amazin' if there are. The universe is much bigger than just us, at least. I know that much." Oh, yes, it certainly was. Much, much bigger.
Martha smiled and nodded. "My thoughts exactly. Even if you don't have your memory, you seem to be very wise, Miss Tyler." Rose shook her head.
"No. I think someone probably has said that to me before." Well, at least it was true. The Doctor loved to remind her how amazingly huge the universe was, and how tiny they really were.
There was another knock on the door, and they both looked over in surprise to see Mr. Smith standing in the doorway, looking sheepish. Rose felt her heart jump into her throat at the sight of him, and took a step back. If Martha noticed, she didn't show it.
Mr. Smith cleared his throat. "Good morning. I just wanted to see how you were doing after last night," he greeted. Rose forced down a sob as he spoke. It frightened her how this man could be so like him, and yet so completely different.
"I'm doing quite well, thanks. You're Mr. Smith, right?" She nearly flinched at how forced the polite tone of her voice sounded. She prayed they didn't notice it.
Mr. Smith smiled and nodded, walking closer with his hand outstretched.
"Yes, John Smith. I'm the history professor here." John Smith, the overly common alias the Doctor was so fond of.
Rose glanced down at his hand, almost hesitantly, before taking it and shaking was warm, and slightly sweaty, so unlike the Doctor's cool hands, and yet still seemed to fit hers near perfectly. She shook it briefly before pulling away.
She gave a cordial smile. "It's nice to properly meet you. I never got to thank you for last night. I don't remember much, but I was told you helped Martha bring me to the Matron." Mr. Smith nodded, his smile widening a bit.
"Yes, yes, that was me. You gave us all quite a fright, I think. There seemed to be an impossible amount of blood." He grimaced at the memory. Rose fought to keep her breathing under control and level, terrified that he might catch on to her discomfort and question her on it.
"Well, thank you. I probably would be dead if it weren't for you." Mr. Smith and Martha exchanged a glance, both thinking similar thoughts. Neither commented, however.
"Well, are you having any luck with your memory at all?" Mr. Smith asked after a moment, just before the silence could grow awkward. Rose shook her head, giving a sad smile.
"No, but it seems I'm rather fond of 'Jane Eyre'," she said, holding up the book that she still held. Mr. Smith grinned.
"You read, then? Well- I mean, obviously you do. It's a great book, fantastic really. It's always been a personal favorite of mine. I often wonder what it would be like to meet the author herself. She seems like she was a brilliant woman." He mentally chided himself for rambling, but kept a smile plastered on his face.
Rose allowed a soft, somewhat forced giggle, her unease growing. He was rambling, just like the Doctor always had. And at that moment all she wanted was to throw her arms around him and sob into his chest, yet at the same time kick him out of the room, screaming. This man was not her Doctor. Her Doctor would remember her. This man was something else entirely. Something so completely right, and yet so impossibly wrong.
Sorry if anything I've said regarding the book is incorrect, as I don't know much about it or Charlotte Bronte. However, it is definitely a book I intend to read.