Melissa tugged impatiently at her panty hose, hoping not to put a hole in them. She was already running late, and didn't have time to drive to the drug store to get another pair. Really, it was the Gibson's fault; they hadn't picked up Susan and Matthew for the lock-in until after six, and she hadn't wanted to get dressed before they came. Stupid in retrospect, but she hadn't wanted her children guessing she had a date with Greg.
Susan and Matthew would be appalled if they knew she was spending New Year's Eve with the new football coach at their school. He was almost ten years her junior, and she could imagine their embarrassment. Matthew, especially, would be upset that she was cheating on Jack. It was time to move on, though, wasn't it?
Slipping on her little black dress, she searched her closet for the heels she had bought two weeks ago after Greg had invited her to dinner at the Broadmoor for New Year's Eve. They would stay and watch the fireworks. The fact that he had also booked a room was implied, but not directly stated. He had told her to pack a bag, but hadn't mentioned where she would be staying. Well, he wouldn't be the first man who anticipated sex after an expensive dinner, she decided. It just wasn't very inventive, or maybe it was and she was merely jaded.
She no longer knew what constituted normal, especially on this Earth. She had had two nights and three months with the most inventive and passionate man in the universe. Maybe Jack had just spoiled her for everyone else. Maybe she didn't want to go out tonight at all. Hell, she knew she didn't want to go out tonight. She wanted her husband back, but from the secret files she'd been reading, she wasn't sure that was possible. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't impossible, though.
She was still Mrs. Harkness, wasn't she? Although, if it were until death do us part, maybe she wasn't. She had been reading about what Torchwood had done to her husband when he had arrived in Cardiff so long ago, and it had literally made her sick. Okay, there was no way she was sleeping with Greg tonight, but she could go to dinner. Then, if she was bold enough-
Putting that thought out of her head, she rummaged in her jewelry box looking for the matching crystal earrings and necklace she had bought to go with her outfit. She could have afforded something nicer, but didn't believe in spending her money on frivolous things. When she wasn't blacking out, she was making enough to save for her kids' college and put a little aside each month in the hope of one day repaying the Doctor. She knew he didn't need the money, but she wanted to make the gesture. She thought that he would understand it was a sign of respect, even if he didn't accept the repayment. She worried that she would not see him again, however.
It had been seven months since the Cybermen had invaded and then mysteriously disappeared. That day had been terrifying for her and her children. She, Susan and Matthew had made it to the basement and locked themselves in the safe room. Just as she feared the invaders would crash through the wall, she and the kids had felt a horrible pulling sensation and were pinned against the door, as if a giant vacuum cleaner were trying to suck them up. After a few minutes, they slid to the floor, Melissa with a broken shoulder.
She had seen a list of the dead a week later, and had been devastated when she read Rose Tyler's name. Even her mother, Jackie, had been killed. The Doctor wasn't mentioned, but then he wouldn't be, would he? She assumed he was alive since his name still gave her a little power over her tormentor, but she tried not to think about that too much. When she read the news reports about the strange star in London and the Thames being drained on Christmas Eve, she decided the Doctor was indeed alive. Whether she would ever see him again was another question entirely.
She had just finished putting on her make-up, and was trying to find her black velvet clutch when she heard the doorbell ring. Cursing Greg under her breath for being twenty minutes early, she yanked open the door.
"Doctor?"
His face was haggard, dark stubble visible on his chin. His brown suit was rumpled, hanging off his frame as if he had lost weight. His overly pale features gave a stark prominence to his freckles. Fearing that he was sick or injured, she took his hand and led him inside. He did not protest as he silently followed behind her, and that scared her much more than his disheveled appearance.
Leading him into the kitchen, she made him sit at the table. He still didn't speak or acknowledge her presence. Quickly heating some water in the microwave, she fixed him a strong cup of hot tea. After adding a liberal amount of honey and lemon, she placed it in his hands and ordered him to drink. Surprisingly, he complied.
Grabbing the cordless phone and quickly dialing Greg's cell phone, she retreated to the den to cancel her date. "Greg, sorry to call at such short notice, but something's come up," she began, the worry evident in her voice.
"No, the kids are fine; they went to the lock-in . . . . No, I'm fine, too," she said, starting to get impatient. The Doctor wouldn't stay in the kitchen for long, would he?
"Look, Greg," she told him, cutting off another question of his, "I'm sorry to have to do this, but I'm going to have to cancel tonight. A friend of mine's here unexpectedly, and he needs my help."
"He's an old friend," she responded truthfully when the football coach began to question who was at the house. "I do not want you coming here, Greg. This isn't any of your business."
"Yeah, well, it's not what you think, so get your mind out of the gutter . . . . And you are an egotistical idiot!" she shouted as she ended the call. "Asshole," she muttered as she put the phone on the coffee table.
"Sorry," a voice whispered behind her, making her jump. He was leaning against the wall, and she wasn't sure he was able to stand on his own. He looked exhausted, although some color had returned to his cheeks. The hot tea must have helped a little. Ignoring his apology, she gave him a long hug, careful to let him remain against the wall.
"She's gone," he finally told her, the pain in his voice so raw it brought tears to her eyes.
She hugged him a little harder and sniffled. "I know." Wiping her eyes, she told him, "You look like hell; you're going to sleep here tonight."
The comment about his looks brought out a wan smile, but he protested weakly, "I don't need any sleep. I'll be fine."
"That's why you can't even stand without support," she shot back, determined he wasn't going to escape into the TARDIS that night.
"Touché," he allowed, still leaning against the wall.
Suspiciously eyeing his clothing, she asked, "When's the last time you ate?"
He shrugged. "Not sure. I've been busy."
Deciding that he needed food before he needed sleep, she brought him back into the kitchen. Refilling his mug with tea, she began to cook a large breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs and bacon. He watched her cook, but didn't say anything. The silence was only broken by the sizzling of the bacon, and Melissa found herself biting the inside of her lip to resist filling the silence with questions. She was relieved when the eggs were set. Filling two plates, she brought them to the table along with a bunch of bananas.
"I know you think I'm hungry, but even I can't eat all that." Nevertheless, the Doctor began to peel a banana.
"You better not. One of those plates is for me," she answered lightly as she searched the refrigerator for butter and jelly. Finding an open jar of cherry preserves and a new jar of orange marmalade, she set both on the table along with a stick of butter. She was about to sit down when she realized that she hadn't put out forks, knives, spoons or napkins, so she grabbed utensils as well. Handing a set to the Doctor, she finally sat down.
He ate hesitantly at first, picking at his food. She concentrated on eating her own dinner and didn't comment. By the end of dinner, he was eating with enthusiasm, and had managed to put his fingers in the marmalade. For her part, she used a spoon for the cherry preserves and let him have the other jar.
"Better?" she finally asked when his plate was clean and there were three banana peels on the table.
"Yeah," he answered simply. When the resulting silence became oppressive, he sprang from the table, vigorously washing his hands in the kitchen sink. "Dishes! Can't let you do the dishes, Melissa Morgan. Not after you just cooked for me. Wouldn't be fair." Manically, he raced around the kitchen grabbing dirty plates and bowls, efficiently shoving them into the dishwasher.
She watched him impassively, knowing his cleaning frenzy for the avoidance tactic it was. Deciding that he needed some outlet for all of that sugar he had just consumed, she did not interrupt him until the dishwasher was full. Before he could grab a skillet and start scrubbing, she laid a hand on his arm.
"Thank you, but the pots and pans can wait a while. You have more important things to do."
"What?" He eyed her suspiciously. Without answering, she led him down the hall. Stopping briefly in Matthew's room, she grabbed a t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. Then, she led him to the bathroom next to the guest bedroom.
"Take a shower; your suit looks like you've been wearing it a while, and you have stubble on your chin." Taking out a washcloth and towel from the closet in the hallway, she handed it to him. "There's a new toothbrush and extra toiletries in the basket by the sink. I'm going to be waiting in the hallway, so don't even think about making a run for it."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied tiredly, with no hint of teasing in his voice. Twenty-nine minutes and one steamy bathroom later, he was back in the hall, looking slightly nervous. Melissa reached up and gently rubbed his face, satisfied to feel that he had shaved as well. She was surprised that instead of pulling back he leaned into her touch. How long had it been since Canary Wharf for him?
Deciding that he needed sleep more than she needed details, she led him into the guest bedroom. He sat heavily on the bed, and tried his best to charm her out of her determination to see him sleep. The dark circles under his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks did not help his case.
Finally, he stopped pretending to be cheery. "I appreciate your concern, but it would be better for both of us if I slept in the TARDIS tonight." Seeing that she was not to be deterred, he finally admitted, "Melissa, I haven't slept since I lost Rose. I, well, I think it would be better if I were alone.
"I'm not afraid of your nightmares," she told him staunchly.
"You should be," the Doctor replied darkly. "I am."
"Stop trying to get rid of me, because it's not going to work." She scooted the chair she was sitting on closer to him. "I'm going to be right here, all night if that's what it takes, but you are going to sleep. You're exhausted, and I know Rose wouldn't want to see you like this."
"Now, you're not fighting fair," he grumbled, but lay down on the bed, allowing her to cover him with the sheets and quilt. He was on his back, and she could tell even in the darkness that he was staring at the ceiling. She patted his hand, and he grabbed hers, not letting it go.
After ten minutes, his breathing evened, and she hoped that he had finally fallen asleep. She quietly attempted to get comfortable on the swivel chair, but it wasn't made for napping, and her arm was uncomfortably stretched so that she could still hold the Doctor's hand. An amused snort stopped her wiggling.
"Your back will be horribly stiff sitting in that chair all night. If you're determined to make sure I sleep, you can at least lie down, too." As an afterthought he added, "I don't bite."
Relieved that he seemed determined to sleep, she did not point out how squashed she would be trying to share a twin bed with him. She did make him turn on his side so that she could scrunch up next to him; even then, her backside was perched precariously on the edge of the bed.
At some point, they both fell into a fitful sleep. The nightmares did not come for a few hours. Each time, she held him as he shook. Afterwards, he would drift, only to be wracked by another nightmare an hour or so later. It was four in the morning the last time she checked the clock, but she didn't wake again until the doorbell rang at ten.
Disoriented, she ran to get the door before the Doctor woke up. Pulling it open, she came face to face with a scandalized Tiffany Gibson and a confused Susan and Matthew. Belatedly, Melissa remembered that she had been so concerned about the Doctor that she hadn't changed out of her black dress. Her sleep rumpled clothes, wild hair and smeared mascara must make quite a picture.
Deciding that explanations would only make things worse, she brightly addressed the PTA Secretary. "Thanks so much for bringing Susan and Matthew home. You're a real friend." She hoped the emphasis on friend would dampen Tiffany's enthusiasm for subsequent gossip.
Her hopes were dashed when she opened the door wider to let the kids inside. "Doctor! When did you get here?"
Tiffany's eyebrows disappeared into her bangs, and Melissa knew that the phone lines would be busy among PTA members this morning. Well, at least she hadn't been found with Greg in the house. Perhaps there was a silver lining after all. As the twins rushed behind her to give the Doctor a hug, she firmly, but politely shut the door.
The Doctor let the twins hug him as he awkwardly patted their backs. Susan was the first to bring up Rose. "I'm sorry Rose died, Doctor. We all miss her."
Blinking, the Time Lord backed up and quickly addressed the family. "No, no, no, no, no, Rose isn't dead. She's fine. Better than fine, really, she's with her family, and Mickey. Can't forget Mr. Mickey."
He ran his hand through his untidy hair. "She's just lost. I mean, not lost. I know where she is after all, so how can she be lost? She's gone. That's it; she's gone to another universe. Much like you, now that I think about it. She just happens to be somewhere I can't get to, but she's fine, very fine. I said goodbye you know." As his hurried explanation wound down, his expression darkened and the absolute devastation Melissa had seen on his face last night returned. His speech ended, he leaned against the wall, spent.
Melissa looked significantly at her kids and suggested they go to their rooms and get some sleep, since she knew they hadn't had much the night before. Even Matthew, who was usually oblivious to the emotions of others, nodded quietly, and giving the Doctor a hesitant smile, retreated to his bedroom.
Leaving the Doctor alone with the television in the den, she slipped into the kitchen. It was snowing heavily, and she decided hot chocolate would be appropriate. She placed a tray with the drinks and some muffins on the coffee table in the den and offered a mug to the Doctor. He took the mug wordlessly, and began to sip distractedly. After a few minutes, he gave up trying to drink and began to speak. His words were more monologue than conversation, starting and stopping at odd intervals, but she did not interrupt.
"I burned up a sun just to say goodbye." He smiled softly at the memory. "She thought I was going to be able to bring her back. She had faith in me even then, but that is so Rose."
He paused for such a long time that Melissa wondered if he was finished, but then he continued in a broken voice. "We couldn't even touch. Then she told me about the baby, and for a second I hoped-but it was Jackie, course it was."
Again there was a long pause, and silent tears streamed down his face. "We only had two minutes, but she said it. Told me what I always knew. I wanted to give her that, at least, to actually say the words for once, but all I got to say was Rose Tyler, and then she was gone."
"She's gone; she's gone, she's gone," he repeated quietly as Melissa let him sob against her.
He finally sat up, and hastily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry," he said. Melissa was still reeling from the things he had said, and wasn't quite sure for what he was apologizing.
"For what?" she asked, confused.
"For letting you think Rose was dead last night. It didn't even occur to me to let you know she was still alive. I wasn't thinking." He looked slightly bashful, and she wondered if he realized just how much of their relationship he had revealed to her during his rambling.
"It's nothing to apologize for. I'm glad she's alive and with her family. I think maybe I can understand a little bit better than most about how much it hurts to lose someone like that. I hope she's adjusting to her new world." She hadn't thought about her own family, stuck on a different Earth for several months. Suddenly, she missed her brother Brad.
"Maybe that's why the TARDIS brought me here." His smile was forced, but at least he was trying.
"Well, I'm glad one of you had some good sense. Remind me to thank her later."
She kept the conversation light after that, knowing that the Doctor was still on an emotional edge. She briefly considered telling him about Major Marshall and his new threats, but decided it was not the appropriate time. He needed a chance to rest and grieve.
He managed to eat a few muffins and finish his hot chocolate, although she was sure it was cold by then. When he promised that he wouldn't leave while she took a shower, she left him watching football and went to get dressed. She came back a while later wearing a comfortable pair of jeans and a navy cable knit sweater. He was snoring, his head tilted back and his mouth partially open.
Concerned to see him asleep again, she placed her fingers around his wrist trying to find his pulse. He woke up with a start, and seeing her concern, looked extremely embarrassed.
"When's the last time you slept, before last night?" she demanded, worried that he had pushed his body to its limit.
"Well, let me see, haven't really added it up, mind you." He began to speak in that teasing, self-deprecating tone he did so well, but she wasn't fooled in the slightest.
"I guess it was five days in London, dealing with the flat and. . . other things." She did not ask what other things, there would be time for her questions later. He continued after a moment, "Then, it took about two weeks to figure out how to send a message to the other universe. I had just said goodbye to Rose when Donna showed up inside the TARDIS, complicated that, and I had to sort out her wedding. I mean, who gets married on Christmas Eve? And she thought I was barmy. Called me a Martian. Do I look like a Martian to you?"
Noticing the lack of amusement on Melissa's face, he continued, "Anyway, drained the Thames for that one, I did. Spent some time in the Vortex afterwards, but that doesn't really count, does it? Then, I ended up here. So, how long was that? Three weeks, give or take? Yep, definitely, twenty, twenty-one days, maybe twenty-three.
Melissa stared at him, shocked. "You're an idiot, you know," she finally responded when what he said began to sink in. "I may be human, but even I know that it can't be good for anyone to go without sleep for so long. No wonder the TARDIS brought you here."
He might have protested, but Susan and Matthew chose that moment to appear. Melissa noticed that the Doctor's usual happy countenance was back on his face, although she could tell just how forced it was. She sighed, knowing that she wouldn't be able to have a meaningful conversation with him when her kids were in the room.
He must have known that, too, because he eagerly invited them to watch football with him. He let them explain pass interference, off sides and roughing the kicker, and when he dropped off to sleep in the middle of one of their explanations, they didn't mind. Their father had usually slept through football games in his easy chair, and both Susan and Matthew believed napping to be a normal football watching activity.
In between fixing snacks for her children and making sure they didn't wake the Doctor, Melissa starting calling her various acquaintances on the PTA. Most had already heard of her morning attire and leapt to their own conclusions, but Becky Cosgrove, at least, kept an open mind. Better yet, her kids were friends with Susan and Matthew.
"Look, Becky," she began, deciding to embellish the version of the truth that she had told Greg last night. "I need a favor. A good friend of mine showed up on my doorstop last night. His wife recently passed away and he's devastated. I'm worried about him, and I think he'll be more willing to talk if the kids aren't around."
Listening to her friend's sympathetic chatter, Melissa didn't even have to ask if Susan and Matthew could sleep at her house tonight. Becky offered of her own accord, and then asked if there was anything else she could do.
"You're a lifesaver, Becky. If you could just keep the kids tonight and most of tomorrow, that would be great. I really hate asking you over the holidays, but it's an emergency." Knowing that she would owe Becky at least one sleepover at her own house, Melissa thanked her again and hung up the phone.
The Doctor woke up in the middle of the fourth quarter, but the score was so lopsided that it wasn't even worth pretending to watch it. Sniffing the air, he asked, "What's that cooking? It smells good."
Matthew groaned theatrically and replied, "Mom's fixing her turkey carcass soup. Just be glad that she froze the ham bone, or you'd be subjected to red beans and rice tonight."
"Hey, I like turkey and sausage gumbo," Susan argued as she sent text messages to her friends.
"Yeah, well, we're eating whatever nasty stuff the Cosgrove's are having tonight, Sue. Mom's kicking us out of the house in an hour or two." Matthew continued to play solitaire on the coffee table.
"Matt!" Susan reprimanded. Sometimes her brother could be clueless. She snuck a glance at the Doctor, but he was busy channel flipping, and didn't seem to be paying attention. Or, maybe he was. After going through the channels once, he left mumbling, "Going to see your mother in the kitchen."
He found Melissa not in the kitchen, but in her bedroom. She was lying on her stomach on her bed reading The Great Gatsby. "I've never met Fitzgerald; wonder what he's like," the Doctor announced as he noticed what she was reading.
"Do you try to meet all your favorite authors?" she asked, suddenly curious.
"Oh, I've found that it's best not to try for too much of anything with the TARDIS. Random's so much more fun. Still, I have met a few authors in my time." He smiled, remembering past adventures.
"H.G. Wells was quite an interesting chap, although I didn't like the way he fictionalized the TARDIS in his book. Rose and I met Charles Dickens on Christmas Eve. Nice man, even if it took him a while to admit that aliens existed." He stared at the far wall, and Melissa knew he was lost in memories of Rose. A few moments later, she gently gripped his arm to pull him back to the present.
"Sorry." Still tired, he sat down in the chair next to Melissa. "I don't want you sending your children away during the holidays. I'll be fine. Somehow, I slept for six hours straight last night; that's plenty of sleep for me. Just wanted to say thank you, then I'll be leaving." He smiled and would have sounded normal to anyone who didn't know him well.
Biting the top of her lip, Melissa just watched him sitting in the chair, waiting for her response. It was telling that he had not immediately jumped up after his speech to start walking towards the door.
"You know, Doctor, there's a lot to be said for this regeneration, but at least in the last one you could admit that you needed help sometimes." He made a gesture of protest that she quickly stopped. "The kids are going to a friend's house, and you're staying, and that's final."
He didn't even pretend to argue with her, and she wondered how close to collapse he had been when he arrived on her doorstep last night. Sticking an old receipt in her book to mark her place, she led him back to the den. "I DVR'd the Rose parade. If that doesn't put you to sleep, I don't know what will."
She sat next to him on the sofa, intending to watch for only fifteen minutes or so. However, the Doctor had never actually seen the floats in the Rose parade before, and found them highly entertaining. Soon, they were both laughing as the commentators gravely stated how many grains of wheat were used to highlight the Lion King's mane. Their laughter attracted Susan and Matthew who soon joined them in making fun of some of the odder floats. As Melissa watched the Doctor out of the corner of her eye, she slowly began to relax. Although still physically exhausted, the smile on his face was genuine.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The gut-wrenching, violent nightmares erupted that night, and Melissa didn't know whether to be relieved or upset that he had persuaded her that he was fine to sleep by himself. Racing through the den to get to the guest bedroom, she found him screaming on the floor underneath the computer desk.
"Damn it!" She was leery of reaching into the safe space he had made for himself; she definitely did not want him to feel guilty afterwards if he were to lash out at her in his sleep. Not knowing what else to do, she flicked on the light switch and waited outside in the hallway, her head pressed against the wall.
Minutes later, she heard him moving, and then he was walking into the hall no doubt to make some tea and sit in the kitchen, awake and wary for the rest of the night. He stopped as he saw her.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked worriedly, not even trying to pretend that he was fine.
"No, but it looks like you hurt yourself," she told him as she noticed the blossoming purple mark on his left wrist.
"Oh," was all he said as she raised his hand so he could see.
He continued walking to the kitchen, but she stopped him and led him again into the den. "You need to talk about this, or it's only going to get worse." She sat down next to him on the sofa and turned on the side table lamp. Its soft glow cast strange shadows in the dimly lit room, and for just an instant, she saw the Doctor's prominent freckles and marveled at how someone so incredibly young could have endured so much pain. The illusion was gone just as quickly, and she reminded himself that he was over nine hundred years old.
"I just need some tea," he told her petulantly. "The tannins will help—"
"Yes, yes, the tannins will help the synapses. Heard that story before." Impatiently, she went to make him a cup of tea, peering out the kitchen every once in a while to make sure he hadn't bolted. Returning, she realized that he had been crying, although he wasn't at the moment. "Here," she said kindly, handing him the tea.
Watching him silently drink, she finally asked, "Are you going to talk about it, or are you going to keep it all inside until it explodes again?"
"Do I have a choice?" he asked, somewhat bitterly, but his eyes told her that he desperately wanted to unburden himself. Putting the mug down, he leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. Haltingly, he started to speak.
"I've always had nightmares. Can't be a Time Lord and get involved without having them, I suppose. The mistakes I've made, all of them, they haunt me even now."
He finally opened his eyes, choosing to stare at the darkness outside the window rather than her. "After the Time War, it was different, though. I couldn't control the nightmares, wasn't sure I wanted to control them. Maybe I thought I deserved them, I don't know. All I know is that the guilt was killing me, little by little, and I didn't care. And then I met Rose."
His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands for a moment before continuing. "She didn't make the nightmares go away; I don't think anyone could do that, but she made me care enough to fight against them. She made me better."
Pausing again, he finally looked at Melissa. The pain in his eyes hurt her like a physical blow, and it was all she could do to hold his gaze. His voice was raw as he continued. "She's gone now, and everything I had with her is gone as well. They took her from me, just like they've taken everything else."
"You're not talking about the Cybermen," she finally guessed, a sudden knot of uneasiness lodged in her stomach.
"No. In a way, that might have been easier to accept." The hurt and loathing in his voice was so strong that she almost told him to stop right then, but he needed to talk to someone, even if she was afraid she didn't have the fortitude to hear his story.
"There were Daleks at Canary Wharf, not just Cybermen. They had hidden themselves between the universes in a Void ship. Four extremely dangerous Daleks called the Cult of Skaro. They had managed to steal a prison ship, and unleashed it over the skies of London. All the sacrifices I've made, all the sacrifices my people made, the lives our allies lost, all gone in an instant. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't!"
He searched her eyes for understanding, and finding it, continued. "I had to open the Void, so it could pull everything that had travelled between the universes straight into hell."
He stopped speaking again, and when he continued, it was with a quiet tenderness. "I sent her away to another world; I sent her to be safe. I sent her with her mother, and Mickey, and even her father. She should have been happy. But she came back. She told me that she was never going to leave me, and she came back. She left her own mother and she chose me. And for that one brief moment, I believed in forever."
Blinking a few times, the Doctor wrestled for control of his emotions, and continued in a clipped, clinical tone. "Just a few minutes later, we were saving the world again. And then it all went wrong. There was a lever on her side keeping the Void open. It was knocked down, and she knew that it had to be pushed up and locked. So Rose saved the world by herself. She pushed the lever back up, keeping the Void open. But she didn't have anything to grip, and slowly she lost her hold on the lever. She was being sucked into the Void, and all I could do was watch. I'll never understand how Pete knew to use his Dimension hopper just when he did, but he suddenly appeared and caught her. And then she was gone, locked on the other side."
Shoulders sagging, he finally succumbed to his grief as he sobbed, "She's trapped, and I'm alone. And I don't think I have the strength to fight the nightmares anymore."
Watching him in sympathy, she could not bring herself to say that everything would be alright, because she wasn't sure that it ever would be. There was no inspiring anecdote she could tell him, no platitude that would have any significance. After a while, however, she knew she had to say something.
Taking a deep breath, she began. "I can't imagine what you're feeling. But a lifetime ago, you told Rose to have a fantastic life. You told her to do that for you. Now I'm telling you that you have to do the same thing for her. Because if you don't at least try, then the Daleks have finally won. All those sacrifices you talked about would be in vain. You are Time's Champion, and I'm sorry, but Time isn't finished with you yet."
Abruptly, he sat up. "What did you call me?"
I didn't call you anything," she stammered, pain her head suddenly making her wince. "I was saying that you couldn't give up. You have to go on for her."
Seeing her discomfort, he didn't press her. "I know, but sometimes I don't want to," he admitted.
Her headache lessening, she answered, "That's why you shouldn't be traveling alone. You need someone with you to give you a reason to fight."
"Perhaps," he conceded quietly, still uncomfortable with the idea of letting anyone, no matter how brilliant, replace Rose.
Knowing that his maybe was the best answer she could expect at the moment, Melissa stood up. "Come on, we'll go to my room this time. I'm not going to have my backside hanging off the bed like last night."
Surprised, he blurted, "You can't seriously think I'm going to let you sleep with me considering how violent that last nightmare was, do you?"
"But if I'm with you, you'll have an excellent reason not to let it get that bad. I'll take my chances." Her calm demeanor terrified him. How could anyone believe in him that much?
Sensing her determination, he finally capitulated. When he woke peacefully, hours later, he felt better than he had since facing an empty white wall at Canary Wharf. Briefly watching her snore, he acknowledged to himself the debt of gratitude he owed her. Quietly, he slid out of the bed.
Melissa woke to the smell of sausage, and dressed hurriedly before making her way to the kitchen. "Good morning!" the Doctor greeted her cheerfully, wearing a dark blue suit that she had not seen before.
"Good morning," she replied cautiously, wondering what he was up to. She was relieved to see that he finally looked well rested, however.
"I made breakfast," he told her unnecessarily as she looked at the platters of sausage, scrambled eggs, pancakes and fruit on the table. "Hope you're hungry."
"Starved," she assured him. Neither had eaten more than half a bowl of gumbo the night before. Deciding to make coffee before eating, Melissa carefully filled the pot with the French roast, and then took the maple syrup out of the refrigerator.
"Maple syrup! I love maple syrup. Do you know how much maple sap it takes to make just one quart of maple syrup?" the Doctor babbled.
"No, and you're not going to tell me until after we've both eaten," she replied firmly.
Abashed, he nodded, piling his plate high with pancakes, eggs and bacon. When he had finished that, he put half the platter of fruit on his plate and ate that as well. All the while, Melissa drank her coffee with chicory and watched him in undisguised awe. She had long since finished her more modest breakfast of a single pancake, one slice of bacon, and a small bowl of fruit.
"I like the suit by the way." His mouth full of a second helping of pancakes, he grinned in thanks. "Although the shoes are a little red, don't you think?"
Quickly washing down the pancakes with a glass of milk, he answered, slightly affronted. "What's wrong with red? Red and blue go perfectly well together, don't they?"
Melissa nodded with a teasing twinkle in her eye. "I'm sure you'll tell me that it's the height of fashion on some planet."
"Oi, cheeky, Ms. Morgan; for that, I should make you do the dishes." He began to put the meager leftovers in the refrigerator.
"We'll let the dishwasher do the dishes," she replied while arranging the platters on the bottom rack. "How about we take a walk? I need some exercise after that breakfast."
"Sounds lovely." The dishwasher now humming, Melissa struggled to reach the left sleeve to finish putting on her coat. "Here," The Doctor said as he held her coat so she could get her arm in the sleeve. Noticing her awkwardness, he asked, "What's wrong with your arm?"
"Broke my shoulder a few months ago. I slipped on some wet grass. Really stupid of me, I know." She was determined not to tell him that her injury had been the result of his opening the Void.
Sensing his concern, she quickly added, "I have pretty much full range of motion; didn't even need physical therapy. It just catches sometimes when I'm putting on my coat. If I would put my left arm through first, it probably wouldn't bother me, but old habits die hard." Accepting her explanation, the two walked out the door and headed towards the TARDIS.
The closer she got to the TARDIS, the worse her headache became. Once again, she had the sense that something was very, very wrong. Someone was hiding, watching, waiting, and it scared her. She had had this feeling off and on since right after Canary Wharf. Sternly, she tried to tell herself that she was merely imagining things. Yet the tension would not subside, and her headache was only getting worse. Deciding to ignore the pain, she hoped the Doctor would attribute her demeanor to the cold.
By the time she could see his ship, she could barely walk. The Doctor had stopped talking, watching her in concern, but Melissa didn't even notice. She was too focused on reaching the TARDIS. Absurdly, she felt that if she could just get inside the ship, she would be safe, away from prying eyes. Touching the wooden façade, her head exploded in pain and unintelligible images. As she pitched forward onto the ground, she knew that she was talking, screaming actually, but had no idea what she was saying.