A/N Here we encounter little hints of a particularly cracky femslash ship of mine...

Thanks to EmRose92, KDVaren, and BlueSkies23

Disclaimer I don't own Sherlock/Doctor Who/Torchwood or any associated characters, events, etc.

CHAPTER TEN

Rose Tyler

Sun is rising, screams have gone,
Too many have fallen, few still stand tall
Is this the end of what we've begun
Will we remember what we've done wrong?
~ "The Howling," Within Temptation

xxx

When my Doctor, Jack, and Ianto return to the bunker that we've relocated to perhaps half an hour later, I can see just by their eyes that the lack of Sherlock and John isn't meaningless. It's all too clear that we've lost two more of our group, and I can't hold back the burning of my eyes. It's not that I had any particular attachment to the two men, myself, but they're so innocent—they didn't deserve any of this. From what the Doctor told me, they'd willingly come to Torchwood, unwilling to be left behind on such an adventure.

And now they're dead.

Their lives are cut off, never coming back, and it's so unfair that it gives me a throbbing headache, pulsing steadily against the inside of my skull, persistent and unshakable.

We all sit or stand silently in different positions around the bunker room, staring into space and not speaking a single word. The building is similar to the other one, but smaller. Which is all too appropriate, I recognize miserably, considering that our number has shrunken considerably since we relocated. River, Sherlock, and John—dead. And there will be more, too. I know there will be more, though how many is unclear. I can read it in the Doctor's expression—I try not to make my observations obvious, to keep him under his false impression that I can't see through him so horribly easily. But his facial muscles are tight, and not with the stress of death. He knows that another one is coming… probably soon, too.

Of course I've wondered if it might be me. But it seems unlikely, really. I just can't imagine myself dying any time soon, can't comprehend the thought that the Doctor would let me live with such knowledge. And, anyways, I've noticed his attitude around me—it's distant, distracted, and conveys all too clearly that I'm not the most important thing he has to concern himself with. I won't deny that I miss our old relationship desperately, back when we didn't keep any secrets, when we could be completely open with each other.

Those days are gone, though—they've been gone ever since the fateful Canary Wharf battle, and nothing in the universe will be able to bring them back. I'm okay with that, too. It's not that I don't miss the Doctor—God knows I do—but I don't want to hinder him. If he's moved on… well, I'll have to deal with it myself.

Not that I was always so compliant. In the beginning, in fact—when I was first separated from him—I spent most of my days sulking over the fact that he'd leave me behind, even if I never truly grew detached from him. He'd had old companions (I'd met Sarah Jane and K9), and he'd have new ones, too. I was just another in the long line. Rose Tyler, the blonde who'd fallen through realities. But I came to terms with the truth eventually, and I'm alright now, if a little saddened by his absence, and my absence in his mind. It's okay if he's done with me (and I can see that he absolutely is done with me, see it in his future self's eyes, the way he carefully avoids my gaze as if he doesn't want to have to relive the old memories that are probably just as painful for him as they are pleasant). I'll get fully over it eventually, even if I haven't yet.

I have to.

But for the moment, I have other things distracting me. Sherlock, John, and River's losses have left us all scattered and weak, and the battle clearly drained Rory, too. He's looking worse than ever, much as I hate to think about it. And I do hate to think about it. It's not just the fact that I can't stand another death, but also that he'll be leaving Amy behind. I like Amy, after all—despite her hotheadedness, I don't doubt in the least that the Scottish woman deserves her happy ending just like the rest of us do.

We've salvaged most of the food—Martha and Mickey made their way back to our old base after the battle, and reported that it was utterly wrecked, though they managed to pull together a few of the paper bags, none of which were more than singed. The older Doctor suggests that we try and eat, but none of us are up for it, and the sight of a bag of crisps makes me want to gag. I'm sickened from the violence, from the knowledge that we're all able to eat a little more, since three of our number are no longer necessary to feed.

It's horrible, all of it, and the stabbing ache of my head is increasing more and more. A few people, notably the older Doctor, Jack, and Mickey, try and get us to start planning again a couple of times, but they're faced with silence from the rest of us, and eventually accept that nothing else productive can be achieved today. The best bet for all of us is just to spend the night, hope that our hearts and minds are clearer in the morning.

I consider talking to the Doctor—my Doctor, donning his long overcoat, fingers running obsessively through the mess of his hair—more than once, but can never bring myself to. He just looks so destroyed, probably thinking that he's somehow responsible for the deaths of the past couple of hours. And confronting the fact that he'll have to see them play out all over again. Of course, in a way, that makes him lucky. For the rest of us, Sherlock and John are gone—permanently gone. I'm not going to say the same for River, who seemed to be at least as familiar with time travel as me—for all I know, she plays an all-too-significant role in my future as well as the younger Doctor's.

We peel off to our bunk beds one at a time. Any semblance of partnership has long since vanished; instead, everyone simply seems to slump onto the nearest mattress without so much as a 'goodnight' to the rest of us. After a while, Martha rises from her position next to Rory to switch off the light. I close my eyes as soon as she does so, leaning against the cement wall from where I sit on the ground and letting the cold seep through my jacket and shirt, freezing my muscles. The chill is relaxing, and I take a slow, steady breath. It's easy to pretend, this way—pretend that nothing happened between this night and the previous one. How long have we been on this insane planet now? Two days? Three? God, I can't even remember. It all feels like it happened so fast, yet at the same time, it's insane to think that I was on Earth have a week ago.

Light snoring begins to fill the air, but I'm far from tired. Images keep flashing through my mind—River's body slumping to the ground, the emptiness in the Doctor's eyes when he returned sans Sherlock and John, the blank horror on Ianto's face at the same time. And, for some odd reason, Amy—Amy Pond. She shines just as vividly as the rest of me, her ginger hair and sharp eyes bright in my mental image, though I can't remember what her significance might be. It's not like she's lost anyone particularly close to her today. Well, I assume so, though I don't know her true relationship with River. Maybe they were friends… even related, somehow. They did have similar eyes—that hazel-green, with amber hints, like a summer leaf with the first tinges of autumn spreading through its veins.

But the thought of Amy won't leave me alone. Something about her is… fascinating, though I can't possibly identify the source of such an emotion. She seems strong, but at the same time more exposed than any of us. I've seen her sobbing, when Rory was on the verge of death, and I can't deny that that's rooted a sort of fondness inside of me, a sweet sensation whenever she drifts through my thoughts. It's not that I feel bad for her, exactly—more like I want her to be happy, believe that she deserves happiness, almost more than any of the rest of us.

Maybe—and the realization comes to mind slowly at first, then all at once—maybe it's because she's just like me, really. At least as far as I can see. A young woman, barely more than a teenager, stolen away by the intriguingly alien man with the blue box. She probably hasn't lost as much as me, hasn't been through as much, but the fact remains that her enthusiasm matches my former excitement.

I don't want Amy to end up as destroyed as me.

That knowledge is vague, though, achy and distant. It strikes me suddenly that I'm drifting off where I sit, and I snap back into full wakefulness, forcing my cramped legs to lift me and carry me to the bed that I've been crouching next to. Exhaustion is suddenly feasting on my brain, forcing my eyes shut even before I've flopped down. I don't bother to curl under the sheets or even kick off my shoes. My hair and skin feel dirty, my several-day-old clothes itching against my skin, but the discomfort suddenly seems tiny, insignificant in the face of my massive, grief-induced sleepiness. I gratefully give into it, out like a light in a matter of seconds.

Amy's shriek is what wakes me.

I snap up immediately, banging my head on the bunk above me, and wince, rubbing at the injured spot as I squint into the darkness and try to orient myself. She's still crying out, whimpering, sobbing wails that cut through the air like fingernails on a chalkboard. "Amy?" I mumble vaguely, knowing that my voice is too silent for her to hear. An instant later, the light bulb flicks on, illuminating the room. I instantly catch sight of her blurred figure, kneeling on the ground with her face in her hands and strands of deep ginger hair wound up in her clenched fingers. Another wracking groan works its way out of her muffled mouth, and I realize suddenly that she's next to Rory's bed.

My stomach drops.

Without thinking, I'm out of bed, crouching beside her. Martha and the older Doctor are already there, hovering on either side, neither seeming to be certain what to do. I lock eyes with Martha, and she sighs softly, looking down in a broken way.

"Did he…?" I question, already knowing the answer.

A small dip of her chin. "The battle was too much exertion… all that moving around." Her large, dark eyes are swimming with tears, but she keeps her lips pressed tightly and firmly together, holding them in so as not to farther upset the already distraught Amy.

"I… I d-didn't… he wasn't supposed to die!" the Scotswoman screams, and she bangs her fist against the ground, crying out in pain when her hand collides with the cement. I don't think, but instead reach out, grasp her fingers before she does it again.

"Amy," I whisper intently, but she just glares up at me, her usually pretty face distorted by blotchy red tearstains. There's nothing sweet about her crying—it's messy, disgusting, but somehow all the more tragic for being so. She jerks her wrist away from me, and I let it go, holding my hand up to indicate that I have no intention to upset her. "I'm sorry?" I offer, but she just shakes her head furiously, pulling her knees up to her face and sobbing into them in a horrible, half-screaming, childish way.

"Damn it!" she yelled with frightening venom, "god damn it! Why did it have to be him? What did he do to deserve this—what did I do to deserve this? There was no reason for us to come! You—Doctor, you could have saved all of these stupid people yourself, you didn't have to drag us along with you! Then Rory would still be alive, River would still be alive! Are they not important to you? Are they disposable enough that you can just—just… just drag them along like this?"

I'm a bit injured by the fact that I'm clearly grouped in with the 'stupid people,' but I try not to let it show, instead jumping to the horror-stricken Doctor's defense. "He didn't have any choice," I insist. "Don't be hard on him, alright? Just… this is hard for him, too."

"How the fuck would you know? Do you know him as well as I do?" she demands, a fresh wave of tears streaking from her eyes as she glares at me through a terrible grimace. "Do you realize what a selfish bastard he is?"

"I know the Doctor very well," I reply evenly, fighting to keep my voice from shaking. The gravity of the situation has suddenly come crashing down at me all at once, and I can barely contain my own misery, the ache in my chest that yet another of our number has been stolen away already. "Probably even better than you. And one thing I'm positive about is that he's in no way selfish."

She scowls at me for another few seconds, then dissolves into a gale of groans and whimpers, covering her face with her hands and rocking back and forth. Martha silently pulls the sheet over Rory's still, shadowed face, and I move a hand to Amy's back, rubbing it gently as I turn to the other young woman, comforting her because no one else seems willing to do so.

"When did it happen?"

"About an hour ago," Martha answers, her face downcast. "I didn't want her to know until morning, but she woke up… it's almost like she detected it. We're going to have to… move the body out soon."

"Don't you dare!" Amy shrieks, lunging forward as if to physically stop Martha from taking Rory away, and I cinch my arms around her, trying to contain her struggles.

"He's gone, Amy," I breathe in her ear, "there's nothing you can do…"

"I don't care!" she cries, and suddenly turns around to face me, bringing our faces to an alarmingly small distance. I can see every teardrop on her cheeks, every grain of dark green or golden amber in her glimmering eyes. "I don't—do you have any idea? Any idea what it's like to—to lose someone—I'm not just going to give up!"

My throat seems to close up, because I know exactly what she means. I lost the Doctor, all the way back when he was his Ninth self as well as at Bad Wolf Bay, and I learned that letting go was the farthest thing from easy in existence—perhaps even impossible. I don't let Amy go, though. I'm lucky enough to have a stable mind right now, and I have to take responsibility, to stop her from hurting me or anyone else.

"I'm not asking you to give up," I promise. "I just want you to look at yourself. Look at him. The best thing you can do for him at this point is to let him be at peace. Alright? He's not gone, not really, he's just… somewhere else."

"Don't give me that bullshit! I know what death is, Rose, I'm not two years old!"

My name in her voice causes my heart to jolt oddly, and I realize that this is the first time she's spoken it aloud. I don't let my strange delight at such a matter slow me up, though—my internal agony is enough to drown it without effort. I open my mouth, entirely unsure what to say, when she suddenly falls onto me, her arms wrapping around my waist, her forehead pressed into my shoulder so that I shake with her sobs. I hesitate for a moment, unsure how to react, then give her a slightly anxious pat on the back, rocking her slowly back and forth. Everyone is awake by now—Jack, Ianto, Mickey, Donna, both Doctors. No Sherlock, John, River, or Rory… I pretend I don't see as Jack walks over to Martha, and they silently scoop Rory's body up together, moving towards the door, which the younger Doctor opens without a word. The grating noise of it opening is far too audible even over Amy's anguished sounds, but she only clings tighter, so that I'm practically suffocating.

Minutes creep by, feeling much longer than they probably are, and my shirt is absolutely soaked in Amy's tears by the time she finally pulls back, sucking in long, shaky breaths. "I have to go out," she chokes simply, rising to her shaky feet and stumbling towards the door. A chorus of protests rises up, but she just holds a hand out, shaking her head rapidly. "Don't try to stop me. I need to be alone."

"We can't risk you being alone, not at this point," Jack replies darkly, and Ianto gives a small nod from behind him.

"She won't be alone," my mouth is saying, and then I'm standing up as well. Jack opens his mouth to protest, but the Doctor shakes his head from across the room, and I find myself without any opposition. Taking it as indication to go on, I traipse out the heavy double doors after Amy, who opens one of them single-handedly. It's dark outside, still very early morning, and every still leaf of the surrounding trees is laden with moisture. Amy doesn't make any sort of effort to walk quietly, but simply slops along, her chest hitching up with dry sobs that are all too loud against the background of cricket-like chirps.

"It might be dangerous out here," I point out as soon as the building containing everyone else is lost among the tree trunks. "We probably shouldn't go too far away from—"

"Don't try to talk to me," she growls tearfully, and I bite back my intended reprimands, instead choosing to remain silent as we move on. It's oddly therapeutic, this slow walking, and I find myself relaxing after a while, exhaustion from my meager hours of sleep crashing over me. I bite my lip, guilty for being able to feel almost content when Amy is clearly so distressed. I make sure to keep my eyes on her mane of deep gingery hair, her slim figure illuminated by faintly glowing moss lining the many tree trunks. It's almost like some sort of fairyland out here, and it's hard to believe that so much blood was spilled on the same earth less than a day ago. Signs of the attack show rarely, just in the occasional snapped branch or scuffed-up dirt. And I try to ignore them when they do, not wanting to think about Sherlock and John and River right now.

Finally, when her sobs have died down, she sinks to the ground, her legs folding underneath her. I carefully approach her side, to see that she's staring down into a murky pool of greenish water, which shines faintly with lights from somewhere under the surface. Streams of bubbles flow to the top, and it takes me a moment to realize that there are tiny aquatic volcanoes lining the base of the pool in a sort of spiral, sending jets of fizzy hot water to the surface. It's beautiful, really, and emits a pleasantly faint gurgling sound. I lower myself down next to her, setting my hands on the ground behind me and crossing my legs. We sit like that for a while, in silence that might have been companionable if only her harsh breaths weren't so burdened with misery.

"I really am sorry," I murmur a while later, when my eyelids are starting to droop. "I have… I have lost people before. Never permanently, but… but I thought it was, at the time, I mean."

"The Doctor, right?" she questions bitterly.

I don't ask how she knows, just nod, my blonde hair brushing against my chin as I bend forward, gazing into the pool. My fingers dance along the edge of a rock embedded in the ground, brushing against the smooth, cool surface. "Yeah… twice. First he sent me and the TARDIS back in time and left himself to die…"

"He'd never do anything like that for me or Rory," is her immediate snort. Her voice breaks on his name, but I pretend not to notice, too busy with my quick objections.

"Don't say that! I never expected that he would for me until he did…"

"He's in love with you, though." She says it in an utterly matter-of-fact way, as though it's the most normal thing in the world. And my stomach twists in two different ways at once, as though I can't decide whether to be amazed or saddened by her words. I can't quite pinpoint what the reason for the second emotion would be—something about her matter-of-fact tone, as if she doesn't really care what my love life might concern.

"You really… you really think so?" I ask nervously, hating how girlish and shallow my voice sounds.

"'Course. Not always—I don't think he'll always be, I mean… mine isn't… but yours is. It's obvious, really… too bad that he's going to end up getting over you."

Now my emotions are flying every which way, and she's spinning them in all those directions, with her words. I end up chewing my lip anxiously, unsure how to respond. I'm just about to try and change the subject when she continues, her voice teary and passionate.

"Not that it's a bad thing, though… being in love just hurts you, it looks like… in the end."

"Don't say that," I implore instantly. "He was worth it, right? Rory was worth it?"

"He was worth his death… he wasn't worth me being alone," she murmurs. "He was amazing… of course he was… God, I loved him to death." I flinch at the expression, but she doesn't seem to mind. She's trailing her fingers through the water, now, creating little swirling patterns that intercept the miniature volcanoes' bubble streams. "But there could have been someone else. I know that I could have fallen in love with someone else instead. Someone stronger… and then they'd probably be alive now."

I make sure not to let it show how her chosen pronoun affects me—they, implying a man or a woman. They. I stop tracing patterns on the rock, instead flicking my fingers into the edge of the pool. The water is surprisingly warm, and feels absolutely normal—the most normal thing that I've encountered this whole crazy trip. I could easily feel the exact same thing by turning on the warm water tap back at home. It's comforting, and I let my whole hand slip under, not twirling it like Amy, but instead just letting it soak. I consider my words for almost a full minute before speaking, my voice soft, so that I can barely hear it over the far-too-merry bubbling. "It can happen more than once, though. You can fall in love again… you don't have to be alone."

"I can't move on." Her voice is cold, suddenly, and she whisks her fingers out of the pool, shaking them and casting little flecks of dark wetness over the grey stone at the edge of the water. "I… I just can't."

"You shouldn't talk like that. You never know for sure… that's the thing about love… it catches you unawares."

"I'm not talking about love, Rose," she sighs, and once again, her use of my name gives me light chills for some odd reason. "I'm talking about… dammit. I'm talking about the fact that Rory—that this was the worst time for him to leave me…" She chokes up again, and takes a series of long, shaky breaths, holding the heel of her hand to her forehead as if attempting to suppress a headache. "It's… it's more than just… our connection." A harsh laugh. "At some points, I wouldn't think that anything could be more than that. Boy, was I wrong… wrong about so many things."

Her words are starting to scare me for some reason, and I tilt my head, turning to look at her fully. "What's wrong? Tell me… please. I'll listen."

"You will," she agrees almost numbly, then shakes her head. "What the hell's the use in hiding it? I'm pregnant, Rose."

"What?" The word splits the air with an undisguised horror, and I see her flush, duck away from me once again. My head is reeling. Pregnant. How the hell can she be pregnant? My eyes instinctively fly to her stomach, but it's completely flat. "Are—are you sure?"

"Positive," she mumbles. "And now… she's not going to have a dad… going to be raised by a single parent, if she even survives, because her mum was too weak to keep her family safe…"

There are a thousand things I want to say at once, and I end up stammering. "She could still—she'll make it—it wasn't your fault… how do you… how do you know it's a girl, anyways?"

"I can tell," she replies simply, running a hand through her hair and dampening the glossy red strands. Her voice is evening out again, and I let a small amount of hope rise up in my chest, belief that perhaps I've managed to distract her from Rory for the time being. "I just… it's obvious, somehow. And I feel like there's something else I'm missing, but… whatever, that doesn't make any sense. Ignore me."

"I don't want to ignore you," I object. "That's the last thing I want to do right now."

"I'm asking you to ignore me. I don't… I don't want to be a distraction… don't tell anyone, please," she begs suddenly, her hazel eyes snapping up to meet mine. "Please don't tell anyone… none of them know, not even the Doctor. Rory didn't even know… he never knew he was going to be a father…" Tears spring up at the thought, and I reach out, gently wiping them off her cheeks.

"It's okay. I won't tell… we can just go back and act like nothing's wrong at all, alright? Well… nothing aside from… the obvious."

"The obvious," she repeats, sighing. "We should go back. There's no use staying here… like Jack said, it's dangerous. It was stupid to come out here in the first place… I can think clearer now, though, it's okay."

"Are you sure?" I ask, unconvinced of her ability to calm down so quickly. "It's fine, you know, if you want to stay out a little longer. I'll… I'll be happy to sit with you for as long as you need… you deserve the quiet. It's a bit insane back there, and I doubt anyone's going back to sleep at this point…"

"I would be if I were there," she sighs tiredly. "I just want to deal with this all in the morning… not right now. You're right, though, it probably will be noisy back there… God, I just want to sleep."

"Then sleep." I thoughtlessly adjust my position, then gesture to my lap, offering that she lie her head there. "I'm not tired… I can stay up and make sure nothing comes for us."

She considers me oddly for a second, then shrugs, giving into her exhaustion and curling up, settling her head onto my lap so that her hair spills onto the ground around my legs. "Thanks, I guess," she murmurs, clearly too exhausted to object. She turns on her side, then lets her eyes drift shut. I can feel her breaths almost immediately turn long and steady, and I let out an exhalation of my own, tipping back and leaning against the trunk of a tree immediately behind us. It's unexpectedly comfortable to feel her heartbeat as she slips away to sleep, and, despite everything that's falling apart in both of our worlds, with the cricket-like chirping, the burble of water, and the thrum of her heartbeat, I feel more at peace than I have ever since before Bad Wolf Bay.