When There's No Trust

Chapter Rating: K+

A.N: Thanks for the reviews everyone, and I'm so sorry this is so late; think this as an Xmas present. I'm a bit worried about this chapter though; I wrote it at two in the morning and it's a little different from the others. But, as always, you're the judges. I'm predicting three more chapters left, then it's over...

Chapter XXI – Licking Flames

The words, from deep within both of his hearts, died violently on the end of his tongue as the door swung fiercely open. His eyes closed for a moment, squinting, as an eclipse of a man stood in front of the doorway, coughing and spluttering, with an array of golden flames behind him.

"Rose! Doctor!" he got out, his hand covering his mouth, grey fumes swirling threateningly behind him, amongst the yellow and red flames licking the walls. His head raised, and the Doctor saw through his haste to stand that it was Mickey standing in front of them.

For an odd moment he felt an irrational surge of annoyance towards the boy, interrupting he and Rose when he did. But it quickly changed to relief when he reveled in the fact that Mickey, at least, was alive. But where was Sarah-Jane?

"Quick," Mickey muttered and coughed into his hand, his voice muffled.

The Doctor did not hesitate, grasping Rose's hand and pulling her up, they left the tiny room, toward the flames brutally snaking through the building. It was much worse than he expected. Flames danced through the corridors, but what was most terrifying was the smoke smearing its way through the dust and ruble of fallen walls and doors. A grey mist hung through the corridors, eating at their chests.

They turned left, running but keeping as low as possible as the smoke streaked across their faces. The Doctor turned to Mickey as they reached the stairs, one hand shielding Rose down in a protective manner, the other covering his nose. "Where's Sarah-Jane?" he managed to ask the boy.

"She's fine," Mickey spluttered a yell to the Doctor, rushing down the angled, rubbled stair case, "I got her out!"

The Doctor nodded quickly and shakily, feeling an odd sense of pride for the man stumbling beside him. Around him the smoke filtered through, as if following them. The dust and debris fell from the roof, all the more evidence of a crippling building.

They needed to get out. And soon.

"How did you find us?" the Doctor asked Mickey as they stumbled down the stairs.

"I heard you," Mickey croaked quietly, but loud enough for the Doctor to hear him.

And the Timelord couldn't help wondering, as they ran down through the building, down steps and through corridors, how much exactly Mickey had heard.

Then more rational thought took over and he tightened his grip on Rose's hand; amongst the fear, and calculations of how far they were exactly from the exit, there was the impossible pleasure of having her hand fit so easily into his. She was here with him. Only now did he realize how much her leaving had hurt him, had really cost him. And only now did he realize that he never wanted to let go of her hand again. Never again. They had behaved like children for too long now. It was time to end it. It was time to tell her how he really felt.

As they ran, he told himself she was not reluctant to hold his hand either; and if she was, she did not show it.

It could have been this, this fleeting lapse of concentration, that momentarily stilled the Timelord senses that would have foreseen the following outcome; that would have seen the large piece of debris, the wall above collapsing right toward them, or rather, right toward him.

Rose saw it though. As if in slow motion, the licking flames ghosting around them illuminated clearly the barriers of the wall by them, breaking and falling towards the Doctor. Rose let out a cry, a howled scream of his name, as she pushed her body forward, unclasping their sweaty hands from one another and shoving him out of harms way. For a single second she saw his falling figure, startled and horrified, tumbling away from her. And all she felt in that second was her heart's cry of numbing relief. It's alright. He was okay.

Then the walls collapsed upon her. There was a sudden numbing pain around her. And everything went dark.

As he stared at the crashing of concrete on her frail form the Doctor heard himself scream. His body reacting with a anguished cry, his eyes as wide as saucers; it was nowhere near as loud, though, as the screaming in his head. He did not know for sure if the hollow roaring in his ears was the desolation of screams in his head, or the terrible thundering of rubble and metal.

Somewhere, Mickey was shouting. Somewhere else, the smoke was rising; the flames licking. But he couldn't hear it. Couldn't see it. He crawled and ran and rolled to her, screaming her name and clawing at the concrete. He pulled and pushed and scraped the walls off of the girl, his hands becoming bloody, his eyes beginning to water. As his scarlet blood-stained hands found soft, deathly pale skin, he worked harder. Not thinking, just working.

Then he reached her face and she was staring at him, and for one grief-stricken, heart stopping, roaring minute he thought there was nothing in the eyes. He thought they were glassy, empty. Then she blinked down slowly, looking up at him, and he almost choked on the released breath of relief. Her eyes drooped, her lips shivered, but she stared up at him. Her mouth opened and closed, and the Doctor continued to claw away at the remains of the rubble.

"It's okay, Rose. Hold on, have you out of there in no time," he said in false bravado.

He heard her take an intake of short quick breath and something of a gasp and a choke left her lips. Then he heard her speak, so soft, shaking, but he still heard it. "Tired," she whispered. "So sleepy."

"No, Rose. No, no, no," he chimed to her, tears bridging the corners of his eyes. "No sleep, Rose. You're not tired, come on. You can't sleep or I - I'll –" he spluttered on his words, "I'll be lonely, won't I?"

But even as he spoke, Rose's eye lids drifted to a close. "Doctor," her hoarse voice croaked. "I'm... so sorry." Her lips shivered, and the Doctor's senses pricked alarmingly as her heart flailed; so slow, slower...

Then she was still and limp, and as cold as ice.

With stinging eyes and shaking hands, the Doctor fumbled, placing two fingers against her neck, desperately seeking a pulse.

There was none.

He screamed. "NO!"

Taking immediate action, he quickly shoved a quivering hand into his pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver. Clicking the setting, he shoved the device onto her chest and pulsed her heart, her still muscle, with a burst of energy. Her body convulsed, before falling limp. His hands slipped back to her pulse point. Nothing. He repeated it... still nothing. Then his lips found hers and he desperately breathed into her, again and again, practically kissing her back to life.

Tears were trailing relentless down his cheeks now, whispering marks against his sooty face. Behind him, somewhere, he was dimly aware of Mickey, coughing and crying and repeating his name. Aware of the smoke surrounding him, slowly filling his lungs, but not effecting him because of his Timelord physiology.

"Come on... Come on! Please, don't leave me again. Please," he was calling to her as he shoved his hand to her chest, doing compression after compression. "Rose, come on. Just... don't go - please, don't -!"

He was sobbing relentlessly now, yelling and screaming through mind numbing panic.

He was aware of Mickey's hand on his shoulder, of the screaming and shaking behind him, of the flame's warmth surrounding them, but also not aware. Rose's still form - her chilled blue lips, her closed lids, her bloodied head – was all he could see. She was not breathing. There was no pulse... but he could not give up!

Taking in all the clean air he could, he dipped his lips back over hers.

"Doctor! Doctor!" Mickey screamed, pulling on his shoulder and almost choking through the grey fumes. "We've gotta get her out of here! The smoke -" he choked again, momentarily unable to speak, "the smoke's making it worse! Come on, Doctor! Please!"

The Doctor heard him this time. Heard him and registered it. He was right; the smoke was a primary problem. As he lifted her quickly but gently into his arms, the Doctor was conscious that there might be internal injuries throughout her body. But that would not matter unless he got her out. Now.

He had to get her out. He was disbelieving that anything would happen as long as she was out of the building. Tripping and flailing through the corridor ahead of Mickey, he allowed a small amount of relief when he saw the exit in front of him. Shoving through the double doors, and running to the grass, laying Rose's limp form and pushing his hand against her chest, the Doctor was barely aware of the fact that the sun, that had not been seen for several months, was now shining in the sky.

Sarah-Jane was running toward them, and the Doctor heard the intake of breath as she stared at Rose's still, blue-lipped form. Mickey was crying quick, short sobs; the Doctor could hear him only a little above the raging roar in his ears.

He fumbled with his sonic screwdriver, convulsing Rose's heart with energy. His hand stayed between her breasts, both silently and vocally begging for the beat that would not come.

--Preview--

Chapter XXII - Fixing the Broken

"Doctor?"

He pushed harder against her chest, willing with every bit of him there was that her heart would jolt back to life. He knew he could do it, as long as he kept on going... As long he kept on going. He could fix her. He had to fix her. If he held onto that thought then he might stop falling. She might catch him. Oh please, let her catch him.