Chapter Four: Five Hundred Miles
John tried not to wiggle as he lay inside the Royal Hope's MRI machine. If he listened closely, he could hear his students over the sound of the steady, crashing pounds, and he hoped that they would finish quickly. He hated these tight enclosed spaces, and the noise was giving him a headache. Most of all, he hated that lying here meant he was free to worry.
Something was wrong with Rose. John knew that much. While he had always been the talkative one in their relationship, she had never been this quiet or unwilling to come back with a witty retort whenever he tried to banter. She barely smiled nowadays—or at least, genuinely smiled, that tongue-between-lips grin that he absolutely adored. He babbled and joked in an attempt to get her to smile again, and she did—but any laughter in her face faded to sadness far too quickly.
Hormones, John decided. One of those temperamental female hormone things that he had researched extensively in medical school and still baffled him. That, coupled with the return to reality from the high of an utterly fantastic honeymoon. That was all. Things would go back to normal soon enough.
Except they didn't. Days passed, then weeks, and Rose still had that same far-off look in her eyes that she'd had when looking at the stars their first night in their flat. If anything, she only seemed more withdrawn. He still remembered the evening when they'd visited the bizarre book shop a week ago. She'd seemed positively furious with him, and he still wasn't sure why. He hadn't even mentioned dinner ladies.
Now she seemed to have forgiven him, but the only thing she seemed willing to talk about was her studies, so he made sure to ask about them every day. She'd tell him a bit about what she was working on, but John couldn't make heads or tails out of any of the astronomy or physics terms. The disappointment in her eyes when he couldn't keep up with albedo features or event horizons confused him even further. It wasn't like he expected her to be able to list all the bones in the hand.
Not only did she seem reluctant to talk to him, but she stiffened slightly whenever he touched her. This alarmed him most of all; he couldn't remember a time when Rose had not at least offered him her hand.
She was acting like he had betrayed her somehow, but John could not for the life of him think what he must have done. She'd been perfectly happy on their honeymoon. How could he have managed to alienate her so quickly?
Rose was, in fact, acting so un-Rose-like that had he been a less rational man, he would have wondered if she was being possessed, or had been replaced by a clone. That sort of thing had happened before after all…
In his dreams, he reminded himself.
That was another thing. The dreams. They'd started the night before he and Rose moved into their flat, and had come every night since then. Wild and fantastical images that defied all logical possibility, so vivid that he felt his hearts—no, heart, one single, normal, human heart—pounding furiously when he awoke. Which was all well and entertaining at night, but too often the ideas and images bled into his waking thoughts as well.
Maybe he was going mad, and that was why Rose was upset.
Actually, that sort of made sense. He hadn't had these dreams before Rose had started being upset. Right when they came back from their honeymoon and he had hit his head in Jackie's kitchen. The nagging possibility of brain trauma, while troublesome, would explain why so much of John's life seemed to be very, very wrong. Which was why John had volunteered to be scanned for the practice MRI scan scheduled today instead of picking one of the students.
At long last, he felt himself sliding out of the MRI machine. The moment he was out of the tunnel, he jumped off the patient table and tried to hide his anxiety. "Well?"
"Brain's in perfect order, sir," answered one of the students, Oliver Morgenstern.
"No signs of trauma, no tumors," another student, Martha Jones, said brightly.
No signs of trauma. John knew he should be relieved, but somehow he only felt disappointment. While brain damage wasn't good news, at least it was some sort of solution. And however irrational it was, he felt like if he could solve the problem of his dreams, it would somehow solve his problems with Rose too.
He bit back a groan of frustration. He was a doctor, for crying out loud! He was supposed to be a man who made people better, and his own wife was acting like he'd broken her.
"Excellent work," he said, voice too bright to be genuine. "Shall we try the x-ray next?" He pretended to check his watch. "Ooh, better not, our time's about up…Lost track of time again. Another day perhaps. Dismissed!"
It was an hour until dismissal time, but none of the students saw fit to mention it. He waved and beamed at them all as they filed out, but he sagged against the wall once they were gone, his fists clutching at his hair in frustration.
If he wasn't insane, then what had Rose so upset? And why wouldn't she tell him about it? She used to tell him everything. She used to laugh and hug him and talk to him, and now she barely even told him about her day. She'd never acted like this before their honeymoon…
Her face swam in front of his eyes, her smile sad and wistful. Maybe…Maybe she was regretting marrying him. His breath caught in his throat at the thought, but it made sense. Oh, he was sure she had had fun with him, loved him even. But he was older than her, after all, and she was still young and had her whole life ahead of her. Maybe she'd come off the honeymoon high and felt trapped. And maybe she resented him for trapping her.
That would explain why she was so distant now, why she spoke vaguely when he asked how she was, why she was so secretive about what she did all day, why she seemed to spend so much of her time reading, why she waited until he was asleep before finally coming to bed…
He rubbed his hands down his face as he pictured the longing in her eyes when she waved him off every morning, like she was missing someone.
He sat bolt upright from the wall as a gut-wrenching thought occurred to him. Another explanation for why Rose never said what she did all day, why she seemed so distant.
She'd found someone else.
He shoved himself away from the wall and hurried through the hospital, suddenly desperate to get home. How could he have been so thick? She'd told him she spent her days reading—who spent all day reading? Especially textbooks!
He was in a full-blown sprint by the time he reached Bessie. He dropped his keys twice before managing to turn them in the ignition. Anger broiled inside him, making his hands on the steering wheel tremble as he thought of Rose in the arms of someone else, someone tall and well-built and wearing a leather jacket.
He nearly crashed as he drove out into the street, and he took a few deep breaths as the more rational part of his brain kicked in. Rose would never do that to him. She was one of the most selfless people he had ever met, not to mention loyal and patient. She'd told him once that she'd never leave him, and he believed her. And he had no proof. He was tired and frustrated, and was being completely irrational.
He tried to relax as he parked the car outside the flat. All he needed to do was figure out what he had done and fix it, he thought as he made his way to the door. Easy-peasy lemon squeeze-y…and he was never going to even think that phrase again.
As he opened the door to the flat, his heart leapt—the sound of Rose's laughter was drifting from the kitchen. Real laughter, the kind he hadn't heard from her in ages.
And then he heard another voice in the kitchen, a distinctly male voice, and something inside him snapped. He stormed to the kitchen with fists clenched and blood pounding in his ears, ready to strike and fight and obliterate whoever had succeeded in getting Rose Tyler to laugh where he had failed.
But he froze as he stepped inside to see not some muscle-y leather-jacket-wearing man, but Jack. The laughter on Rose's face died the second John entered the kitchen. Both Rose and Jack were gaping at him, near-identical looks of alarm on both their faces.
"John?" Rose said tentatively, reaching out a hand as if she was about to pet a wild animal. "You're early…is everything all right?"
Deep, hot shame flooded him so thoroughly he could taste it as she enveloped him in a hug. He breathed in the smell of her hair and felt all his anger melt to crushing guilt. What was wrong with him? He was being paranoid and obsessive. Rose deserved better than this. But at the same time he couldn't bring himself to let go of her, no matter how much he told himself that he didn't deserve this for being so thick.
"I'm—I'm sorry. I thought—I—" He took a deep, calming breath. "Jack, what are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you," Jack said with an attempt at joviality to cover the worry etched into his gaze. "Thought we were going to see the game, get some drinks?"
Right. Friday, which meant he and Jack were going out for what Rose had called "male bonding time." His idea, because he and Jack hadn't spent much time together since he'd gotten back from his honeymoon.
"Oh. Yes. Right." The words came out awkwardly, and John could feel both Rose and Jack still staring at him as if he were a bomb about to explode. "Well…off we go then?"
"Sure. Later, Rose."
Rose bit her lip. "You look…tense. Are you sure you want to—"
"Of course I do!" John said brightly, forcing his face into a grin. "Be good to get out of the flat for once." At this, Rose had an odd expression on her face. "I mean, not that I don't enjoy your company and all—" He cut himself off in horror, afraid of saying anything else stupid. But now Rose had the mysteriously wistful look on her face again, and he felt compelled to say something. "Er, don't wait up?"
He really wanted her to wait up.
"All right," she said reluctantly.
John and Rose both stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before Jack clapped a hand on John's shoulder. "Soooo…see ya, Rose." He prodded John towards the door, and with one forlorn glance back at Rose, John followed.
John, Jack noted, was exceptionally quiet tonight. Not that Jack was exactly sure what to say either. The look in John's eyes when he had entered the kitchen…Jack had seen that look before, but it hadn't been aimed at him since he'd first come aboard the TARDIS and been told that the blonde was off-limits.
But now the anger was gone, leaving John's shoulders in a permanent slump as he gazed blankly at the road. He hadn't even asked to drive the car after they'd left Rose—just slid into the passenger's seat without a word.
"So, how are things?" Jack asked finally. John's complete silence was unnerving.
John's gaze remained fixed on the road. "Rose. I think…Jack, she's your sister, but would you tell me if she was…"
"Was what?"
"Was…" John swallowed, gaze lowering to his lap.
Whatever it was, he couldn't bring himself to say it, so Jack said what he'd been thinking ever since John had invited him to go to the game. "Do you even like football?"
John sighed and slunk down further in his seat. "Not really. Cricket's better."
Jack jerked the steering wheel into a sharp turn. "Then forget the game. We're going to buy you a drink."
"The quest in the question, the best of the rest and…"
"The gems of the wide galaxy!" Jack shouted back with a laugh. He was pretty sure that song wouldn't exist for another couple hundred years, but John had swapped moping for singing after drink number four, so Jack didn't care.
"Oh, the giiiiirls of Nebulax Threeeeee!" John finished. Laughing giddily, he crashed into Jack and clung to his shoulder. "Do you know what I like about you, Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"You've got a big…big…" He flailed his hand around.
Seven equally dirty comments came to mind, but before Jack could get a chance to say any of them, John finished, "Big coat! I want one."
An almighty cheer erupted from the tipsy crowd around them.
"Ooh, did we win?" John asked eagerly.
"Who were you rooting for?"
John managed to steady himself enough to let go of Jack. "Criiiiiicket. Crickedy-crick-crick-cricket! With a dash of celery! Football's absolutely rubbish."
"Then yeah, you won."
"Oi, you, hold on!" John lurched towards the leaping crowd. "You, yes you!"
A rather large man with ginger hair and an enormous beer in his hand turned around. Like John, he too seemed to be a bit unsteady.
John fell forward, catching himself by latching onto the arm holding the beer, causing most of the beer to splash on its drinker.
"I had a dream about you!" John slurred with a grin. "Last night!"
The ginger man, who already looked angry about the loss of his beer, tried to shake John off. "What you on about?"
"Whoa, whoa!" Jack lunged forward to grab John. Ginger didn't look very happy.
"Are you a Slitheen?" John asked suspiciously, undeterred by Ginger's vigorous shaking.
"Oi, mate, are you loony?"
"Sorry," Jack said hastily, trying to pry John off Ginger's arm. "Excuse my friend, he's had way too much, although," he grinned, "Can't really blame him. What's your name?"
"Just get him off me!"
"Jack, help me find the zip!" John insisted, staring avidly at Ginger's head.
Jack heard something beep in his pocket. "Hold on, hold on…" He pulled out a small device the size of a mobile, which beeped angrily in his hand. "Well, what do you know." He shoved the detector back in his pocket. "Where are you from, big guy?"
Ginger's lips pressed together. "Sheffield."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Really. Because I'm getting the impression you're from somewhere a bit further off. Like Saffroon."
Ginger gave John a hard shove, sending him falling some distance away on his bum with an indignant "Ow! That was rude!"
"Yeah?" Ginger said menacingly, his accent fading as he stepped closer to Jack. The alien stood a whole head taller than the captain. "What do you care?"
Jack glared up at him, unintimidated. "I care because Saffrons eat humans. So get off this planet and find your snacks somewhere else."
"Or what?" The Saffron raised a big, beefy fist.
"Oh, I love this song!" John cheerily pushed himself between Jack and the Saffron, swaying on his feet.
Without taking his eyes off the Saffon, Jack pulled John out of the way. "John, go sing karaoke or something," he ordered, pointing towards a microphone at the back of the bar.
"No," said John in disbelief, a grin spreading over his face, "They have karaoke? That's just brilliant."
"Go." Jack gave him a shove towards the microphone, still not breaking eye contact with the Saffron.
Beaming, John stumbled through the celebrating football fans up to the stage.
The Saffron and Jack both stared at each other as John seized the microphone and began enthusiastically, "When I wake up, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you!"
Jack smiled widely. Charm had gotten him out of far worse scrapes before. "Your disguise is pretty decent. Puts a new spin on 'a wolf in sheep's clothing.'"
The Saffron made a very inhuman growling noise. "I'm not here just for hunting. I'm here on a job from Patrival Regency Nine."
"What do they want with a human?"
The Saffron snorted in disgust. "Not a human. Plasmavore. The human meals are just a bonus. Job perk, if you will."
"Well, then, point still stands. You can't eat humans unless you'd like to go through me first." Jack moved his hand towards his pocket menacingly.
"You're bluffing," the Saffron huffed, taking a step forward. "If you had a weapon, you would have shot me by now."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Try me. Last chance. Get off this planet."
The Saffron swung at him just as John's voice crescendoed. "But I would walk five hundred miles…"
Jack ducked. "All right, maybe I was bluffing!" He launched himself at the Saffron in a flying tackle. The crowd, who was drunkenly cheering John on, diverted their attention to the fistfight on the floor, swarming around them with raucous cheers.
"Da la da, da la da, da-da-da dun-diddle un-diddle un-diddle uh da-daaaaa!"
If John noticed the fight or the crowd's attention moving away from him, he didn't seem to care. He continued singing with gusto, dipping the microphone and weaving like he would fall over any second. "But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more!" Someone tossed a football onto the stage, narrowly missing John's head. His hand flew up to catch it perfectly, and John stared at it, blinking stupidly as if he could not believe what his hand had just done. Then he held it triumphantly above his head and continued, "Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your do-o-ooooor!" At the last note, he launched the football back into the crowd.
The ball bounced off a table, then the wall, and slammed into a light fixture, sending sparks flying. As the sparks showered down on a man below, he yelped and leapt backwards, sending a woman sprawling. Her red fruity drink flew out of her hand in a perfect arc to land on the Saffron's head.
The Saffron, who by now had Jack pinned down by the throat, howled as the drink splashed on his skin. Jack used the distraction to shove the Saffron off, then rolled away as the Saffron's skin started to bubble like molten wax, melting off a bipedal, dark orange, hairy form.
Jack dipped his finger in a drop of the red drink that had splashed on his cheek and licked it. He grinned. "Strawberry daiquiri?"
At the sight of the alien, the entire pub erupted in hysteria and started shoving for the door, drunkenly stumbling off in all directions.
When the Saffron stopped moving, Jack glanced back up at the stage. The speakers had been smashed, cutting off the music, but John was still swaying in time as if the music was still playing, clinging to the microphone like it was a steady pillar.
"Am I that bad a singer?" he asked, evidently crestfallen.
It was a long time before Jack stopped laughing.
A/N: If you haven't seen the YouTube video in which the whole cast sings that song, you really should.