When Rose was nine, she found a dog wandering around on the roadside.
She spent the better part of two hours attempting to coax it to her with food, toys, and generally nonthreatening behavior. When she'd finally managed to get it near her, she'd been afraid to move because she might scare it off. The dog flinched away from her at first, but as she ran her fingers through its fur, it began to calm down. It ate the food she gave it and nudged its nose against her, asking for more.
Rose could count the dog's ribs, poking through its skin. There was blood matted into its fur and it kept its eyes down and its spine hunched. It walked slowly and with a limp due to having a paw which was really more of a bloody stump than anything else. Rose wanted to carry it home, but it was too big, so she walked slowly and petted it, murmuring encouragements as she did.
Jackie wasn't home - she worked long hours, and she was rarely home when Rose got there. Rose unlocked the door with the key she wore around her neck and filled a tub with warm water (it was winter, and she assumed the dog was cold). She coaxed the dog in with more food and rubbed the blood out of its fur and brushed it out with one of her doll's hairbrushes as best she could. At first, the dog resisted, but soon he realized she wouldn't do him any harm and he relaxed.
She named him Bear (his brown fur reminded her of the animal she'd seen on TV once) and made him a collar out of macaroni noodles, random beads she found around the house, and string. He tore the collar off and gnawed at the noodles, but she wasn't angry. He was really a rather well-behaved dog, and didn't bite furniture or pee in the house or anything. She took some bowls down and gave him a food bowl and a water bowl and laid with him, petting him.
Jackie got home a few hours later and was horrified, not only because dogs weren't allowed in the building, but also because Bear wasn't just any dog, he was a Great Dane. Great Danes had been outlawed after the war, when they had been trained to be attack dogs. In fact, no dogs over a certain size were allowed because of their potential risk.
"But he's a nice dog!" Rose screamed as Jackie picked up the phone to call the police. "We can't just kill him!"
Bear whined and put his head in her lap to protest their case.
Jackie was going to tell her daughter to grow up. She was going to say to her that the world was a hard, messy place and sometimes bad things had to happen for the sake of keeping order. But she looked at her daughter's tear-stricken face and she remembered how she felt when she was nine, when her own mother, Rose's grandmother, told her to grow up and accept that life wasn't fair. And she decided that instead of prepping her daughter for a tough life, she was going to try to make her life as good as it possibly could be. So she set down the phone and said, "All right, here's what we'll do."
They drove Bear out to where the city met the forest edge. Rose cried and hugged his neck tightly and he seemed to sense her fear and her confusion and snuggled into her. When they got to the forest, Jackie had to wait a half an hour for Rose to be able to pry her arms off of the animal. She kissed his forehead and petted his matted fur and ran her hands over his emaciated body and he really was a pretty ugly dog, but he was beautiful to her. She told him she loved him and finally got to her feet. He seemed to understand. He didn't try to run after her, just stood and watched her as she and her mother got back in the car and drove away.
Jackie used to tell her stories as she grew up about Bear and his adventures. "He made it past the wall," she said, "and now he's with all of the other big dogs." She told stories about Bear growing up in the pack of dogs and falling in love and having little puppies and Rose ate them up. Soon, Bear faded to a memory, a story that she was told when she was a child. She can still remember them: Bear the Sailor Dog, Bear the Treasure Hunter, Bear the Detective Dog. The stories are tied up in warm hugs and nighttime stories and hot chocolate and the safety that only a good parent can give to a child. Later, as she considered the stories, she realized that Bear couldn't have survived. A dog with a lame leg in a forest full of hunters, both human and otherwise? But by then she was a teenager, and though it made her sad, it was forgotten in a slew of friends and grades and hairstyles.
Bear was Rose's first taste of loss, and she can still remember leaving him behind, getting in the car and driving away, watching his big sad eyes as she left him behind. She remembers how it felt: like a hole being punched into her stomach, like a chunk of her being scooped away and leaving her hollowed out.
But this - finding her mother's body inside the wreckage that used to be her home - this is so much worse. This is more than a punch in the gut. This is tearing her apart.
She can still feel her mother like a phantom limb, like she should be there. It just doesn't make sense that she's gone. She should be here, and alive, and a constant pretense in Rose's life.
She can hear her screaming and can feel the Doctor dragging her away, and she knows he's saying something to her, but her brain is too occupied trying to make sense of this sudden loss to worry about that. She thinks, idly, that either time is smashing down on her all at once, or it has completely stopped. She thinks that maybe there isn't a difference.
The pain comes like crashing waves, and with them comes a realization that hits her like a tidal wave: this is completely and unequivocally her fault. She can blame Sgt Kovarian, and she will, but Kovarian was something to a rabid animal, and Rose essentially handed her mother over to her.
This must be what a black hole feels like - everything being pulled in and somehow you wind up with nothing.
"Rose."
It's a bit like resurfacing, though it's a lot more sudden. One minute the world has ceased to exist, and the next it's simply there again, like it never left in the first place. Like something has pulled her back to the land of the living, and that something is a word. Her name. Rose.
"Doctor?" she says.
A pause. Then, "Yeah, it's me."
There's something on her shoulder. She turns to look and finds that it's a hand. Weird. She follows the hand to the wrist to the arm and winds up looking the Doctor in the face.
"What happened?" she asks.
"Do you really not remember?"
She's silent for a moment. "After," she manages to choke out.
"We got Mickey," he whispers. She doesn't know why he's speaking so quietly. As far as she can see, there's no one else with them.
She can't quite process where she is. They must be back at the Dinami base, though, because the walls are made of marble and she's lying on some cushions on a comfortable marble bed. She props herself up slowly.
"Where is he?" she asks.
"With Martha and Donna, I think," he replies.
"Oh, yeah, he'd like Donna. Martha, too. They're so interesting to begin with, but then they'd be even more interesting to him, cause he doesn't know a lot about the government and stuff, so they'd be really different to him," Rose rambles. "Did everyone - did everyone else get out okay?"
"We got everyone out for Clara. Her father, her grandmother, Angie and Archie," he replies. "We got Donna's grandpa and mother out, but her fiancee, Shaun Temple was captured. He worked at the Division, there was no way we were gonna get him out. We got Martha's sister, Tish, and her brother, Leo, out, but her mother and father were captured, and her father's wife, Keisha, was killed."
"Right." Rose's head is spinning. "Was there any - you know - order to the way they killed people off? Or was it by random?"
"I imagine it depends on leverage," he says. "Martha and Donna are valuable, so the Division gets leverage by taking members of their family hostage."
"And I'm not," says Rose. "That's why they killed my mum, isn't it?"
He pauses and examines her. "Rose, I think you're in shock."
"Is this what shock feels like? All - fuzzy?"
"You should rest," he decides.
"Don't want to."
"Rose." His voice grows stern. "Don't make me call the doctors and have them bring in medication to put you under. We haven't got much to spare, anyway."
Rose giggles. "You sound like my mum."
She's still laughing as she falls asleep.
When she wakes, her eyelids are too heavy. They drift open and closed several times before she manages to keep them open long enough to take in her surroundings.
Her head feels fuzzy, like there's static playing instead of a channel. She's lying on a couch which must be at Dinami headquarters, judging by the distinctly Roman setting she's found herself in. The room looks vaguely familiar, but she can't recall from where.
"Hello?" she calls, and her voice comes out sounding like rust.
"Hello?" she wheezes again, but the words sound small, so she gives up and gets shakily to her feet.
She knows something terrible has happened. She can feel it the way someone might feel a gunshot wound - you may not remember how it got there, but you know without a shadow of a doubt that it's there.
She's not sure that she wants to remember.
She's pacing the room nervously when the curtains to the next room opens and in walks Mickey Smith.
His eyes widen. "Rose?"
"Mickey," she gasps in relief, and runs over to hug him. He feels awkward underneath her, like wood, and it takes a moment for his hands to move up to her shoulder blades.
"Hey," he says, releasing her. "How - how are you?"
"Um . . ." There's something wrong, she can tell. She's known Mickey since they were both kids, and she knows his tells - the scrunched up nose, the shifty eyes, the way his hand automatically moves to scratch the back of his head. Some part of her, some primal instinct, tells her not to question it. "Hungry," she says instead. "Got any food?"
"Uh, yeah, a bit. Fish and stuff," he replies, still not meeting her eyes. "In the kitchen."
"Right. And the kitchen would be where?"
He points to the curtain he just stepped through, and she nods. "You coming?"
"Nah, I thought I'd just . . ." He lets the sentence trail away. They both know what he's saying. He doesn't want to be around her right now. She pushes past him to the kitchen without another word.
The kitchen is outside, where Clara tends to an oven with two oven mitts and an apron on. It's funny to see Clara in such a domestic setting, as Rose has always imagined her as surrounded by computers and whizzing lights. She falls in very naturally, though, and Rose thinks maybe she's the type of person who just likes being somewhere, doing something.
Two children set at the table, a young boy and a teenage girl. They're clearly siblings, sharing the same dark curls and brown eyes. They both glance up at her and their eyes widen. So whatever it is, they know too.
"Rose!" Clara pulls off the oven mitts and her eyes flutter nervously. "I - how are you doing?"
"Hungry," Rose repeats. It's become a mantra to her. Hunger doesn't require thought or emotion. Just a primal instinct. Easy enough to understand, easy enough to obey.
"Right, right." Clara runs a hand through her hair nervously. "Well, I've made Archie and Angie sandwiches" she motions to the two children "so I could make you one of those, or I've got a souffle in the oven. It might not turn out quite right, though, souffles rarely do. So maybe a sandwich would be safer, huh?"
"Yeah," says Rose, sitting down.
"Okay." Clara turns back to the kitchen counter, looking a bit more sure of herself when she's got something to do with her hands. There's already cheese, tomato and lettuce out, so it takes Clara barely any time at all to prepare a sandwich. She sets in front of Rose carefully, like she's afraid Rose is a bomb that will detonate at any moment.
"Thanks," says Rose, and takes a huge bite. She really is starving.
Angie and Archie are still staring at her. Archie's eyes are big, processing. Rose can tell right away that he's the type of boy who eats up every shred of information that he possibly can. Angie's gaze is a bit more judgmental.
Rose polishes off the sandwich quickly and says, "Got any more?"
Angie lets out a shocked laugh and Clara says, "Angie," in a warning tone.
"What?" Angie snaps. "God! It's like you don't even care," she spits at Rose.
"Angie, I told you -" Clara begins, but then Rose says, "Don't care?" and a hush falls over them.
"Wow," says Angie, popping the 'w' between her lips, and Rose realizes she doesn't particularly want to know what Angie's about to say, but something keeps her rooted to the spot. "That's horrible," she says, and Rose can feel the acid in her voice. "When my mum died, I cried my eyes out. I could barely even sleep, and I certainly couldn't eat."
"Angie, what did I tell you -" Clara says, but Rose gets to her feet, shoving the chair back across the floor with a resounding scrape.
"I'm not really hungry," she says to Clara, but it's like she can barely see the people in the room with her anymore. She turns on her heel and escapes.
She doesn't particularly know where she's going, only that she wants to get away from any and all people on the planet. She finds herself wandering past the houses and in towards the mountains.
It's cooler the closer she gets to them, and they seem to spring to life before her eyes. As she approaches, the terrain becomes less sandy and more rocky. Still, she doesn't slow down until she reaches the trunk of a fig tree. There's a shady spot underneath, and she sits with her back against it and tilts her face to the sky and closes her eyes.
For a long time, she doesn't think, just sits there. She's so lost in the absolute nothingness that comes from a lack of thought that she doesn't hear footsteps approaching. She only hears when a voice says, "Rose."
"Doctor," she says without opening her eyes.
She feels him sit down next to her and finally cracks her eyes open to look at him. He looks a bit deflated, honestly. His hair isn't even sticking up the usual way.
She's not uncomfortable by the way he examines her anymore, but even so, she looks away when he does. "How bad is it?" he asks.
"I don't know yet," she replies. "I don't . . . everything's all muddled up."
"I know," he says.
"Doctor? Was it . . . did you see . . . was there an eye patch?" she asks.
He pauses for a moment, then says, "Yes."
"I wasn't sure if it was real," says Rose. "Does that mean it was Kovarian?"
"We don't know that," says the Doctor.
"But who else could it be? Who else would do that?"
"We don't know," the Doctor repeats. "There's a lot we don't know about the Division, Rose."
"It was Kovarian," Rose says, and it comes out through her teeth. "It had to be. She threatened me. She told me she was going to properly motivate me, remember? She wears a bloody eye patch, Doctor, how could it be anyone else?"
His hand clamps down hard on her shoulder. "Listen to me, Rose, it doesn't matter if it was her or not. Thinking that way isn't going to help. Revenge doesn't help anything."
"It would make me feel a hell of a lot better!" Rose snaps.
"No, it wouldn't!" he retorts. "You know who gets revenge, Rose? Cowards. People who would rather blame someone else for what happened because they think it will get rid of their guilt."
"You think that's why I want her dead?"
"You feel horrible," the Doctor says. "You think it's all your fault. You feel so guilty you think it's going to eat you alive. And it's easier to blame Kovarian than to let that guilt consume you. Trust me, I know."
"You know what happened to you," Rose says. "You know how you felt." She pushes his hand off and turns to look him in the face. "You know what my first thoughts were, Doctor? I thought that I was to blame, because even if Kovarian had killed her, it was because I let her too close. I thought that Kovarian was something like a wild animal, and I let her loose. But Kovarian isn't a wild animal. She's a thinking, feeling person and she put a bullet through my mum's head anyway. She deserves to die for that."
"And what about you?" the Doctor asks. "Are you going to become a killer like her?"
"I am nothing like her."
"If you kill, you will be. You think Kovarian thought to herself, 'Killing people's mothers sounds like a fun thing to do today'? She killed because she believed she was right. If you seek revenge, that's exactly what you'll be doing."
"You don't understand!" Rose shouts. "I can't think, Doctor. Nothing's fitting together in my head right now, everything's all jumbled out, and all I can think about is my mum and Kovarian. I need to stop her, because if I don't -"
"- you'll be this way forever," he finishes. "I told you, Rose. I know what it feels like."
She opens her mouth to say something - she doesn't know what - but all that comes out is a half-choked sob. Immediately the Doctor's arms are around her and he's hugging her tightly as she cries. The waves are back, and she feels as if the Doctor's arms are the only thing keeping her from going under.
They stay that way for awhile, arms wrapped around each other long after Rose's tears have subsided and the only sound is their lungs contracting and expanding and pushing and pumping air in and out.
After her heartbeat has steadied and she's calmer, Rose asks, "Have I ever thanked you?"
The Doctor's lips quirk up. "Thanked me? For what? Endangering your life and getting your family killed?"
"You can't honestly think that."
"It's a fact," he says. "If you hadn't been assigned to me, you'd be safe right now. And significantly less knowledgeable about what's been happening around you. But safe."
"Right, and you're totally the one who got me stuck in this situation," Rose says sarcastically. "You requested me, did you?" She shakes her head. "That's absolutely ridiculous, to blame yourself."
"No more ridiculous than it is for you to blame yourself," he replies. "You know, before this, I was a physics professor."
"No way." She stares at him. "Seriously?"
"You're surprised?"
"I assumed you'd be an engineer," she says. "You know, because of the whole building weapons thing."
"I was successful in lots of subjects," he says. "Chemistry, engineering, literature . . . But it was always physics for me. I loved reading, I loved experimenting, but the universe, the way everything was so big but operated on levels so small . . . I loved it. It was the one thing that didn't come naturally to me, the one thing I had to work at and stay up late studying for, and I just loved it. It energized me. I studied it for years and years. The day I got a job teaching and doing research for a university was the best day of my life."
"Universities," says Rose. "I've always wondered what those would be like."
"Didn't think you'd go?"
"Nah. You can only go if you get assigned there, and I was expecting shop girl."
"You'd like it," he says. "But one thing I learned from studying physics is that nothing in the universe happens by choice. Everything in the universe, from quarks to bombs to supernovas, follows its own predetermined nature as perfectly as if it had been programmed."
"So what? God?" Rose asks.
"God? No," he says. "No, I never believed. In fact, I actively disbelieved. The more you study the universe, the more ridiculous all that seems."
Rose snorts. "Wow, you really arrogant, aren't you?"
"Excuse me?"
"You dope," says Rose. "I'm not talking about fluffy white clouds and halos. You just said everything was predetermined, didn't you?"
"Yes, and I'm sure it's by some big man in the sky."
"That's one definition," says Rose. "Come on Doctor, you've studied physics for years and you think that it's not possible there's something you don't understand? Something you can't explain, something beyond your comprehension?"
"Of course I do," says the Doctor impatiently, "but God?"
"Stop picturing a big man in the sky," Rose orders. "Imagine it differently. Imagine God as . . . as a force, or something. Something beyond human comprehension."
"A higher intelligence," says the Doctor.
"Yeah, exactly."
"Hmm," he replies. "That's an interesting theory, but the fact is there's no evidence to support it whatsoever."
"Or, you could argue everything supports it."
They'd been staring up at the sky, and they turn to look at each other simultaneously. For a moment all she can think about is what he said, that the universe is big but works on a small scale, and she thinks it must be true, because he is more than she could imagine but somehow he's also made up of tiny bits. Hair that sticks up and eyelashes and chapped lips and a hint of stubble . . .
"Ahem."
Their heads both jerk to the side and Rose realizes belatedly that his arms are still around them. He yanks them away and jumps to his feet, somehow managing to scrape his arm against the tree. Rose cringes at the noise.
Angie stands, arms folded and smirk playing on her lips. "Clara said I have to apologize," she announces.
"Right, I'll leave you to it," says the Doctor, and before Rose can say anything else he runs away.
Angie's smirk becomes a full-blown grin as she watches him go. She turns back to Rose and raises an eyebrow. "All right, then."
"Thought you came to apologize?" Rose snaps, as she's not in her best mood right now and certainly doesn't want to deal with a bratty teenager.
"Sorry," Angie says flatly.
"Really put your heart into that one, didn't you," Rose says as she goes to follow the Doctor. She stops a few steps away and turns back to Angie. "You know, you really should be sorry. You had no right to speak to me that way, especially after my mum died, because I didn't fit into your narrow-minded idea of what I should be doing. People grieve differently and just because they don't do it the way you do doesn't mean you can be nasty to them! So kindly shove off, and take your half-assed apology with you." She turns to march away dramatically when something hits her in the back.
"Ouch!" She spins back to face Angie and looks at the ground to see what was just thrown at her. A carrot. "What the hell was that for?" Rose yells.
"Want to see something?" Angie asks calmly.
"Not if you're going to throw things at me!"
"You'll like it," says Angie. "Promise."
Rose is about to throw the carrot back in her face when she remembers what Angie said before. "When my mum died, I cried my eyes out." Something in her stands down and she finds herself following Angie.
The girl leads her back to the Dinami and they wind through buildings until they leave the richer part and enter what Rose supposes is the slums. The houses with cushions and patios are replaced by one- or two-room shacks.
Past the slums is a meadow. It's been fenced off, which at first Rose doesn't understand. Then she hears a mooing, and turns to see a herd of cows.
"Cows?" she says.
"Livestock," says Angie. "They make their own food here, obviously. Clothes, too. They've got cows, pigs, goats, sheep, chickens, and . . ." She leads Rose around a stack of cages and opens her arms, presenting ". . . rabbits!"
They're cute. Undeniably cute, with twitching noses and big eyes. There are brown ones, white ones, spotted ones, big ones, little ones. They hop in their small, fenced-off section of the meadow, mingling and resting.
Archie sits in the cage. One's on his lap and another's in his hands. "I've named them," he announces. "Colonel Sanderson and Mike McGregors."
"Those names are stupid," replies Angie. "They're already called Fluffers and Patricia."
"Those names are stupid!" Archie complains.
"Here." Angie reaches down and scoops up a brown spotted rabbit. She holds it out to Rose.
"Oh. Um - okay." Rose doesn't know how to hold a rabbit, so she puts both her hands out flat. Angie rolls her eyes and shows her how to cup the rabbit in her hands, before handing her the rabbit.
It's really more of a bunny, judging by the size. It sniffs Rose's fingers curiously but besides that, it seems content to rest in her hands.
"That's Clara's favorite," says Angie. "Her name's Souffle. Clara has some weird thing about souffles, I don't know why."
"She's cute," says Rose. "So why do you have rabbits here? How do they help?"
"That's the point, doofus," Angie says, but Rose doesn't get offended like she would before. She's realized that insults are sort of Angie's default mode. "They don't help with anything, they're just cute and fluffy." She sighs and sits down next to her brother to pick up the rabbit who is either Colonel Sanderson or Fluffers. "The Dinami don't have much, do they? A few cars, three planes, a dozen scientists. They've got to grow their own food and make their own clothes and build their own equipment, and they section some of it off to raise bunnies."
Rose sits down across from them, stroking Souffle lightly on the head. "So . . . what do you think that means?" she asks Angie.
"I dunno," says Angie. "It probably doesn't mean anything. I'll tell you what, though. I bet the Division isn't spending any of its time with rabbits."
Rose can't help but agree.