AN: This is only half a chapter. My lovely Beta could not beta the entire thing before today so we debated whether or not to post at all. I guess I thought half a chapter was better then no chapter at all, especially since this chapter (in original format) was 18 pages long (That's with 8.5 font!)
Three songs used in this portion of the chapter goes as the following.
- Spaceman by Bif Naked
- Possession by Sarah Mclachlan
- Roads by Portishead
and on with the show...
"Can I see some I.D., miss?" a tall bald man asks Rose from behind the velvet rope. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she lifts her jumper and shirt to grab her passport from a concealed belt she wears at her waist.
"All right!" she hears one guy say behind her and a few laugh and clap.
"Take it as a compliment Rose!" Chantelle yells above the music that's blaring from inside of the darkened building. She can hear it word for word, although she tries her best not to listen.
…Spaceman, oh spaceman! Come rescue me from this! Calling all aliens! Come rescue me!…
Rose smiles as best she can at her friend, who's arm in arm with two other women on the other side of the rope.
"I would love to get asked for my I.D." says Grace smiling gently, patting Rose's arm to try and calm her nerves. The bouncer looks at the picture and then, with a surprised look, back to Rose. His eyes squint a touch as he looks at her, then back to the passport in his hand. Glaring at him angrily, she listens to the music and sounds around her as he takes his time. She already hates it here in the United States- she hates how hot it is, and how she always has to show her I.D. to get in anywhere. She hates how it's summer and how she was tortured into wearing a t-shirt and jeans for the first time in years. She hates how Chantelle keeps dragging her from club to club with a couple of giggly fools who waste her time.
…You never come to call on me… When I'm the one who's waiting for you.. I really need you…
"You sure don't look 32 Miss Tyler," the bald giant gruffly tells her, suspicion still clouding his voice.
"33 this April," she says, snatching her passport back, smiling as politely as she can. The hesitating bouncer nods and another man with him opens the rope to let the ladies into the club.
Chantelle's other friends giggle as they lead the way into a dark room.
"Slags," Rose murmurs, to which Grace shushes her and giggles. Both women look at each other and smile evilly. It ends up helping Rose's mood. Where other people may enjoy it, Rose hates the fact that she still looks twenty. It bothers her that in a few years people will think that Grace may pass for her mother. It annoys her that Chantelle is younger then her and is getting married and into bars without any hesitation, at least, in America.
"Why are you getting married here, again?" Rose asks Chantelle.
"Because this is where Erik's parents are and they're getting on now. His dear mum is terrified of flying," she says, sipping the bluish drink one of her annoyingly giggly friends bought her.
"How'd they get here from Scotland then?' Rose asks.
"It's called a boat," the girl named Nancy says. "People back then used them to travel loooong distances."
Lucy bursts into a fit of giggles over the remark and for the first time in years, Rose feels her anger begin to boil over. Prickles tingle all over her skin like gooseflesh, and her beast stirs in its hibernating state. Closing her eyes, she squeezes her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, breaking the skin and drawing blood. It's the pain that blocks out the anger, the pain that calms her and causes her beast to go back to sleep. When she opens her eyes, Chantelle gives her a helpless look that says she's sorry, but it means nothing coming from her. It's been Nancy who has been irritating her the entire evening of this hen night- bachelorette party; Lucy and Nancy corrected her earlier. It's Lucy whose annoying laugh has been grating on her nerves.
"I don't really know them; I just found them on the street and paid them 20 pounds each to be bridesmaids so I didn't look like a recluse," Chantelle laughs, putting her drink on the table and giving the girls a warning look, which they ignore and walk away from.
Once they are closer to the dance floor, Grace chimes in. "Too bad you didn't hold auditions."
Both women laugh, but Rose just continues to glare at the unaware girls across the way.
"Rose, you know that that's the reason why you're my maid of honor right?" Chantelle says, trying to create some peace. "You are my best friend- employer yes, but one of my best friends."
Rose is almost tempted to tell her she knows that Chantelle asked Grace first. Grace didn't know if they could take baby Peter, and she was forced to refuse, which meant Chantelle ended up asking Rose. She was almost tempted, but not enough to blame her.
In this universe, she has come to the resolution she'll always be second best.
Closing her eyes, she remembers her dreams from the night before, jumbled slivers of a past life and her current one, insecurities and pride combined. She remembers seeing Jack, her Jack, and having him in her flat. But it was messy, and the harder she tried the clean it, the messier it got. She kept finding piles and piles of plates with toast crusts and caked on beans as she desperately tried to prove to Jack she was his Rose. But he just shook his head and walked out on her.
The next dream was of her in a void ship, a metallic window showing her void. She saw another void ship approach, and she knew her Doctor was aboard it. He was there and she was waiting for him to save them, save her from floating aimlessly through void, no momentum to drive her forward, to stop her from just sitting there. She calls to him, banging on the window, as his ship comes hurdling towards her, somewhat like the Newton's cradle game she has on desk back at home. She remembers thinking, but the ball bearings at home have strings holding them in place; keep them from being knocked into obl… But it had been too late- he crashed into her, a smile on his face, numbness in his eyes, as she went hurtling through complete nothingness, with no chance of slowing down or stopping.
"You're going to need to get me really drunk," Rose tells Grace once Chantelle is dragged away by the rest of her bridal party.
"I thought you quit drinking?" Grace asked suspiciously.
"I did, until I felt it rising." They watch Lucy and Nancy force Chantelle to start dancing to the song beginning to play.
Sighing, she takes the drink that Chantelle had left on the table and sucks it back. It is times like this she misses Mickey; Mickey who always let her just be herself. He never expected her to pretend to be anything different, he just let her be. Their dancing was infrequent, at best, but it was nice to know she had someone who understood her. It's now that she realizes she hasn't had release since his death five years ago. Sighing, she decides to deal with the entire situation with one brilliant solution.
"It's rising?" Grace comments surprised. "You're sure?"
"Yeah, I know it hasn't happened in years. I know that those six months out in Greece were suppose to make it so it didn't ever happen again. I know! Okay!?" The truth was, she was a bit worried. She did uproot her life for half a year to learn how to control the animal within her so that she could sleep better, so that she wasn't forced to take medication that made her feel numb inside, and most of all, so she could control her anger.
"Won't alcohol make it worse?" Grace asks as Rose waves down a waitress.
"Whaddya sellin"?" she asks the woman with the tray.
"I've got sourpuss shots for $2, and tequila for $7," The waitress responds.
Grace watches as Rose pulls a ten dollar bill out of her back pocket and hands it over, when it occurs to her that she hasn't seen the brunette in jeans since she's known her, and wonders why she would avoid them that much.
"No actually, on the contrary," she answers as she shoots the vile liquid and instantly makes a face.
"It might get me to a point where I just don't care what they say. Next time though, remind me to get a lime."
"Hello Doctor," she says, with her golden hair flowing down her shoulders, standing there in a power suit. She's aged slightly, at least this version of her has, and he can smell Paris surrounding her.
"Romana?" he asks, and there is no surprise left in his voice, no energy left to be baffled once more. It only makes sense in some mysterious way that she is here, the one who has taught them everything they need to know.
"You don't look any different," he comments.
"You do," she smiles, and it's a sly challenge. She subtly is trying to prove her superiority over him, which is something he thinks he can remember about her, and yet is not used too, at least, not anymore. It's been so long since he first met her, a few hundred years now?
"Yes, well… Earth street gangs, the time war, some trouble with the ladies more than just the once," he says. She widens her eyes a little in surprise, but smiles knowingly. "The usual. How about you, Romana? Or should I call you Madame President?"
"You could always call me Fred," she says, and he smiles. Romana, she's like a crisp autumn breeze, refreshing but is still slightly cold. Romana, the one who got away, the one who taught him everyone can change, and oh, how she has changed. He never was surprised that she outgrew him.
He watches as she shakes her head. "Yes, its still President, at least, where we have come from. It's good to know that things have not changed that much from universe to universe," she says, and turns guiltily to Jack. "Oh, sorry, did he not know yet? Or have you told him?"
Jack smiles and shakes his head, "No, I hadn't told him as much yet, though I had hoped he had understood what I had been leading to."
The Doctor returns the smiles of the two people in front of him and he feels as though he has been a fool, a feeling he rather doesn't like, but he maintains his composure.
"I see you two must have had a good chuckle over the situation. Here I thought you were of this universe. It only makes sense that you were as strong and capable in any other universe," he tells her, bowing his head a little in her direction and placing his hands in his pockets.
"Oh don't be upset, Doctor," she says brightly, walking towards him with her hand outstretched. "I was sincere about my gratefulness at the fact that this universe seems in many ways somewhat similar. After all, it means we will be able to work more efficiently and move into a pattern where we both succeed and do not having to relearn each others personalities and habits."
He takes her hand in his and he remembers it being as soft as the last time he held it. Visions of a beautiful Time Lady with the same face laughing as he dragged her through the streets of France flashed through his head, and he wonders if she's reading his thoughts right now. He already begins to wonder as to this Romana's history, why she's here, and what she's looking for.
"We should get started," she says, turning on her heel and he follows her out the small door. She doesn't wait for Jack and he's not surprised, though he wishes he could remember if she had always been like this. Memories are a funny thing- after a long amount of time the exact details are reduced down to phrases and feelings, things that only hold sentimental value over time, not true fact.
"So tell me," he says, after catching up to her and walking side by side with her, as equals.
"Have you ever been to Paris?"
…Voices trapped in yearning, Memories trapped in time, The night is my companion, And solitude my guide, Would I spend forever here, And not be satisfied…
She's dancing. Somehow they stumbled upon an after hours dance club and she didn't mind at all when the bouncer asked for her I.D. She doesn't remember what happened to the other girls, though she vaguely remembers Grace taking her passport.
"This way, I know where you are," she had said, worry etched into her face.
It really doesn't matter right now, because she's a part of the music. Every part of her body is in tune with the song. She can feel every note, sense every word, and move to the hidden beat, something a Jimmy told her about when she was younger.
"It's like a slower beat to the song," he told her when she asked why he was dancing so slow and sensuous to an upbeat track playing.
"It's the thing about house, trance whatever you want to call it," he said, taking her hips with his hands and slowing her to his pace. "Most of 'em have it. You jus' gotta find it. 'Cuz once ya do, it jus' clicks." And just like that, she had feels her first hidden beat.
She feels the heat surrounding her, the music so loud there is no room in her brain to think, so she dances.
…Through this world I've stumbled, So many times betrayed, Trying to find an honest word, To find the truth enslaved…
She dances, her body belonging to the music around her, the sound drowning out everything but her own heartbeat. It's a remix, for some reason someone thought they needed to make it sound more like a dance song- why, she'll never know. But as she listens to the lyrics, she lets her body writhe to the slow beat of the original, her shirt riding up her midriff, her hair damp from the heat in the club. She feels as one with every dancer there, she feels loved, and that she has a purpose, and that purpose is to keep moving. She closes her eyes and imagines him, his locks half falling in his eyes, his trademark brown trench flowing behind him as he weaves his way through the dancers towards her.
…Rose… She thinks whispers through her mind, the way it did so many years ago, beckoning her to come to him, through hell and high water, and if she didn't know better, she would believe he had really come back for her.
…Rose… Whispers faintly through her, but louder than the pulse she keeps in tune with, but she pays no heed to the heavy northern accent.
…Oh you speak to me in riddles and, You speak to me in rhymes, My body aches to breathe your breath, You words keep me alive…
…Rose… he calls to her again, and it's closer this time, close enough for her to know he's near. It's when she feels a firm hand on her side she turns to see him.
"William," she slurs, smiling and continuing to dance as he stands there. She got used to calling him William when he was in his other form; it was an easy constant reminder that he didn't belong to her. It wasn't until he regenerated that old emotions came flooding back to the surface, causing her to flee. She keeps swaying to the music, letting the song control her actions.
…It's time to go home, Grace is worried sick about you, no one had any idea where you were so she tried ca-
"Stop it," she says aloud, narrowing her eyes at his unmoving mouth, "Jus' get out of my head." she adds and begins to back away. He's ruining it, he's here to ruin her fun, he wants her to stop dancing and she's not ready to go home. He catches her hand and pulls her stumbling back towards him.
…The path I fear to tread, Oh into the sea of waking dreams, I follow without pride…
"It's too loud in here, you can't hear me, so I'm making it easier," he yells to her.
"What?" she yells back. He rolls his eyes and pulls her tight against his body.
"I said, I'm tryin' to respect your boundaries, but it's very loud in here so it's easier to communicate through telepathic link," he says into her ear, his hot breath brushing against her cheek, his body firm against hers, and she fights the urge to shudder.
"So wha', you can go rummaging aroun' up there?" she accuses, slowly moving against him. It's not a seduction technique, she just can't help herself. The music owns her now and she needs to keep moving- the price for her blissful fog, the price for how many tequila shots she's consumed. He stiffens against the brushing contact and she laughs inwardly at her doctor, so typical of him.
…And I would be the one, to hold you down, kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away, and after I, wipe away the tears, just close your eyes dear….
"I bet you've forgotten what it feels like to dance, Doctor," she murmurs, pulling away from him. Déjà vu hits her like a wave crashing against the shore and she's sucked back into a small room, the other dancers gone, and she's holding out a hand, mocking him, egging him on just so he'll hold her close. Just another one of her many scenes stretched out across the play she considers her life.
…Rose, Grace is worried sick, she didn't know where you went, she begged me to come find you, Elle is still up…
"I said, ENOUGH!" Rose screams at him, causing a few people to look their way.
"You're not allowed, I didn' give you permission," she slowly and viciously spits out, pointing her finger at him. Her hair is half in her face but she can still see his hurt, his confusion, and feels like adding to his misery.
"Only HE is allowed to do that," she condescends as she stands up straight and pushes her hair back. She feels his hurt grow, she feels it radiate off him. It grows and coils around him, that angry hurt stare breaks through the fog in her head and she realizes for a split second what she's doing.
"Doctor, wait!" she says, grabbing his hand as he turns around. She pulls on the hand as someone bumps into him dancing and they are close again.
"I'll make you a deal: dance with me," she asks him.
"How is that a deal?" he says, suspiciously calm and she can feel his discomfort as he watches everyone on the dance floor around them fuse together with the music, touching, kissing, sweating and moving.
"One dance," she says, licking her teeth, the mental blurriness that comes with a good song settling in.
… We've got a war to fight, Never found our way, Regardless of what they say…
"One dance, and then we can leave." She says as he places his large hands on her hips and sways them to the beat of the song. She feels his heartbeats mingling with the words singing through their veins. He just stands there as she glides up and down running her hands through her hair and above her head.
... Storm, In the morning light, I feel, No more can I say, Frozen to myself…
"If you jus' gonna stand there I don't wanna look at your poutin' face," she snaps. "Whatever ya do, don' enjoy yourself," she adds sarcastically, turning away from him, ready to find a more suitable partner, but before she can get too far he grasps her sides and pulls her in tightly to him, holding her close. She can feel his breath against her neck and the fog lifts again once she realizes the scene she's creating. She's nineteen again, trying to figure out the inner thoughts of a man, an alien that she just doesn't get, and probably never will. She begins to pull away but his hands keep her still against him.
…I got nobody on my side, And surely that ain't right…
"I thought you wanted a dance, Rose Tyler," he whispers in her ear, dangerously low and she shudders at the anger dripping in his voice.
It's then that she realizes something she never had before. It's something that surprises and scares her at the same time. She's never been in control of these little situations, these little scenes she dares to make every so often and loves so much. It's him. It's always been him.
She feels naïve, a feeling that she hasn't experienced in some time, a feeling she never experienced till him. She feels like a stupid little girl and she's angry as they sway together closely in time with the music. She was always just a distraction. After time, she lost her ability to tell him he was wrong. By getting to close, she doomed herself to be a passenger to his antics, blinded by her feelings, and he was content to pretend. She feels the panic rise as she realizes that she never really knew him, and that for the last ten years she's been pining for a man she doesn't even know. Not a man, an alien, an alien to her and to everyone.
She takes deep breaths and focuses on the lyrics, waiting with trepidation for the song to end, wondering what he's going to do. But just as it always does, the tequila and the music get the better of her and she's moving in time with his body. Her hips sway back and forth, low and sweeping, as both hands rest on the tops of his thighs, and his hand is loosely wrapped around her mid-drift.
…Oh, can't anybody see, We've got a war to fight…
She can't see him dance, and doesn't feel him dip low with her. Although it is the music that is guiding her, she doesn't see him letting it control him, and even if it did, she doesn't see him as the dipping kind. Her arms come up and lift her hair off her neck, the heat getting to her once more, but his hand is still steady at her side, the other she isn't too sure where it is until it comes around and turns her chin towards him. As she does, he slowly moves his arm across the midriff of her shirt, taking her hand in his, and slowly turning her around. She's careful not to look into his eyes, careful to hold onto the last thread of sanity she has left. Biting her lip, she presses her hands against his chest as he holds her in a hug-like stance, slowly moving his body to the hidden beat she had been dancing to.
"You hear it too?" she murmurs against his beating hearts.
…How can it feel, this wrong, From this moment, How can it feel, this wrong…
"I hear it all," he tells her, his hands on the small of her back as she looks up into his eyes. She's so lost without him and she knows it. She misses him so much and yet he's right here in front of her. He finally came home to her.
"Doctor?" she says, his blue eyes looking into hers, past everything into her core. The music fades out and another song begins to play. He pulls away from her, that very dark and deep expression on his face.
…How can it feel, this wrong, From this moment, How can it feel, this wrong…
"Come on," he says holding up a small ticket that had been in her back pocket. "Let's go get your jumper," he smiles, taking her hand and pulling her off the dance floor.
He's standing there in the middle of the main road, long and dusty, carriages moving past him, but he pays no attention to them. He's looking for her, amongst the women in plain day-gowns and clacking heels.
"Knock it off, Billy-Jack,." he hears the sheriff warn a drunken cowboy who he's pulled out of the saloon across the street where their carriage waits. Rolling his eyes and sighing he looks on, happy they are off to the train station that will take them to New York. That's where he had left the TARDIS, then they'd be of to London 2006 where she belongs. He searches the pocket in his vest and follows a chain to a watch on the end. It's three minutes after seven, which means that she's late. He winds the watch while he waits for her by the carriage door, eager to leave this godforsaken town.
"I want to see Tombstone, go back to the Wild West, America, cowboys and such," he says, mimicking her voice. "But Rose, I say, Rose, we can't bring the TARDIS, and cowboys are over-rated, believe me.' 'Let's leave it here and take a carriage! Oh please Doctor! Cowboys are fun! It will be fun!'" He sighs, remembering her excitement as she jumped off the train when they had gotten there, her dark blue dress tripping her up for the first few days. How she had squealed happily when he showed her the carriage they'd be taking.
He looks up and there she is, a vision that steals his breath away. She's standing at the end of the street in a white dress with pink roses embroidered all over it, an umbrella in her gloved hand. Barely any make-up mars her angelic features as she smiles lovingly at him and twirls her hip a touch, causing the dress to swish.
"Now sheriff, don't get yer johns in a knot, we were jus…" he hears to the side of him. He's going to miss this time, not this particular spot of hell, but how she looks when she blushes and with her hair up and out of her face. The way she shocks other women by her blunt friendliness, even her small complaints about her inability to breathe, and how she looked last night as he whispered over and over what she meant to him. She closes her umbrella and begins to walk hastily towards him, smiling brilliantly. He returns the smile tenfold as his pace quickens to catch up with hers. She's in his arms when the air rings loudly with the sound of a gun firing. Instinctively he turns her away from the altercation as she stiffens in his arms of fright. He looks over and can see the sheriff pistol whip the drunken oaf who had accidentally pulled the trigger.
"Idiot," he breathes out harshly, his adrenaline rush slowing and he turns back to her, ready to calm her nerves.
But she's not still stiff from the shock of it, something else is wrong. Her porcelain face is paler then usual and her beautiful green-hazel eyes are still wide with fright.
"Rose?" he asks, and he feels her begin to sag in his arms.
"ROSE!" he screams, as he sees the blood trickling out the corner of her lips, her eyes still wide as he places one hand under her chin holding her face steady between blood soaked fingers.
"Somebody get a doctor!" he screams out hysterically.
"Doctor?" she asks weakly.
"Doctor, can't you help miss?" a boy asks from the crowd gathering around them.
"Not without any tools," he spits dangerously, looking up from her face, and into the setting sun. "Now GO!" he yells, his voice scaring even him. It can't end like this, not after everything they've been through, not after last night.
"Rose, you have to hold on," he says firmly, holding her body in his arms, her eyes unfocused, and her face pale white.
"You didn't wanna come here, why did I make us come here?" she asks him weakly.
"Don't say that. Good things happened by coming here, it was a good choice, it will be okay." He sniffles back tears that threaten to run down his face.
"I can't see you," she admits to him, scared, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Sweetheart, listen to my voice, you have to keep your eyes open okay? It just grazed you. You're in shock, but don't be scared because I'm right here. Doctor Mellows is on his way and then we can leave. We can finally get out of here and get back on the TARDIS and go. We'll travel to see your mum and tell her the news, you can watch her beat me senseless, okay?" he begs her, lying to himself and to her, hoping that he can change the outcome of what happened by so strongly believing in that lie as her life drains away from her.
"She won't," Rose weakly smiles.
"Oh yes she will. She'll tell me I stole you away, that we didn't do it proper, that I'm a dirty old man, that I can't have you. Would you like that Rose? Would you like to go see your mum?" he asks her, pushing a loose tendril of hair out of her still unmarred angelic face, his bloody hand leaving a smear across her cheek. She nods her head, her eyes still not focusing on him, and her breath coming in even more irregular intervals.
"Of course you would," he laughs nervously as her head begins to fall into his shoulder.
"She'll just be upset we didn't register. 'All those gifts Rose, you coulda had all them gifts!'" she says, and they both weakly laugh together, her coughing a bit towards the end.
"I'm sorry I'm late," She tells him, and he places his hand on her cheek and neck, holding her head against him, the tableau too much for the town people to watch without crying.
"Nah, only a few minutes, if I've learned to live with anything, it's your tardiness," He tells her.
"What about you, the know-it all?" she asks him.
"Oi! I don't know it all. I didn't know how much loved you."
"Yes you did," she tells him, "The Tardy TARDIS, it sounds like a restaurant," she murmurs against him.
"You know, I'm starting to not feel it," she tells him, her own voice holding surprise and possible hope. He closes his eyes, the tears finally falling out of the corners, trying to fight the reality of the situation.
"Course you can't silly," he tells her squeezing her close and rocking her back and forth. "If you would only listen to me, but I guess that's never going to happen, is it?"
But she doesn't answer.
"Rose?" he asks and pulls his head back to look down at his new bride. Her eyes are vacant and partially closed, her pink lips slack, her life all over his arms and the street.
"NO!" he cries. "No… no…", a broken voice that doesn't sound like his cries out weakly while tears fall freely down his face, as he checks for a pulse and lays her down to do CPR.
He startles awake, shirt soaked, tie loose around his neck with Martha standing over him looking rather concerned.
"Doctor?" she asks, both hands placed on his forearms, trying to contain him to the chair he fell asleep in.
"Rose," he gasps, frantic still from the realistic dream.
"Doctor, it was just a dream," she says, and he closes his eyes and puts his head in his hands. It wasn't a dream though, it was just another alternate ending to a love that never really was. It's getting to a point where he doesn't know what has really happened between him and the real Rose, and what has happened in alternate worlds and dreams, and still he knows that there's something wrong with the information, something tampered or off. He's getting tired of it.
"Martha," he says coldly. If Martha hadn't come, could he have revived her? Would he have died from the agony in his hearts right there? Would he have been stuck there, had to have take her broken body back to her mother? From what he had said and remembered, the TARDIS was too far away, they wouldn't have had enough time, he would have had to leave Rose's body there. He feels sick to his stomach.
"Yes?" she asks, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. She wouldn't have come here unless she really needed him, or absolutely had too. He's made it clear to her that he wanted to be left alone. But still, he has no time to deal with her or anyone right now. He's right angry, and isn't going to calm down till he's good and ready.
"Please, leave me be for a minute." A request he has never once asked as long as he can remember. It's always him desiring company of some kind or another she seems taken back and begins to leave before turning to him and saying, "Romana."
"What about her?" he asks, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but he already knows, and although he wishes to refuse Martha, wishes to tell her to go tell Romana to sod off, to go back to where she came from, to leave him the bloody hell alone, he already knows that if he refuses her, that Martha is not going to know how to deal with her.
"Here, in the console room," she answers.
Sighing, he gets up and follows Martha out, adjusting his tie in the process. "How long?" he asks somewhat tersely as he slips on his jacket.
"A few minutes," Martha replies, before falling back and opening the door to her room, while he storms down the hall towards the main room. He walks in on Romana playing with dials and buttons.
"I like what you've done to her, it's very… she's very… um," he watches as she sighs and smiles, slapping her hands to her sides.
"Why are you here?" he asks her, void of all emotion.
"I already told you, we got a telepathic code ten alert."
"No Romana, why are you in my TARDIS?"
"Oh," she says, not at all startled by the blatant question. "Well, I wanted to get acquainted with the ship I'll be piloting to the source," she states matter-of-factly.
"How dare you," he spits out, voice dangerously low, slowly advancing on her position, but Romana just stands her ground.
"How dare I what?" she asks him, confused by his anger.
"How dare you come in here, after what you told me earlier and think you can get away with what you just said."
She shakes her head sadly, "I told you that the last of our fleet of TARDISes died upon re-entry into this universe, it is my right as a higher ranking officer to commandeer-"
"You can stuff your ranking for all I care," he says, walking around the console angrily, randomly pulling levers and knobs, releasing all frustration into his ship. Romana sighs and watches him, intently waiting for her opportunity.
"Look, do not think that I am not sympathetic for your loss. I too have lost someone I cared for deeply, which makes this situation even harder. And I can forgive your misconduct about me pulling rank. Again it's hypocritical of me, knowing that I have not followed all protocol since becoming President, so there is that. But you have to know that I cannot let a code ten telepathic alert go un-enforced. You must know how dangerous it is."
"Rose is just an innocent girl! She probably had no idea what she was doing when it happened."
"Then that's even worse, it's the most dangerous kind of telepathy of all. With that kind of power she could accidentally hurt, and possibly kill millions of species," Romana shoots back.
"Who are you to police a universe you hardly know?"
"Who are you to talk?"
"You cannot have my TARDIS."
"Your TARDIS? That's amusing since you seem to forget that I know more about you then you think. If you're anything like your counterpart, and you are, believe me, I doubt you really want to challenge me on ownership of this ship-"
"She became mine and mine alone when I became the only one left who could fly her," he interjects.
"She became yours and yours alone when you killed your own race!"
He goes quiet, numbness sweeping over his body, his rage an endless flowing river.
"Don't take it too personally Doctor," she starts patronizingly. "I read some of the Torchwood reports, many written by the captain himself. The agreed conclusion of all documentation is that you had no other choice."
"My Romana would never do this," he says, aggression seeping into every word.
"I doubt she was ever yours," she bites back. "Just as I doubt she would not do what is ethical." They stare at each other for a long moment, dark brown eyes boring a hole in steel blue. "Come now Doctor," she says. "Let us not lie to each other."
"You're one to talk. You have Jack convinced you are here to help, not destroy one of the people he cared more about than himself," he snorts, sitting down, deflated into the worn chair in front of the console.
"Jack is a brave man. A very brave human, although I can sense sometimes you have your doubts. With help he could recover those two years of memories he is missing."
"Is that what you promised him? Did he blindly sell you a life for two years of his own that would be better kept buried?" he asks her, appalled, sitting tensely on the edge of his seat.
"You never told him, did you? Why is that?" she asks him, her voice again devoid of emotion.
"Because it was better left unsaid; less pain and sorrow that way. I assume you didn't tell him that we can see those forgotten memories easily? Or else he would have hated me more when we reunited," he says, his shoulders collapsing back into the cushions of the seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Romana watches him intently and sighs before going and sitting beside him.
"No, I am not a cruel being. I too would never reveal to him the death of his wife and unborn daughter. However, he is immortal now, a quirky trait he picked up after your Rose brought him back by taking in the time vortex, and I have promised to help rid him of it. Still, it's quite obvious the amount of power this girl wields."
"That was when the Time Vortex was still within her; she is completely normal now. You're bringing me back to a companion I told I would never see again, to send her to her doom," he says sternly.
"You act as though everything is black and white, from one extreme to the other when it was you who taught me the difference. For all you know it is not this girl you call Rose at all. Maybe it is. In fact, maybe she has a legitimate reason for sending out a wave length of that magnitude. If that be the case, no arrest will be made."
He laughs bitterly at her, resting his arms against his knees and slouching forward, folding his hands in front of him. He shakes his head and looks away from her confused gaze. "Why do I feel you've been practicing that speech for awhile?"
Legs crossed, she looks at him sadly behind a cool, controlled visage.
"Doctor?" Martha's voice rings out from the hallway. They look up and see her leaning against the wall. He can see her worried and confused look and knows right away what is wrong.
"Romana, Martha is a telepath. You may want to explain to her the rules and guidelines of her talents according to Time Lord law," he says sarcastically.
"No, Doctor, it's not that," Martha says, pushing herself away from the frame.
"I just got the message that came through to Romana," she murmurs weakly, stumbling towards him and falling into his arms.
"Do you see? See now, the damage?" Romana says, an edge of frustration in her voice.
"Shut up!" he yells at her, holding Martha in his arms, blood dripping from her nose.
"She's scared, very scared, like a trapped animal. She doesn't want to lash out, but she will if she has to, and if she does, it won't be very good. So she did the only thing she could think of, she reached out to Gallifrey. She didn't know what else to do. She didn't know what she was doing. Something big is coming… something terrible caused this reaction. How could you not feel it? Feel her pain, her suffering? How could you not feel how scared she was?"
"You must have been blocking very strongly," Romana pipes in.
"Romana, stop-"
"Hmm, let us see, in a universe where you left an ex-companion, someone who knows of Gallifrey is sending out a deadly telepathic wave signaling for help. No, it couldn't possibly be this Rose child."
"Romana, I swear, you need to stop talking right now." he tells her in a very dangerous tone before looking down at Martha. Her nose is already starting to stop bleeding and the pain has eased itself from her face.
"May I take a peek?" he asks the girl still half lying in his arms. She blinks and straightens up slowly.
It's that feeling again, like he's on stage and an old movie projector is projecting images onto him. All the while, he's trying to learn how to control the images, or at least try to figure out what he needs to see out of them. Images of Martha with her brother the last time they went to visit, and the look he received from that very brother. Martha is sliding down a hill on a toboggan as a young child.
"Focus," he whispers, trying to concentrate, so they can go deeper. It feels like a peg that's too big to go into a hole. All color is a little pale, all images a little fuzzy-that is, until it all clicks, then he feels like he's falling head first as an image appears in the distance. It's of Rose, standing amongst the ruins of a charred, burnt out room. It flickers back to a dreary black place outlined in blue shadows and padded walls, the image of her resilient against both backdrops as he keeps falling towards her, she with her eyes closed as the background flickers faster and faster until he jars suddenly, stopping in front of her. All he can hear is the sound of her heartbeat her eyes glow amber.
They're coming…
We are Rose, just hol-
Not you… them…
Who, Rose?
Hurry… what do I do?
It's as if his mind is leaking out his ears, he can't scream above the sound of four hearts beating raucously, two he can account for, one other being Rose's and the fourth he does not know. He sees Gallifrey in the reflection of Rose's eyes, and the hearts stop, all skipping a beat, before beating again in unison.
"Thank you." Two words, in two beats by four loud drums.
Then he's speeding backwards out of the room faster then he got there.
"I bring life," he hears her whisper through him as he's forced violently into his own body and falls to his knees. His head feels ripped in two, sweat pours down his brow as he coughs up blood, red and dark. The beating in his chest is frantic like the heart of a bird, but it beats two strong words, two words that he knows but cannot bring himself to say, two small and simple words that describe a cacophony of catastrophic events that forever changed the history of the universe.
"Doctor?" he hears Romana calling out to him.
"Time war," he says hoarsely, before he passes out.
Rose walks down the aisle, smiling nervously in a pink gown with a sash and black embroidery. For all her cynicism and pessimism ,she just cannot for the life of her think a single cruel thought about Chantelle's big day. She sees Elle standing at the end of the walkway, a smile on her young and beautiful face. Grace is standing behind her, looking so much like her proper birth mother that it brings tears to Rose's eyes.
Her head is killing her from her fancy up-do, her shoes are painful and are way too high for normal pace, but the smile stays on like the $300 make up that Chantelle insisted they all use. She's glad to know nothing will smear or run come even another Glarecox attack or worse, women and their priorities. Once reaching the end of the pews she falls in line opposite Erik and his slightly attractive best-man. She blushes slightly at the best man's sincere smile as he gazes at her. Soon, the music alters, and everyone stands, all eyes turn to the back of the church, to Chantelle. That is, all except for a pair in the second row. A pair so intense that she feels her breath hitch in her throat as her smile falters while trying to concentrate on Chantelle. She tries to focus on little things, the curve of Chantelle's bodice, the shine to her beautiful auburn hair, her sweet and delicate smile, but as Chantelle comes closer, she sees him in her peripheral vision. Eyes blue and unfathomably deep, face calm and guarded as he holds his son in his lap. Their eyes lock and she feels panicked, like all the oxygen in the room is leaving her lungs, until she feels a hand on her shoulder and a soft voice asks, "Are you alright?"
It is Grace's concerned tone that stabilizes her.
"Yeah, weddings," Rose whispers, smiling shakily. Grace gently smiles at her then looks out to her husband and shakes her head slightly. Slowly, both women turn back to the priest, who is talking about love -forever, eternal- and Rose closes her eyes.
They sit in front of the tree, with Elle, almost a year old, in her mother's lap. Pete is standing proud in front of the large monstrosity doting on all three women. It started when Rose awoke from her coma: Pete instantly began to become protective of Rose, and delight in having a family.
"That's one present for Jacks, now one for my girls!" he says, digging around the bottom of the pile. "Look at you beaming away like you're Father Christmas," Jackie says, laughing at his obvious excitement. "Red bicycle when I was twelve," Rose whispers. Jackie and Pete stare at her blankly and she smiles sadly. "Sorry, uh… just a bit of déjà vu," Rose tells them, and they nod in silent understanding. Pete hands her a box and she slowly unravels the paper as she realizes she's been using that excuse a lot lately, and she knows it's because she thinks about him about as much as she says it. She thinks of his daft ears and his blue eyes. She thinks of his brilliant smile and his subtle quips as she pulls the snow globe from out of the box. She looks into the depth of the ball, thinking about the safety of the little caricatures within it. "Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once, everybody lives!"
She feels his eyes still planted directly on her back as she opens her own, and she tingles from the sensation.
"Marriage is like an apple seed growing in the fertile soil that is love. With a little care and guidance it can grow and eventually blossom."
They sit there in silence on the roof of her mum's flat, staring up at the stars. Once he remembers that Mickey thought she was lost forever, he sheepishly suggested maybe going back and telling him that she wasn't was a good idea. It's the third time now that she's been home with this version of him and she finds it amusing how they've settled into a comfortable routine. After all, last time it was just a quick trip off to the museum and off they were to Rome. She thinks of the picture of her statue taped to her mum's cupboards and all the events that have transpired over the last few days.
"You're not still mad I spent six months training with Michelangelo are you?" He asks her, breaking his unusually long silence. "Oi! First it was 'a few months, only a few Rose.' Now yer tellin' me it was six?" He smiles slowly, not even apologetic and something about it breaks her, causing her to reflect the same slow and tender grin. "Though I suppose I should be thankful it only took you six months instead of six years." "I'm a fast learner," he tells her. She watches his mouth move and how no steam escapes him when he talks to her on this extremely cold night. She shakes her head, not surprised; she's always learning new things. "What?" he asks her, noticing her bemused look. "Nothin'. It's jus' your breath," she says, impulsively putting her fingers on his mouth. "It doesn't steam in the cold." His deep dark eyes bore through hers and past an emotional wall she didn't even realize she had built. His lips under her fingers are moist, soft, and cool to the touch, as though she were on fire. It's then that she has an epiphany. The Doctor has changed and so has she, but it's obvious that some things haven't. Her first would never allow her to keep her fingers on his small mouth, but she had seen that look, oh so intense before. She would never have felt brave enough to be welcome to do so, never would have let her breath catch in her throat so obvious in front of him, though she's felt this dizzying flutter before. Her lips are dry but she's careful not to wet them with her tongue- She wants to ask him, the question that has been plaguing her for hours, minutes, plaguing her for seconds; she wants to know if that's how he really sees her. The statue was flawless, ethereal in beauty. If she hadn't known it was herself, she would have believed her to really be the goddess Fortuna. Something goes fuzzy as she gazes intently at him, and she feels as though she may be daydreaming but she doesn't realize it is her dream. She sees him leaning forward and grabbing her head, pulling her towards his lips and pressing her against his chest as he kisses her sweetly and passionately, his hand through her hair, hers through his, and then she's shut out, as though a door slams in her face and she is almost dizzy from how fast it all happened. She shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog and realizes her hand still lingers on the cool lips of the man in front of her. Blushing, she removes her hand. She feels him grab her wrist, causing her to turn her head back and look at him cautiously. Slowly he slips his fingers through hers and they stare off into the distance.
she doesn't know what would happen then.
The reverend's words wake her out of her reverie. "Marriage is a serious commitment for a man and a woman to enter into together. It's rarely seen that way anymore, seen for what it means. Marriage is eternal, it is sacred, it is meant for unconditional love…"
"Why are you here, mother?" Rose asks as her pumps clack the entire way along the hardwood floors to reach the bar she's set up by the long window in her flat. Later, she will walk up the carpeted staircase to her bathroom where she will take a long bath until her skin goes pruny and she is forced to get out. Then she will climb into her king size bed, alone.
"I hate tha' you call me that only when yer mad, luv." Jackie says. "Then don't get me mad by breakin' into my flat," the blonde says as she pours herself a gin, straight. She looks out the window. It's dark now, and when she wakes up to go to work tomorrow it will be dark again. She can't remember the last time she has been out in the sun, when she has just gone outside for the pleasure of being outside. "Well I had too! I was terrified, you not answerin' me rings, avoiding your dad at work. Jake and Mickey told me ya refused to even talk to 'em, that ya been sendin' 'em memo's through yer secretary. I wouldn't 'ave believed it if yer dad hadn't said you've been doin' the same ta him." "And why should I talk to any of you!?" she yells, finally blowing up on her mother, startling the woman who stands in her living area. Then, more carefully, she adds, "After that little party, how can I?" as she walks to the kitchen and slams the half full glass down on the counter. "We were, are… concerned." Jackie tells her. "So you plan an intervention?" "It wasn't meant ta-" Jackie starts then stops sighing. "Look, maybe doin' it that way wasn't fair." "Damn right it wasn't fair; you guys wouldn't let me get a word in edge-wise." Rose informs her. "But just because it wasn't fair," Jackie states as if she hasn't heard what Rose just said, "doesn't mean we don't care." "Care," Rose laughs bitterly, sipping her gin, "Now that's a laugh." "Now your not being fair, Rose," Jackie says "Besides, what kinda example are you setting for your god-daughter?" "SHE IS MY SISTER!" Rose screams, waving her arms around behind the counter "SHE IS MY SISTER AND YER ME MUM, AND PETE'S NOT MY REAL DAD, OKAY? SHE'S NOT MY GOD-DAUGHTER, NOT MY COUSIN, I'M NOT YOUR NIECE, OR YOUR FRIEND, YOU ARE NOT MY AUNT YOU ARE MY MUM AND I AM ONE OF YOUR DAUGHTERS." Tears fall down her cheeks, and she sniffles them back, looking down at the faux marble countertop. "I can't get how you can go from calling Pete my father, to Elle my God-daughter, and sister, and cousin, back and forth. It's all so confusing. If you really cared about my drinking maybe we should work out some other lies we are covering up." "It's not jus' the drinking, Rose," Jackie cries, walking closer towards the counter. "That's what I mean mum! How you refuse to talk about it, the past, an' expect me to forget. So I try, and now I'm a horrible person because I drink here and there." "It's not the drinkin', Rose, it's how depressed you are!" Jackie fired back, finally saying the unmentionable. They both stand there in silence, Rose behind the kitchen counter, looking out at her mother on the other side. "I hate that man for what he did to you." Jackie murmurs. "What did you say?" Rose asks seriously low, looking up from the counter. "You heard me." Jackie says carefully. "He had you so wrapped up tha' you don't even know up from down these days." "That man," Rose spits out slowly to her mother, "Is the reason for those diamonds around your neck and for Elle's existence and your unbridled happiness, Mother. Without that man, you would have been killed by plastic shop dummies, or the Slitheen, or Daleks or even Cybermen! He SAVED this crummy little world and he saved our crummy little world and he did it with no thanks you from anyone!" The last word comes out mostly a sobbed, before she sighs deeply, and regains her composure. "He saved two universes but for what?" Jackie asks. "He destroyed you." "No, you did," Rose tells her matter-of-factly, without looking up from the tears that have fallen onto the cold white countertop. "What?" Jackie asks, startled. Rose looks up to the older woman, gazing at her, drinking her in. Her hair is done up, piled on the top of her head in some intricate design, something that she never had the time to do, even when she was a hairdresser. She's wearing a light blue cashmere cowl-neck sweater, with beige dress pants. There are diamonds around her throat, but these ones are more showy then usual, and Rose believes that after this little discussion her mother must be going to a benefit or some political dinner, something that Pete and her have been doing a lot lately to boost his standing in the party. There is silence between them, both staring at each other for an eternity before Rose begins again. "I was happy, I was with him, and you sent Pete back after me-" "Pete saved you! How dare y-" "You didn't know that, there was no way you could have," she interrupts, worryingly calm. "All you knew was that the Doctor and I would be sucking the Daleks and Cybermen into the void. So you risked Pete's life, and for what? Did you know he appeared right in front of the void?" "Stop it." "A few seconds earlier, a few seconds later, a few centimetres left or right would have been useless, or fatal. You already lost me, knew I'd be safe with the Doctor, but you risked him to get me back." "I said stop it, he saved you!" Jackie says backing away, as Rose slowly advances on her, coming round from behind the counter, walking towards the older woman. "Yeah, but if he never came you would have never known, you would have assumed I was travellin' still and I would have been dead." "STOP IT!" Jackie screams as Rose finally reaches her "...Which would have been better then here." She hears the slap before she feels its sting in her cheek. She looks up at a helpless Jackie through tear-filled eyes. "You wonder why we worry," Jackie yells through sobs, "The Rose I used ta know, the Rose he was in love with, she never would have rather been dead then alive, the Rose he loved, was full of life!" "Now you stop it!" Rose says through hiccupping sobs, but it was too late, she had pushed Jackie to the brink, tears streamed down a still flawlessly made-up face. "I actually thought Mickey's suggestion of a hypnotherapist was a bit over the top, that if I just talked to ya you would come around. But apparently I was wrong. You are the most selfish and yet giving girl I've ever met, and when you're ready to admit you have a problem give me a call." Picking up her coat, Jackie storms out of the flat slamming the front door behind her as Rose slides down to the floor, crying as she brings her had to cover her mouth. That's when she sees it, really noticing it for the first time. The snow globe that her father bought her two Christmas' ago, sitting on one of her end tables, collecting dust. She grabs it, shaking it to see the little people look on in wonder as the snow comes softly and slowly tumbling downwards, as though time moves on slower for them, more peaceful. She feels the envy build within her heart as she slams the globe to the floor, pieces scattering everywhere.
"Rose, it's time to sign the register," Grace whispers to her, once again touching her shoulder lightly to get Rose's attention. Silent tears fall down her cheeks as she smiles as brightly as she can. Chantelle and her make eye contact, both teary eyed as they move to the table where the paper lies. She slowly signs where she is told not even reading the words, for a split second she wonders if this was all an elaborate ploy to get her to sign her life away and she has to bite her lip not to laugh hysterically.
Shakily she signs the paper, her vision blurry. Once finished she goes back to her place in the line and her sister squeezes her hand comfortingly. Smiling down on her she squeezes back and looks up and sees Erik's best man smiling at her again. It's sweet and gentle, like he finds her amusing but not in a cruel way, and she blushes as she wipes the tears from her eyes and looks away from him. She refuses to look at William, refuses to continue this trip down memory lane, so she focuses on the floor. She hears the priest's last words ring out, and slowly Erik and Chantelle begin to walk up the aisle.
She finally looks up to find the best man offering his arm to her, a gesture she forgot was mandatory for them to walk out of the church. Remembering, she laughs and shakes her head placing her arm in his and walking up the aisle as Grace takes the other usher's arm and behind them.
Two beats…
Two words-
Time war…
Time war…
Save us-
Time war…
My Doctor…
He wakes from a dreamless sleep, something he hasn't had in a very long time. As he opens his head to darkness, it feels as though someone dropped an axe on it several times, causing searing pains in several strips along his brain. His stomach lurches but there's nothing to rid itself of, so instead he lies there, ever so still, trying to relax the muscles in his body.
It's then he feels a cool cloth against his head, wiping sweat and perhaps vomit away, but he cannot see who is caring for him.
"Relax, the blindness is temporary," Romana tells him. "Just a side affect of the initial message."
Again, a cool cloth at the corner of his mouth, soft hands stroking wet hair out of his face, cool against the burn in his cheeks. "It should only last a few more hours, then we can start planning for our journey."
He wants to get up, to fight off her kindness, but he's too weak, and resorts to accepting her calming efforts and reassuring words.
"Imagine Doctor, imagine what you feel happening to every man, woman and child of a species. Pandemonium occurs, revolts, rebellion, rioting. Not only an entire world, but galaxies, universes-of course those closer to the blast will always be affected more. By the time the message reached us it was diluted. Most people felt weary, like they had the human's common influenza. But you see first hand the damage."
"Time war," he rasps, two words sticking out in his mind more than the picture of Rose's sad ethereal face.
"Yes, you said that. If that be the case, then I can surely grant pardon to the girl on site and there will be no need to bring her back to Gallifrey for a hearing. Something I presume that would make you very happy."
He gasps for air, as he tries to get up. "She's terrified, she's all alone with no one there, but there's something else. She has immense power, god-like even," he says, then laughs bitterly. "A god-like girl and all she wants is me." And he begins to cough.
"Shh, I'm sure she'll be alright till we get there, until then you need rest." Romana says, entwining her own fingers through his.
"She kept reaching out for me, and I couldn't hold her, couldn't get through to her, tell her we will make it better. She needs me."
"Is it possible for you to stop talking about her for more then three minutes? I feel sorry for your new companion," Romana says bitingly, wrenching her hand away.
There is silence, and he feels awkward, wondering what is wrong with the woman he knows so well yet barely knows at all. He may be an alien, but he's still a male and knows that many traits travel from species to species. He knows he's offended her but he has no idea why.
"What's wrong, why don't you like talking about Rose so much?" he blatantly asks her, reaching out for her hand.
"I just… I do not understand your fascination with her; a child, a human child who before now you had no idea had any special or interesting qualities."
"That's not true, you've never met her," he interjects.
"I never understood your fascination with humans," she says, finally taking his hand in hers, and it's gentle, caring even, and he feels her warmth through her skin sink into his. He feels something he knows he shouldn't, something she's been hiding.
"You never did say… how you and the Doctor knew each other from your universe, or even where he is," he says, prodding at the tender spot of her heart, opening her up like a flower.
"He… We were, when I said I didn't follow all protocol." She stutters, her finger tracing patterns on his palm before she sighs and there is a long silence between them. It's when he gives up to the idea of her letting him in that she begins again. "In our universe the looms broke down, after years of trying to perfect a species and trying to repress emotion from our day-to-day living, we were forced to come to terms with what we were. We are children of Gallifrey, and we could be peaceful and dull to a fault, but when the threat of no procreation wavered over our heads, we relearned how to love, how to make love, and how to create the way we were designed to. The curse was only a political play used to gain popularity in creating loom-based offspring. Narrowing down faults along the bloodline, trying to speed up the process of evolving as a species. Rasillion knew his fellow Gallifreyans too well. He knew that they would never question or doubt his word, and that they'd all feel so highly of themselves that they would never even bother trying. It's funny, they always mocked you for being a child born of love, and here they were, creating their own." She says, finally dropping his hand to the bed.
"I loved you. With all my heart. I offered you everything I had and more, and I thought you loved me. But it wasn't enough I have my duties to our people and government and you were, are a selfish bastard who left me."
He feels her anger and frustration towards him and doesn't blame her. It sounds like him to the tee, sounds like something he would do no matter how much he loved her or anyone else. He'll always leave because it's instinctive to him.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he says, reaching for her hand, his dark vision becoming blurry, but already starting to improve.
"I truly am, but you need to know, no matter what, he did love you," he says, knowing it to be truth. He had loved Romana once, and even if she had offered the same as this one, he would have done the same to her as well.
"Yes, well, you're not him, are you? You belong to someone else. Though you have to understand not only my resentment but my intrigue," she says rather clinically again.
"I can't explain it to you and I don't have any intention to try too, because to be honest, I can't even explain it to myself some days. But what I do know, what I can clarify, is very simple. She owns a piece of my soul, and I have a piece of hers. Quite literally actually. When she opened the heart of the TARDIS, I had to remove the time vortex from her, and in the midst of everything and nothing, all of time and all of space, pieces became jumbled up and we lost a tiny piece of ourselves to each other. I never told her, I didn't want her to read too much into it, think it meant anything."
"But it does," Romana says, her face becoming more and more clear.
"It does," he says, shaking the fog from his brain and the room comes into focus. He sees her sitting on the edge of the bed, her cheeks stained with tears, but no longer crying, her smiling small and sincere, but not too predominant, her hand in his.
"Come on," she says, standing up and smoothing down her skirt. "Let's go and save your, well… whatever you want to call her."
"Rose," he says, and stands up beside her, taking her hand in his and pulling her out the door and down the hallway.