Rose shrugs into her blue leather jacket and takes the Doctor's hand. They start silently down the hill in search of the TARDIS. The Doctor is uneasy. They've stayed stationary for far too long.
He follows Rose now, doing his best not to lag behind. She is bursting with energy, cells still buzzing from the regeneration, and she navigates the rough terrain easily, pulling ahead of him. She notices, turns back, laughing, and grabs his hand. "Run!" she whispers, eyes sparkling, and she takes off, dragging him behind her. He follows happily, stretching his legs and allowing her to take the lead, silky hair whipping in the wind. It is like flying, he thinks, and his heart swells. He's never been happier.
He wants it to never end, soaring over the rocky ground with her, hand in hand, legs pumping and heart pounding and lungs burning. He takes deep breathes, compensating for the lack of the respiratory bypass that had made this so much easier in the past. He doesn't mind, decides that he will happily spend the rest of his life fighting to keep up with this pink and yellow girl who'd stolen his hearts so long ago.
The breath catches in his lungs and he stops abruptly, struggling against the sudden absence of oxygen. He leans over, hands on knees, and hacks, great heaving coughs that come from deep in his chest, aching and wheezing. He cannot pull in enough air. It scares him, the unfamiliar emptiness, and he kneels, retching, stains the dusty grey rock red for his efforts. He studies it, the frothy blood from deep in his lungs, realization dawning with horror. He closes his eyes and breathes as deeply as he can, feels the raw rattle in his chest. He needs to get to the TARDIS.
He sees Rose watching him, brow furrowed in concern. He stands quickly and smiles, smearing the blood into the dust with his trainer. She doesn't need to know.
"Are you alright?" she asks, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. It was so strange to see him cough, made him so vulnerable, so human, that for a moment, when he'd let go of her hand, she'd frozen. His face is a bit pale. He is standing now and smiling at her, but his gaze is burning, so keen and dark that the breath is knocked out of her. It is all written in those ancient brown eyes, all of his fear and passion and love, and she is overwhelmed by it.
He stares at her as she stands before him, washed in the warm glow of the alien sunset, hair glistening, amber eyes wide and sparkling with emotion. He notices the way her skin seems to shine, sees the planes and curves of her body, soft and lean and perfect, feels the heat rolling off of her, catalogs the citrus of her shampoo and gentle curve of her pink lips. He stares, enraptured. She is the most beautiful creature in the universe, his golden girl, and he drinks her in, searing her into his memory and locking it in his heart.
He moves suddenly, flings his arms around her and crushes her to him, murmuring something that she thinks might be Gallifreyan. She isn't quite sure what is going on, but she is struck by the overwhelming intensity of it, raw and terrible and beautiful, and she shudders in response. He falls silent, acutely aware of the pressure of her body against his. He is suddenly allowed a glimpse into a timeline that is not his own, temporal abilities that had been lost and muddled since the metacrisis briefly restored by some last gift of the universe. Images of her future pour into his head, and in that one shining moment, he loves her more than he had ever thought possible, is so proud, so relieved, so overjoyed that it is uncontainable. He holds her close, feels the steady thumping of her hearts against his, and he is content with the universe, more alive, more free than he's ever been. As it should be, he thinks.
"Rose Tyler, do you know that I love you?"
He feels her stiffen just a tiny bit. He doesn't say it often.
She pulls back and gazes at him. His eyes are dark and wet, but he is smiling like she's never seen him smile before. It is not the mad, enthusiastic grin that she remembers from before she fell, nor the half-smile that he often flashes when his eyes are far away. This is peace and contentment and true happiness, free of guilt and regret and worry and burdens. He nearly glows with it, the untempered joy, and it is so new and strange that she cannot speak.
The moment is interrupted by the clattering of stones as large man sprints down the hill to their right. He nearly barrels into them, swerving at the last second and gripping the Doctor's arm.
"Get out of here!" he shouts, and the Doctor grabs Rose's hand, and they run.
They follow the man for a short distance. He is running at a flat out sprint, kicking up dust and sending pebbles flying. The Doctor can sense the danger, though he isn't sure of the cause, grips Rose's hand tightly and focuses on his breathing, or the lack thereof.
He thinks he can follow no further when the man leaps off a ledge. There is no time to gauge the distance of the ground below; the Doctor jumps, pulling Rose behind him.
It is only a short fall, maybe 12 feet, and the Doctor lands hard, skidding on the loose rock, hears Rose do the same. He does not see the man.
Firm hands pull him from behind. "Get down," the man hisses, and they follow his example, huddling against the rock face with their hands over their heads. There is a tremor in the ground, a shuddering boom that vibrates through his bones, then silence. The Doctor takes a moment to control his breathing; his lungs ache with the effort, and he can't quite move all the air he needs to. There is the soft, steady patter of dust and pebbles, occasionally punctuated by the heavy thud of large stones.
Eventually, the shower of debris slows to scattered tapping on the ground around them, and the man sits up. The Doctor is still fighting for air, breaths quick and shallow. He flops over, head against the rock, and watches the man. He is large and relatively young, long blonde hair hanging disheveled in his face. The Doctor thinks he may have been handsome once, but now an ugly, mottled scar stretches from below his left eye, marring his jawline and disappearing into his shirt. He is gazing at the Doctor with obvious suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, voice hard and tight.
The Doctor exchanges a concerned glance with Rose. She is looking at him, waiting for him to answer, as he always does. He turns to the man and flashes his innocent, ignorant tourist face. "We were just passing through," he says, eyes wide, and he hopes, honest.
The man laughs coldly. "There are no tourists on Karphelox. Who are you?"
The Doctor decides, given the suspicion of this man's gaze and the fragility of his current condition, that he'd rather not waste the effort of lying. He grabs Rose's hand and squeezes. "I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose Tyler. We're travelers."
The man's eyes turn sharp and probing. "The Doctor?" he asks, incredulously.
"Yes," says the Doctor slowly, wondering if this is a good thing, and how to navigate the situation if it isn't.
The man's eyes go wide, and he dips his head in respect. "Elliot, sir," he says reverently. "It's an honor."
"Right," the Doctor muses. It is a welcome change from the usual death threat and ensuing sprint to the TARDIS, but he is unsure how to react. Rose squeezes his hand, and he knows that she is holding back laughter. He doesn't think it's funny; his emotions are tangled and he can't quite focus, only knows he needs to keep her safe.
There is a moment of heavy silence, each man staring at the other. Rose holds back a snort. It is nearly comical, Elliot staring at the Doctor expectantly, clearly waiting for him to speak, the Doctor at a complete loss, eyes darting helplessly between Elliot and Rose. Though part of her wants to leave them to it, to let the Doctor sweat it out a bit longer, she steps forward and saves him.
"So, Elliot, was it?" Elliot turns his gaze to her and nods. "What was it that you were doing, exactly?" She waves her hand in the direction from which they'd come and looks at him curiously, sees the Doctor's grateful glance out of the corner of her eye. Her lips twitch into a tiny, smug smile and she squeezes his hand. Honestly, how had he survived without her?
Elliot's eyes flicker to the Doctor. "I was only finishing what you started, sir," he answers promptly.
"G-good," the Doctor stutters, nodding absently and wondering what exactly he had started and how he could fix it.
For a moment, Elliot's face glows with pride, but his expression quickly turns serious again. "We cannot stay here," he cautions. "Eleazar's troops will regroup soon, if they haven't already. The war may be won, but his armies remain. It is unwise to stand in the open."
The Doctor nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. He wants Rose out of danger. Elliot takes off at a brisk pace, stopping to listen occasionally and keeping out of view as much as he can. Rose and the Doctor follow him silently.