2.1 The Christmas Invasion

Rose Tyler had had a weird day, she reflected as she flopped once again on her bed in the TARDIS, finally showered and in her pajamas. In fact, if she had to quantify it, she might even say it was weirder than the day that she met the Doctor and traveled to the literal end of the earth with him. At the time, she'd thought that was the strangest a day could be. It was charmingly naïve, in retrospect.

Today (or, in the past twenty four hours or so, linear time, she thought. It was honestly hard to keep track anymore.) she had watched the man she loved die and be reborn as someone entirely new, yet entirely the same. She'd run from killer Santa robots, escaped a rogue Christmas tree, been kidnapped by aliens (again...in fact, for the third time this week, now that she thought about it; fourth if you counted the Doctor sending her off against her will), re-met the prime minister, watched the Doctor get his hand cut off and immediately grow a new one, witnessed an execution-by-satsuma, gaped as her once-domesticity-averse Doctor willingly joined in for human holiday traditions, and frolicked in the ashes of a decimated spaceship.

A weird day, indeed. She was exhausted.

She'd been massively traumatized by everything at first, of course. The Doctor's regeneration had been terrifying. She'd really and truly believed that he was dead; dead, or body swapped with an odd, manic stranger. He'd been so distraught that she didn't believe him that he was the Doctor, but how could she? He was entirely different. Looked different, sounded different, acted different. But the memories he shared, and the desperation and heartbreak in his voice as he pled with her to see him… she'd had to accept it.

She hadn't been happy about it, though.

Rose had loved the Doctor. His crystalline blue eyes, full of fury and hurt and adoration. His stark, beautiful face that could be cold as carved stone one moment and giddily silly the next. The low burr of his voice. His strong, solid form, clad in an armor of leather, under which he'd never let anyone, except for her. His large, rough hands, which could be so surprisingly gentle on her skin. The contradictions that lived within him: his confidence and his insecurity; his rage and his joy; his forgiveness and his unforgivingness.

She had known every corner of him, or so she thought. And then, suddenly, he'd been someone new.

This new Doctor was still full of contradictions, but he didn't hold them within the steadiness that he had before. His joy sparkled, his anger blistered. He was tall and thin and although he was older than when she'd met him, he looked and acted younger. Lighter. He was more human, somehow. Less alien. He was also, Rose had to admit, quite fit. It felt disloyal to think so; she had to keep reminding herself that he was the same man.

Did she love him? Could she love him? She wasn't sure yet.

Once he'd rescued them on the Sycorax ship, and once he'd shared Christmas dinner with her, her mum, and Mickey, and once he'd invited her back onto the TARDIS with a relieved grin, she'd been able to reflect back on the day with less angst and more humor. It really had been ridiculously over the top. Very reminiscent of some of their earliest adventures with the Slitheen and the Nestene Consciousness. They'd almost been murdered by a CHRISTMAS TREE, for god's sake! It was almost as ridiculous as shop dummies. Rose giggled to herself and rolled her head into her pillow, stifling the small half sob that came, unbidden, at the end of the laugh, making her realize that she was hovering on the very edge of hysteria. She was one to accuse the Doctor of contradictions. She had so many conflicting emotions running through her she didn't even know where to start.

She was giddily happy to be home on the TARDIS; still wanted, still welcomed. When the new Doctor had taken her hand and leaned in close to her to point at the stars, she'd felt a shivering thrill of attraction, like a new crush. But she was heartbroken that the old Doctor was gone. It didn't matter that this new man shared his memories, he was still different. It was so confusing. He was the same and he wasn't. She had spent so much time mapping the firm planes of her Doctor's body with her hands and lips and tongue, basking in the calm of spending quiet hours with him in the library, relying on his brilliant mind and unwavering determination to bring her through the most terrifying of situations, and that was all gone. How did one go about mourning someone who was technically still there, but not? Especially without hurting him? It hurt her head to think about it.

The soft knock at Rose's door did not come as a surprise to her. "It's open," she called out to the Doctor, not moving from her bed. She pondered how even his knock was different than it had been.

The Doctor cleared his throat from the doorway. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, rather than crossing them over his chest; another quirk changed, Rose thought wistfully. He didn't enter the room, as he would have before. "Hello," he greeted her cautiously.

"Hello," she responded with a small smile, trying to radiate reassurance.

"I, ah…." he started, pulling one hand from his pocket to ruffle his new riot of messy brown hair, so different from the shorn locks Rose had run her own fingers through so many times. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you said you still wanted to come, but… weeeell… I understand that this is all a bit of a shock. You do believe me now, though, right? You know that I'm me?" He talked with his body rather a lot, Rose noted. A dip of the shoulder, a roll of the head to stare at the ceiling, a rock on the heels of his trainers. His voice was hopeful but also pleading. His deep brown eyes, so much warmer than the icy blue she was used to, met hers and broadcast his worry and insecurity.

Rose smiled again, wistfully, and reassured him. "Yeah, I believe you. Of course you're the Doctor. Who else could possibly save the world with a satsuma?" The Doctor grinned at her in relief and Rose sighed. "It's just," she continued, "it's gonna take me a little time, yeah? My brain doesn't quite know what to do with it all. I wish…" she bit her lip and glanced away from the Doctor. "I wish you'd told me," she finished more quietly, her hurt creeping into her voice. "I was so scared. We've risked our lives together so many times, I don't understand why you didn't tell me this could happen. So that I'd know you were okay." She blinked back the tears that had begun to pool in her eyes, willing them not to fall.

"Oh, Rose," the Doctor murmured, looking like he was about to move toward her, but ultimately maintaining his place in the doorway. "I'm so sorry. I'd hoped…" he sighed. "I'd been in that body for such a short time. I honestly didn't think I'd lose it so quickly. But I still should have told you. Guess I was afraid you'd think it was too alien," he grimaced, a bit sheepish.

Rose snorted. "You're nine hundred years old and have two hearts, and I handled that alright. I could've handled knowing you could change your face."

"I know." The Doctor looked regretful. "I'm sorry."

"Hang on…" Rose began, sitting up, a look or realization dawning on her face. "Did you say you'd only been in that body a short time? Do you mean you've regenerated before?"

"Err…" the Doctor hedged, looking uncomfortable and tugging on one earlobe (yet another new quirk, Rose thought). "A few times, I suppose?"

"How many is 'a few'?" Rose asked warily. The Doctor muttered something under his breath. "Sorry, what was that?" she prodded.

"I said 'nine,'" the Doctor admitted with a wince. "This is my tenth body." Rose stared at him in shock for a moment before flopping back on her bed and beginning to giggle hysterically.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "That's… TENTH?! You've had ten different faces and you never thought to mention it to me?!" she could barely get the words out, she was laughing so hard. The Doctor looked sheepish. Rose clapped her hands over her face, wiping away tears, trying to get control of herself. Finally, she managed to catch her breath. "You're such a BLOKE sometimes. An alien bloke, but definitely a bloke." She sighed, somehow more relaxed than she had been thus far this evening. She snuggled down into her pillow a bit. "Okay, Mister Tenth Doctor," she dismissed him, laughter tingeing her words, "this human needs her rest. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," he answered, smiling softly, looking relieved at her reaction, sensing that they would be alright. "Goodnight, Rose Tyler."

"Goodnight, Doctor."