A/N: Thank you so much for all the support for this story! I really appreciate it.
Huge thank you to my beta Latessitrice for all her hard work (and for listening to me complain). Lamia is my amazing pre-reader, so a big thank you to her as well for all she does.
Chapter 9
The dreams were really starting to annoy her. Rose couldn't remember the last time she'd slept without dreaming. She had starting noting down the dreams and their occurrences, just to give herself something to do with them. However, after doing this for little over a week, she'd started to notice a pattern. Apart from the strange dreams about ghosts and robots that she'd decided were her imagination gone wild, they had distinct themes.
The first were the dreams that ended the same. They started out completely differently, crazy dreams in which she was a circus performer, and others that were replicas of a standard day. Yet they always ended with being buried alive. Rose had been so disturbed by this that she'd looked up the meaning of it on the internet. It actually helped to know that it was a pretty common dream. Unfortunately, it symbolised that she was about to make a great mistake, and considering the things she'd done in the last few weeks, that wasn't unlikely.
The other dream, was of the man in the dark jacket. She didn't really ever see his face, all she got were snatches, often his retreating form. If she did see his face, she forgot on waking, and she'd decided he had to be either an old friend or boyfriend. Some days she woke feeling one way, some days the other, but really neither fitted well. All she knew was he was important, and he was locked away in her lost years.
The final set of dreams starred Dr John Smith. Unlike the others, they were exceptionally specific, and she grudgingly had to admit were probably memories. Every detail was identical when they occurred, but the problem with these is they were only small segments of what she believed was a very important whole. In the first dream, he was dressed in a suit, standing under a light, as if waiting for her. When she saw him, no matter where this dream was set, he always smiled, his mouth lifting from one corner to the other. He'd always ask, "Am I late?" and that's where it would end.
It wasn't really the events of the dream that got to her, as nothing actually happened. It was more the feeling that she was left with for the rest of the day. She couldn't compare anything to that feeling. It followed her around, whispered to her, made it self known but wouldn't explain itself. Gnawing on her mind, pulsing in her fingertips, and creeping into her senses. It consumed her, became her shadow for hours, and she had no idea what to do with it.
In the other dream, she was sitting on a beach. It was cold, and either early morning or late night, possibly a combination of both. The sky was a shade of blue that wasn't quite morning, but not a time to be awake either. There was water everywhere. The sand was damp, the sea spray was in her hair, and tears blocked her nose and eyes. She could still feel it after she woke up. He was there with her, and that's all she was allowed to see. There was no feeling to accompany this, but she thought that might have been part of it.
These dreams were written down in a faded notebook, sitting on the edge of her bed. She didn't know if that would help, or make it worse. For now, it was enough just to know she did dream. At least that part of her mind was normal.
#~#~#
Despite the fact that Pete had already discussed her test results with her, Rose decided it might be best to see Dr Richardson anyway. She had agreed, pleasantly surprised that Rose was making an effort. Rose didn't divulge that she had her own agenda in this. Her family and Dr Smith were avoiding her questions after the apartment incident, so she thought someone who knew the situation, but wasn't involved would be her best bet.
Seeing as the clinic wasn't in a fit state to be used, Dr Richardson directed Rose to Torchwood itself, and from there she was escorted by a surly security guard down into what seemed to be a lab. It was very sterile in both smell and decor: white and glass, clean and fresh but steering slightly away from clinical. She could hear voices, even laughter from the host of closed white doors she passed. There were obviously many people working down here, and Rose had to wonder exactly what Torchwood needed a sterilised lab for.
She could see people moving through the frosted glass of the corridor, but none of the doors had name plates, or any sort of identification that allowed you to know what was inside. A few even crossed her path, walking along the corridors and through different rooms. All acknowledged her, smiling and wishing her a good morning, which Rose assumed was due to her father's status. They'd probably all met her before, so she smiled and nodded as they spoke. A woman who was probably only a few years younger than her almost stopped on her way past, opening her mouth to say something, then closed it and hurried past. Rose turned and looked as she went, wishing she knew who the woman was. The entire situation was odd, but wasn't as odd as it should have been. As soon as she stepped off the lift and into the long corridor, something started nagging at the back of her mind. It wasn't the usual pulse telling her that something was amiss. It was different, another feeling that she hadn't encountered. She wasn't sure what to make of it.
She wasn't allowed to contemplate the idea further though. Suddenly, the guard turned off to the right, and she was forced to follow. The unmarked door stood before her, and she glanced up at him. He blinked.
"Doctor Richardson's temporary office," he said, looking at her as if she had sprouted a second head.
"Right," she muttered, feeling embarrassed that she had been so caught up in her thoughts she had to be told. She walked forward and knocked on the door. The guard waited patiently behind her. She assumed it was to make sure she didn't suddenly turn around and start investigating the other rooms. She had to admit, she probably wouldn't have passed up the opportunity.
Within a few second, Dr Richardson opened the door, ushering Rose inside quickly, and nodding to the guard as she did. Rose was surprised at how normal the room looked. She supposed she was expecting something top secret and technologically advanced, but it was almost a replica of a standard doctor's office. A small part of her was disappointed, even though she had no reason to be. Not everything that she was involved in had to be as exciting as her last trip to the doctor's.
It turned out this was the correct assessment. While Dr Richardson did come up with a few other memory tasks and exercises she could do, and explained more of what her test meant, Rose couldn't make her budge on the origins of her memory loss.
"I actually know a college with a fantastic book on the subject, Rose. I'll just go and get it, I won't be a moment. It might help allay some of your worries."
Feeling dejected, Rose sat and stared aimlessly at the white walls while doctor Richardson went to get said book. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the presence of another person in the room until the sound of a throat clearing broke through the silence.
Rose twisted round quickly, almost falling out of the chair in shock as she turned to see the woman from the hallway. She was tall, her large boots aiding her height, and dressed in a lab coat. She had long dark hair, the ringlets of which she twisted around her fingers as her eyes gazed around the room. She was nervous, possibly even afraid. Rose stood up and walked towards her slowly, recovering from her surprise.
The woman looked up as she approached. "I didn't mean to startle you, and I'm sorry that I've interrupted. But I had to speak to you, and I'm not sure if I'll get another chance before..." she stopped and swallowed deeply, her eyes darting to the door. She obviously wasn't meant to be in here, and she looked as if she might pass out from the panic.
"What's your name? I'm sorry if I know you, I can barely remember anything from the past six years."
The woman smiled sadly. "It's Michelle. I'm a research assistant here. We were...friends I suppose, or I'd like to think we were. And that's why I need to talk to you. It's about your memory loss."
Everything seemed to slow as the words reached Rose, and it took her a few seconds to wrap her mind around the situation.
"W-what do you mean?"
Michelle's eyes darted to the door again. "I don't have much time, but I need you to know that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Rose, I had no idea. I just need you to know that for when..." she trailed off, and then sidestepped towards the door.
"No, wait, you can't just say that and go!" Rose said, her voice rising hysterically as she spoke. Michelle just shook her head and continued moving.
"You'll remember, I know you will. And when you do, you'll understand. Again, I'm really, really sorry, Rose. Take care of yourself."
And with that she was gone, out of the door and taking the only clue to Rose's past with her.
#~#~#
Her flat was cold and a little musty, but it was the first place she could think of going to after meeting Michelle. She sat on her bed, wrapped up in a blanket she'd found at the top of the wardrobe, flicking through one of the books from Dr Smith's room. It seemed like the best thing to do to take her mind off it, except the book seemed to be about foliage and was both dull and confusing. It was enough to flick the pages and read a few sentences while her mind attempted to process what had happened.
Today she'd met someone who actually understood what had happened to her. Whoknew, and had something to apologise for. That was really what was bothering her. She'd been in an accident. While she'd always had trouble believing that was the whole truth, she hadn't considered what the alternative could be. She certainly hadn't considered that she might not have played an active role in her memory loss.
Rose let the book drop into her hands and flopped back onto the bed. It wasn't that much of an assumption to think Michelle was else would she apologise? It wasn't the sort of apology that was given in sympathy for her condition, but one that meant she knew something. But what? Yet again, even though she'd opened the door to understanding, it blew shut as soon as she glanced inside. From all that she'd learnt, she knew only a few facts. Her accident didn't make sense, and everyone tried their best not to talk about it. Torchwood was somehow involved, and she was known well there. She'd had some sort of relationship with Dr Smith, one that he took pains to cover up and deny even though they were obviously close. How close she was still to discover, but it was obvious there was something going on there.
Steering herself away from thoughts of Dr Smith, she turned back to Torchwood. She had no real idea of what they did there. Her father owned the company, but she had no idea what they did, other than seem to occupy most of Pete's waking hours. Rose stared up at the ceiling. Torchwood...Torchwood...Torchwood.
"Head of Defence and Relations."
The words slipped out of her mouth suddenly, echoing around the otherwise silent flat. Rose sat up, catching sight of her pale and shocked face in the mirror. Keeping her reflection before her, she stood and walked over, until just her face and hair were framed in the glass.
"Head of...Defence and Relations?" she asked, her mouth mulling over the unusual title. She waited to see if something clicked, if she suddenly transformed into something recognisable. She tilted her head to the side, almost as if she were waiting for the person in the mirror to give her the answer.
"Rose Tyler, Head of Defence and Relations," she announced to the mirror, flashing a grin and pretending she was introducing herself.
He hadn't stopped laughing since she'd told him her title. She wasn't exactly sure why he was still laughing at her, and she almost wished she could be angry. But she wasn't. Because the more hysterical his laughter got, the more she couldn't help but smile. Before she knew it, she was laughing too, because it was ridiculous, and stupid, and impossible but it was true. She was here, and that was her job, her life, and he was with her. So she laughed until she cried, which made it easier somehow.
The memory faded in an instant, and Rose found herself staring at her pale and shocked face in the mirror. The flashes were unpredictable and still made little sense, but they were becoming more frequent. She had a feeling she could name the man who had been laughing with her, even though her memory wasn't that specific. She sighed and turned away from the mirror, her fingers ghosting along the edge of the frame, the texture and patterns feeling foreign against her fingertips.
Her mind felt as if it were shutting down after the revelations of the day, so she idly began searching through drawers and the few belongings in her bedroom. There was hardly anything there - some old perfume bottles, and jewelery that she was shocked she'd worn at some point in time. It was either too bulky or too juvenile to go with anything she wore now. She moved over to the bedside table, and searched through the drawers. There wasn't anything in the bottom two, but the top contained a face-down book, a bottle of peach nail polish, and lip balm. She stared at the random items, wondering why they had been left behind. She picked up the book, it's brown, worn pages and basic cover told her it had to be at least secondhand. She glanced at the title, but The Mystery of Edwin Drood meant nothing to her, although memories of getting bored with Oliver Twistinformed her she had read Dickens before. She'd been reading the novel because a piece of card stuck out slightly from just over halfway, marking her place.
Curiously, she opened the book at the page she'd stopped on. However, instead of focusing on the words of the time-stained page, she found herself focused on the makeshift bookmark. It wasn't a piece of card as she'd assumed, but a photograph. She stared at it, the novel slipping from her hands as she spoke.
And she remembered.
#~#~#
It was dark by the time she returned home. She parked next to the bright yellow convertible that she knew would be there, but wasn't quite able to open the door. After what she remembered tonight, a part of her didn't really want to face what she was going to do. It involved two awkward conversations that she didn't want to have, one with Dr Smith and one with her mother. She couldn't imagine that either would go well.
Eventually she forced herself out of the car, and trudged her way up the drive and to the front steps. By the time she reached the door, it had already been opened, and Jackie stood there against the light and warmth of the hallway, looking part-annoyed, part-worried. Rose sighed, knowing that her phone conversation earlier that afternoon had worried her mum. She'd been half-saturated in the small yet momentous discovery that she'd made, and in an instant had made a decision. She needed to move out. She needed to go back to her flat and try to start living her own life again. She still had barely any memories, and much of her life was shrouded in mystery. But she didn't need to treated like a child and wrapped in cotton wool. She needed to be an adult, and she needed her own flat.
She offered her mum a smile as she walked in, ignoring the inevitable twist of her stomach as she did. This wasn't going to be fun.
#~#~#
Rose wondered, as she sat outside with her back against the glass door of the conservatory, if she'd started smoking again during the years she couldn't remember. She could really do with a cigarette right now. She'd never seriously smoked, it was more of a rebellion thing when she was a teenager, and then became a drunken habit as she got older. She sighed and closed her eyes, the sting from the tears of the evening dulling as she did. She wasn't sure if Jackie really understood her reasons. She wasn't back to her old self, so in her mother's eyes she still wasn't well enough to live by herself. She tended to cry when her mother did, and Jackie had been exceptionally emotional, almost as if she were moving to another planet rather than to another part of London. But Rose needed her own space. So she'd cried, and she tried to explain and eventually her mum had calmed slightly. She was sure it would be fine in time, but for now, it was raw and painful.
She would have been happy to sit and stay as it got darker and colder, but the tell-tale sound of Converse hitting the ground reminded her that there was still another conversation to be had tonight. Her eyes remained closed as Dr Smith approached slowly, then sat down heavily beside her.
Rose inhaled the fresh air deeply once, then moved her head and opened her eyes. He wasn't looking at her, his back resting against the glass and his face turned to the sky. She mirrored his position, staring into the dark, trying to make out the constellations that were hidden from her eyes in the lights of the city. They were silent for a few minutes.
"I heard Jackie yelling."
Rose snorted. "I think everyone south of the river heard Jackie yelling." Dr Smith cracked a smile, and the moment was lighter for a while. It didn't last though, and Rose looked across at the garden, attempting to work out how to start this conversation.
"I'm moving out. Of here at least. Back to the flat."
Rose was hoping for a reaction to this, but she didn't get one. He barely even twitched, simply said, "Hence the yelling."
It was like pulling teeth, trying to get him to ask her questions so that she wouldn't have to come out and say everything. But it looked like she had no choice. Turning away from him and back toward the garden, she swallowed thickly, and then spoke.
"I remembered something today." Out of the corner of her eye she saw his head move in her direction, but she didn't move. "I'd been remembering it for a while, actually. I just didn't really understand what it was until today."
This was the awkward part. She finally turned and looked at him, mirroring his position with her head against the glass and turned to the side.
"You lied when you said we were nothing."
He shrugged, looking anywhere but her as he spoke. "Didn't you already tell me this?"
"Yeah, but I was going on a hunch then," she confessed, watching as he frowned, trying to work out if he should take the bait. Finally he sighed and turned and shook his head.
"And now you're not."
"No."
"Because?"
"Because I love you."
She expected the awkward silence. She expected her palms to start sweating despite the cold, her head to pound and her stomach to twist uncomfortably. She did not expect Dr Smith to laugh. Her hands began to shake as he knocked his head against the glass twice, still laughing, a bitter and harsh sound that seemed to echo inside her head. She watched numbly as he clambered to his feet, the laughter halting.
"You don't love me."
Rose stood too, her emotions flickering between angry, hurt and confused. She followed him as marched across the grass, the dew staining her shoes and seeping into her feet.
"How can you say that? How can you not remember?" she demanded as she walked, forcing him to stop and face her. She was surprised to see the same look on his face that he'd had all those weeks ago when she'd offered him the brown suit.
"Rose, you're the one who doesn't remember. I know exactly what you're remembering, what you're feeling. And I'm not the person of your memories, or the person you love."
Anger was starting to trump all other emotions as Rose listened to his cryptic words. She shook her head in frustration, her arms flying out to the side.
"That makes no sense! I only have two memories of you, and you don't even know what they are. Why are you assuming you understand this?"
He opened his mouth, ready to most likely once again argue against her, but he didn't get a chance. Now that Rose had started, she couldn't stop.
"I loved you. I say loved because I'm talking about before the accident, but it's still there. It makes complete sense to me now, and I can't believe that I even forgot something so...ingrained in my life. It's why you drive me completely insane but I'm still completely fascinated by you. It's why I avoid you but am disappointed when you're not there. It's why even though I have no memories of you, every single moment of my life comes right back to you. It's so obvious, I'm so stupid!" Rose threw her hands up in frustration, the movement allowing her to wipe her eyes as they fell back down.
"I'm..." she hesitated, forcing herself to catch his eye. This was so much harder than she thought, trying to make sense of something, and someone she barely understood. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I didn't remember sooner. I can't even imagine what it's been like for you...it took me so long, and I know there's still so much I don't remember about you and about us. But I remember when I first realised that I loved you," she said, and her mouth turned up at the corners without meaning to.
"When?" he asked, his voice carrying despite its low tone. She watched him as he stood, hunched in on himself, his hands in his pockets, looking as if she were about to tell him she were moving to the other side of the world. If it was really hurting him this much to hear her say something she'd expected him to be happy about, she almost wondered if she should tell him. But she'd already started, and for once he'd actually asked to hear something. So she did.
"It was at a party. I was standing out here. It was dark, and most people were inside. I don't know why I was there, what occasion it was. I just knew I didn't want to be there. And then, you came. I turned around and you were there," she said, turning and pointing to the door they'd both been sitting against. "You were just standing there in the light, and you asked me if you were late. You weren't just late, you were beyond late, I'd been so annoyed at you. Until you turned up, and said those words, and I just knew..."
She turned around back to face him, and jumped when she almost came face to face with him. She momentarily wondered how on earth he'd managed to walk to quickly and silently without her noticing, but that thought dropped from her mind when she noticed the intense look he was giving her.
"What was the other one?"
"What do you mean?"
"The other memory, Rose." He clutched his fists to his sides, his gaze not moving from her face. "You said you had two memories of me, what is the other one?"
It took her a few seconds to recover from the way he spoke. He sounded so desperate, as if everything were riding on this memory of hers. Perhaps he'd worried they weren't real before? She had to look away, the situation making her suddenly afraid.
"It's not as clear as the other one. I'm sitting on a beach, and it's either late or really early. It's cold, and I'm...upset, and you're there. I don't really..."
But she didn't get to finish the sentence. Before her mind could catch up with what was happening, she'd been pulled forward, and he was kissing her. It felt like heartbreak, and despair and love, and everything wonderfully painful in the world in one simple action. His hands were on her face, and hers had gone straight to his hair without conscious thought. She thought she could feel tears on his cheeks, but she was too overwhelmed by every sensation to really be sure.
When he pulled away, he lent his forehead against hers, his hands moving down until his arms were around her waist, and hers drifted grudgingly down to his back. He really did have great hair.
"You really do remember me," he said, his voice sounding as if he didn't actually believe it.
"You're the only thing I do remember," Rose answered, just about completing the sentence before she was kissed again.
