36 Solace in Time
The previous evening…
Jackie Tyler curls up in a blanket on her sofa in front of the television watching a rerun of Eastenders. She pours her second glass of wine, deciding that this is a good night. She has had a few charitable thoughts about Elton (he did have a nice bum), she's just had a short but welcome visit from Rose and the Doctor, and this is her favourite episode. "You ain't my mother!" She chuckles to herself; that line gets her every time.
She raises the glass of wine to her lips when she feels the slight pop and an incongruous wind starts up in her flat. She looks to her right to see the blue box fade into reality. Once firmly in position, the TARDIS stands silently.
"Oi! What d'ya forget this time?" she calls out, knowing that either her daft child or that dafter alien will come out soon. Jackie is pretty sure she hears a heavy sigh that raises tiny alarm bells in her mind before the door starts to open. "Good thing I moved that end table. My gran gave that to me, and—What are you wearing!?"Jackie exclaims when she sees the Doctor step from the TARDIS in a blue suit...alone.
"Rose is okay, Jackie. I promise, Rose is fine...now. But we need to talk, you and I, before I can let you see her," he says slowly, hesitantly.
Past the blaring alarms in her mind, Jackie eyes the Doctor critically, instantly cataloguing all the pieces that are out of place: hair longer, circles under his eyes, hideous suit, thinner frame. All these pieces add up in her mind to a conclusion that is a unique complication of her daughter's choices in friends, but does nothing to alleviate her worry.
"How far ahead are ya, then?" she asks in astute observation.
"What?"
"You're from my future, you plum. I may live on an Estate, but I'm not stupid. How far?"
Now it's the Doctor's turn to eye her where she reclines on the sofa. She's just as he remembers her, which is good for Rose, and this is before…before so much happens.
"I hope no one ever thinks of you as stupid, Jackie. You're just as brilliant as your daughter," he tells her with a slight smile, tiredly rubbing his eyes.
"Well, don't get ahead of yourself. Answer my question," Jackie demands. Waiting for him to get the point will make her go grey in a minute.
The Doctor walks around the table and sits on the sofa next to Jackie, tucking his right leg beneath him, so he can face her.
This is another anomaly; the Doctor would never willingly join her on the sofa. The screeching of alarm bells in Jackie's mind are nearly deafening now, and she feels real fear creep into her belly.
"As I figure it, nearly five years, but Jackie," he says quickly to forestall her first questions, "listen carefully. I can't stay, and I can't tell you anymore until—"
"Oh my God, I'm dead! I'm dead, aren't I? That's why you're bein' all weird, and Rose can't see me, and—"
"No! No, Jackie, you're are most definitely not dead. Very, very not dead," he says with a reassuring smile, amused at her outburst and the mutual interruptions. He hopes she never changes.
"Well, then why the hell are you here and not visiting future me?" she asks belligerently, crossing her arms over her ample bosom.
"I need you to make me a promise first, Jacqueline Angela Suzette Prentice Tyler." At her full name, Jackie's eyes get big, and she nods, pressing her lips together. The expression on his face is anything but human, and it quells her natural tendency to question first, listen later.
"I am going to share with you what's happened for us, because Rose needs you." The Doctor holds his hand up for silence when she opens her mouth. She snaps it shut with an audible click and glares at him. "Before we can stay, you have a choice to make. Option one: we stay, I tell you everything, and you get to see Rose, but after...I will have to lock these memories away. You'll get them back, but you can't have them now. Option two is that we leave, no Rose, no damaging memories to hide."
"That's not a choice, you prat! I'll do whatever's necessary for me to see Rose; you should know that by now!" Jackie sort of wants to smack him just for good measure. What kind of a mother does he think she is?
Then, she finally notices how still he is. He's usually so animated, full of life, and downright annoying with all his bouncing around and improvements. This is a completely different man, and he feels...broken. Jackie takes a deep breath. He's still waiting for her answer, despite her outburst. No matter how alien he can seem, they need her, the both of them.
"One question: will it hurt? The memory thing—whatever you do to hide them. Not that it really matters, but will it hurt?" She turns her head away and squints at him, waiting for the answer she doesn't want to hear.
Relaxing once he's fairly sure he isn't about to be slapped, the Doctor stares at her a moment and then bursts into laughter. Gales and gales of laughter, like he hasn't had so much as a giggle in weeks.
Jackie stares at him at first and then glares. When the laughter doesn't stop, she finally rolls her eyes and laughs with him. He does have a nice laugh, and it's just a bit infectious. She can see the bouncy Doctor hiding inside it.
"Oh, Jackie, thank you for that. It feels like I haven't laughed in ages. The look on your face...oh, my sides hurt." He chuckles again.
Regaining control of himself the Doctor answers her, "No, Jackie, there's no pain at all. You'll take a wee kip and wake up not knowing we were even here."
"Alright, fine then. I promise. Now, where's Rose? And you'd better get to talking 'cause five years is a long time, and I want all the details."
"She's sleeping in the TARDIS; she doesn't know we're here yet."
"Alright, go on then, get started. I'll make us some tea."
There are only a few times the Doctor cringed or ducked from an assumed attack when he dropped another nugget of incredible happenstance. Jackie even takes the fact that Rose was a fresh Time Lord well—especially since it had saved her life. She can hardly believe how her own life is about to change—ghosts, Pete Tyler, parallel universes. Her head spins at all the possibilities, but she tries to focus on everything the Doctor is relating to her.
As she listens to him unravel the nearly two years he and her daughter have had together, his voice takes on a more hollow quality when they land at Midnight. Jackie knows he's not telling her everything. How could he? And truthfully, she doesn't need the intimate details, so to speak, but she does notice a pattern. Everything revolves around Rose. Rose was rescued, Rose lost him and rescued him. Rose did this, and Rose did that. Rose, lost the baby.
As soon as he mentions Rose had gotten pregnant, Jackie knows. She knows exactly why they're here, why he'd willingly to risk everything so Rose can see her mum. Jackie is in tears well before the end of the story, and is pressed up against the Doctor's side clutching his hand by the time he's caught them up to the present.
"What about you, Doctor?" Jackie asks softly. She knows he's brilliant at hiding himself in his crazy words; she's been witness to it a couple of times. Her Pete had done the same thing, burying himself in some new scheme, determined that he could make a life for them if could just catch a break. And in some other universe, of all places, he'd done just that. Will wonders ever cease?
"What?" His surprised exclamation comes out more waspish sounding than he'd intended, but he had been telling Jackie about Rose. He wasn't particularly interested in talking about himself.
"Who's been there for you since you lost your son?" she asks carefully. Jackie knows that he hasn't been alone, but that doesn't mean that he'd let anyone help him unless it had directly concerned Rose. Jackie had never before spent enough time with the Doctor to see the similarities between he and Pete. It is a somewhat startling realisation for her, but also enlightening. Jackie has a moment of clarity and feels she has something to give the Doctor, as well—perspective.
"Did you talk to anyone about how you felt, or did you just worry about Rose?"
He stares at her for a tense moment and though his face is carefully blank, she can see a myriad of emotions flick through his expressive eyes. Uncomfortable with the question, The Doctor falls back on the old reliable, "Oh, you know me, Jackie; I'm always alright. Rose needed—"
"Bollocks! Yes, she did, and I appreciate that you realise how much was Rose was hurting and needed help. But so do you, ya daft alien! You're no Spock, now are ya?" Jackie asks in exasperation, annoyed that he's choosing to ignore her point.
"You haven't seen the new movies yet, Jackie, just you wait! Spock— Ow!"
"Don't you try to hide from me, you plum. I was married to a man that could hide himself away and only show the world what he wanted them to see. I'm not daft!"
The Doctor desperately wants to jump off the sofa and either pace or run and hide in the TARDIS, but Jackie has a death grip on his hand, despite the fact the other is free enough to have just whacked him once. He satisfies himself with turning slightly away from her so he can stare at the wall instead of into her oh-so-compassionate and understanding gaze
"Jackie, what do you want me to say? That it was one of the worst days of my life? It was. That I tried desperately to save Rose and our son, but was completely powerless to do so? I did. That I feel like I completely failed my family before it was even barely started? I DO!" Shaking with emotion, he hadn't meant to shout the last, but his ability to continue repressing was a little overworked recently.
Taking a breath and starting over the Doctor tries to continue, "Jackie, I don't…I can't even begin…" Gently releasing her hand, he leans forward resting his head in his hands. He's still trembling, but he's trying to stay in control. He should have at least one thing that he can be the master of, even if it's only his emotions.
"You feel like your entire world shattered. Like everything you were building and counting on was suddenly yanked out from under ya. You felt like a stranger in your own skin, because you were powerless to change anything. All you could do was hang on and hope for the best, though you kept none for yourself. Is that about right?"
He'd looked up from his hands about halfway through her passionate tirade. Now, he's blinking at her in wonder. Not trusting himself to speak, he nods in reply to Jackie's question. A gordian knot of pent up feeling loosening just a bit in his gut. She'd put to words exactly how he'd felt, better even than he could have—had he actually tried.
"I know grief, Doctor, better than you realise. And I don't need to be a million year-old alien to understand how you're feeling. You came here for Rose, but I'm here for both of ya."
Jackie startles him by pulling him into a hug, and he squeaks at first, sure that she's about to choke him to death. But then he hears her murmured words of comfort, and he relaxes. Touching her, he can sense that she's devastated by all she's learned, but her default is still to comfort him. He hadn't realised how much he needed it—from her in particular—until it was offered so freely, so unconditionally. It must be a mum thing.
They stay like that for several minutes, the Doctor's head on Jackie's shoulder, and their arms draped loosely around each other, thinking. The Doctor marvels at how Jackie isn't nearly as scary as he'd once thought, and Jackie ruminates on how much can happen in so short a time and how much one moment can affect the rest of one's life.
This daft alien has given her daughter everything he has just for love. But he needs to remember to keep some for himself.
The Doctor promised she could have these memories back eventually, and when she does, at least she will know that her daughter walked through forever with a man who loved her as much as she deserved.
While the Doctor enters the TARDIS again to retrieve Rose, Jackie readies her room—turning back the covers, setting out her old favourite robe and slippers and making her a quick cuppa just in case she wakes up. The Doctor said she probably wouldn't, but Tyler women are unpredictable; he'd better get that through his thick skull right away.
Returning, the Doctor follows Jackie into the startlingly pink room that was Rose's. Laying her carefully in the bed, Jackie tucks her in while thanking the Doctor for bringing her home. It's a little overwhelming to think that this is her daughter—her now alien daughter—from the future. No one would ever believe her.
Rose doesn't awaken, but she snuggles more deeply into the covers in much the same way a kitten or puppy would. The Doctor smiles, telling Jackie that she's just sleeping now and will probably awaken tomorrow. He kisses her forehead and stares at her for a long minute before he retreats to the TARDIS, claiming repairs. Jackie watches him go, and then stays up into the wee hours observing her daughter. Outwardly, she looks nearly the same. Her hair is now naturally blonde, longer and a little curlier, but beautiful. Other than being too damn skinny, her skin glows with health. The Doctor had assured her that Rose may have become a Time Lord, but that didn't change who she is, who Jackie had helped her become.
"There's no one like our Rose, Jackie, no one in the entire universe."
Wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, Jackie gives Rose a watery smile as she sits at the foot of the bed before answering her question. "Oh, himself'll be along. Parked that box of his in the parlour, if you believe it. Grand as you please, all tucked up in the corner. He's in there now. Said somethin' about repairs or what not."
Rose tries reaching through their bond and receives an instant and loving reply. She can see him wedged amidst the wires and tubes beneath the console from his perspective.
-Doctor, how?-
-Rose it's complicated, but we have some time. Don't worry about anything. Enjoy visiting with your mum. I told her everything. Well, not everything, but…you know. I'll be along. The TARDIS and I aren't going anywhere, my love-
-Oh! Thank you-
Instead of answering, he sends her a wave that encompasses all he feels for her better than any words could ever manage. Rose's eyes shine with a layer of tears when she looks back to her mum, smiling.
"Mum, I…" Where should she start? It's been so long and so much has happened.
"Sweetheart, I'll be right back with tea, and we'll catch up properly. Now tuck in. New Time Lord stomach or no, I can 'ear it growlin' at me. Back in a mo!" Jackie bustles out of the bedroom, where she takes a moment for herself, leaning against the wall and pressing her fingers to her eyes. The Doctor had warned her, told her everything he thought she needed to know to prepare her for an older, sadder, and barely healed Rose. But there was no way to ready her for the actual moment. In Rose's eyes Jackie could see everything—every bit of pain, every sorrow—and in their gold-flecked brown depths, she'd also felt the alienness of her daughter for the first time.
Jackie shakes herself as she pushes away from the wall and continues to the kitchen. Alien or no, that is her Rose in there, and she's been making her tea for most of her life; she isn't going to stop now. They need her. She may not understand everything that's going to happen or has happened, and she knows she doesn't need to, but she understands the pain of loss.
Jackie sets about the ritual of making the perfect cuppa. If there's a hurt in the universe that can't be soothed with tea, she doesn't know it.
Rose watches her mum leave the room. Then she looks around herself at the debris of a twenty-year-old human girl. Many of these items had seemed so important at the time—that picture of her and Shereen when they had first learned to drive, her bronze medal. Rose remembers that she never came in here once when she'd popped in with the Bazoolium as a present, and then, only hours later, her world had shattered. She has a completely different perspective now on what's important.
Her stomach does indeed growl again as she looks over to the food. The thought of the meat and eggs makes her feel sick, but she does reach for a piece of toast and lumps a spoonful of beans on it. Her first bite flips a switch, and she eats both pieces of toast, all the beans, and the tomato before her mum can come back with the tea.
"Tell me that turning into an alien didn't make you a vegetarian!" Rose hears her mum exclaim as she comes into the room with two cups of steaming tea in hand and observes the nearly empty plate.
"No mum," Rose replies with a bit of a smile. "I just didn't feel like it today. Everything else was delicious though, thanks." She takes the offered cup of tea and inhales its rich aroma. The first sip is like a crash of heaven in her mouth. God, she'd missed her mum's tea.
Jackie scrutinises Rose closely, seeing the tired lines around her eyes, the tight set to her generous lips, and the furrow in her brow. Making a decision, she moves to the other side of the bed and climbs in with Rose, sliding over to touch shoulders with her daughter. They talk about inconsequentials as they blow on their tea, but even the story about Bev running into her new boyfriend with a shopping cart barely pulls a smile to Rose's face. Her twenty-year-old self would have been trying not to snort her tea.
Sighing inwardly, Jackie opens her mouth to voice her question, but Rose beats her to it.
"I don't want to talk about it, mum."
"Rose, sweetheart, you need to talk to someone. That's why the Doctor brought you here."
"I don't need to talk to anyone. If he told you everything, then you know Dougie and Ella fixed whatever was wrong. I'm fine."
"You're not fine, Rose. Listen, I know—"
"NO, YOU DON'T!" Rose shouts at her mum in an overwhelming burst of emotion. Setting her tea aside, she stands up from the bed and moves shakily to the window. "No one knows," she mutters to herself, looking out at the neighbors windows across the alley.
Oh, she remembers this—the anger, the surety that no one anywhere could possibly understand what you're going through, the defensiveness. Oh, Jackie remembers very well.
"Rose," she calls out quietly. Her daughter doesn't turn around, but she shifts at the window, her back still turned.
Taking a deep breath, Jackie prepares to tell Rose something she'd never planned on sharing with her daughter—hoped against all hopes that she would never have to experience it herself.
"Rose, I know because I lost your baby brother," Jackie says to the air between them while she turns her teacup in her hands, staring at the dregs in the bottom. She looks up at the rustle of cloth.
"What did you say, mum?" Rose has turned from the window and faces Jackie. The brightness behind her makes her look even more pale and fragile than she had in bed.
"That day at the church, when your dad died...I was pregnant." Rose stares at her mum for a long minute before sitting at the end of the bed.
Jackie takes a deep breath, feeling the nervous butterflies in her stomach. Deciding she's already said too much to go back, Jackie begins, the words pouring out of her.
"I had no idea at the time. We'd only had sex once since you were born and we'd used protection. We'd been fightin' all the time, so it never occurred to me. I assumed the signs were because I'd just had you; how was I to know different? Then...well, then your dad was gone and it was another month 'fore I knew for sure.
"I was so mad at the world for takin' your dad from me, leaving me a single parent. I felt guilty, too. We'd had words that mornin' that I was afraid I'd spend my life regrettin'. I was a right mess. But then, I found out I was pregnant again. I knew, no matter how many people told me I couldn't know for sure, I knew it was a boy, and I decided your dad forgave me. Here was my chance to make up for all the harsh words." A pained chuckle that is more than half sob escapes Jackie as she glances up at Rose's wide eyes.
"I had all the plans in the world for my son, my little Peter. It seemed like all I could talk about; everyone gave me guff about it. 'You already have a daughter, Jackie.' 'How ya gonna raise two kids alone on the Estate?' 'You better find a husband, and quick, Jackie!'"
"All my friends at the time were so helpful." Jackie rolls her eyes grandly and pulls a chuckle from Rose with her sarcasm. Flashing a more grateful smile at her, Jackie looks down into her cup again to continue.
"I told 'em all to shove their ideas up their arses! I was gonna be fine. You'd lay on my belly, Rose and babble at him, giggling when he kicked. Your first word was Peter."
Jackie closes her eyes and breathes in deeply through her nose. She hasn't dwelt on these thoughts in years. Looking back on it like this, she realises she wasn't quite right in the head at the time, probably from grief. Rose wouldn't have turned out to be the strong and independant woman she is if events hadn't happened the way they did. Jackie can see that clearly now.
"Mum, you don't have to tell me any more. I'm sorry I yelled at you; it wasn't right," Rose apologises, her eyes wet in sympathy.
"No, Rose, I do. I haven't told anyone, and I need to," she says a little thickly, but with determination in her eyes. Jackie reaches out to pat Rose on the knee, and Rose scoots closer, taking her mum's hand in her own.
"You were nearly a year and a half old when my labour started. Your gran Prentice was stayin' with us to help out at the time, and you stayed with her when Bev took me to hospital. Four days later I came home, alone. My little Peter was stillborn."
Rose gasps, clutching her mum's hand as she brings her other fist to her mouth. Stillborn. She had carried her own son for six months and, thanks to higher technology and more advanced physiology, had known him intimately, but this—planning, loving, dreaming for months to have the magical day finally arrive and then end in tragedy...
Jackie smiles at Rose and caresses their clasped hands, grateful for the contact.
"It's been near twenty years for me, but I can still remember everything about him. They couldn't say why he died, some universal mystery, but they let me hold him for a bit to say goodbye, and he was so perfect, Rose—so very perfect—even had a little tuft of red hair."
At this point, the tears begin to flow for both women and they embrace, rocking each other in mutual understanding. Once the initial storm passes they stay wrapped in each other's comforting arms and Rose tells her mum everything she remembers about her son—all the moments observed and the dreams pondered.
The Doctor peeks in on them at one point when Rose is telling Jackie about their son pitching a mental fit when his father had been such a prat in the Music Room while learning to manifest. The laughter of both women swells his hearts and follows him back to the TARDIS. This has absolutely been worth all the risks just to hear his wife laugh again.
A/N: Really, I was going to give you gluttonous entirety, but then, in the editing process, I added 1000 more words. Seriously, 9000+ words is ridiculous, but the sections I added were so necessary. So here is the first half, and I will post the second, Traveling Eternity's Road, on Monday. Cheers!