A/N: A wild plot appears!

Ok, so depicting characters learning a language is, uh, hard when the readers don't know the language you're depicting. So, a few conventions here;
- Rose POV: assume all speech from the Doctor is in Gallifreyan and if it's in English that means they're words that Rose has learned. Rose uses both Gallifreyan and English, so I'll indicate which language she's using when needed.
- the Doctor POV: all speech that's written is in Gallifreyan

Oh! And to clarify what's happening with the Doctor; it's not that he's always been speaking Gallifreyan and the TARDIS translated before. From what I could find in interviews, he's supposedly speaks 'all' the languages and is the conduit through which the TARDIS translates for everyone else. Since, that's not physically possible, I tried to build in a reason for him to have learned a bunch of them at the Academy and the TARDIS helps out with the others. So, right now he's having trouble accessing the languages he learned and the TARDIS can't translate because the issue is with him. If any of that has been negated in more recent seasons (I'm behind lol) then we'll call this an AU :)

Chapter 3: Pluralism

The next few days passed in a blur. Rose knew the Doctor was trying to restrain himself but each time he passed her it seemed he was carrying a new textbook for her to read. He did not seem to realize that humans actually had to read each and every word on the page. Luckily, there weren't too many texts that mentioned Gallifreyan written in English (exactly three actually, the other books were all linguistics texts he pointed to very insistently and she skimmed before decided they were functionally useless in actually learning a language). They spent the vast majority of their time curled up in the library with a tablet and more than a healthy amount of coffee. Because the Doctor couldn't find any English words, it was up to Rose to determine the path of their lessons. She would think the intent of the phrase or word she wanted to learn at the TARDIS, who produced it on the screen and then the Doctor would burst into a rambling lecture about the word before remembering it was useless and restraining himself to showing her how to pronounce it and place it in simple sentences.

"Tree?" She said to enthusiastic nods.

"Yes! Tree!" Then, he pointed to a single page of the book in his hands and said the first half of the word that meant 'tree' followed by a staccato syllable.

She took the page between her fingers and repeated the word. Then, when he indicated she had pronounced it correctly, she gathered up three pages and added one of the plural prefixes she'd learned. He beamed.

"Yes! Good."

She was ridiculously proud of herself for getting that right. It was honestly a tad embarrassing. They'd spent the entire second day on plurals. After a deeply frustrating few hours trying and failing to understand why she was right sometimes and wrong others when nothing seemed different, the Doctor had run off and returned with a set of wooden blocks. He then arranged them into groups of one, two, three, and four.

"Hueq," he said pointing to the single block. She repeated the word. Two syllables, the first started low and rose and the second held steady. There was a strange whistling quality to it she couldn't identify but could copy if she didn't think too hard about it.

He nodded. "Aqhueqi," he said pointing to the pair of blocks. She frowned and said the word slowly. She'd realized that the words never stayed the same for long, but it hurt her head to think about so she tried to ignore it. But, she wasn't sure if the changes now were meant to indicate that there were two blocks or that the blocks were in a different space or that time had passed. The Doctor seemed to realize her confusion because he quickly pointed to the group of three and said, "Eqhueqi."

She said it, and then pointed at the single block and asked, "Hueqi?"

He nodded. Right, so the shift at the end of the word was because they'd crossed over some invisible barrier in space-time that he could sense and she could not. It was distinctly unfair, she thought, that not only was his language more akin to music than words, but it also seemed determined to thwart any and all non-Time Lord attempts to learn it.

The Doctor reached out and gripped her hand tightly. He face was a picture of gratitude and pride. She smiled at him. It was easy to forget how scared he must be when faced with the complexities of his language.

"Sorry," she muttered, "I was always terrible at languages in school." Then she sighed, "And you can't understand what I'm saying at all, huh?" She laughed a little when he shrugged and gestured expansively with his free hand. "Right," she said, "Blocks. Or. I mean, eqhueqi."

He squeezed her hand again.

Rose took a fortifying breath and pointed to the single block, "Hueqi." To the pair, "Aqhueqi." To the trio, "Eqhueqi." Then the quartet. He hadn't told her the name of the group, but the encouraging look on his face said she knew it. "Eqhueqi?" she tried. He shook his head and she frowned. So eq- didn't mean three or more... "Aqhueqi?" He nodded.

"But why?" she asked. Why would- oh! She held up two fingers, then four fingers, then after freeing her hand from his, six fingers and then said, "Eq?"

"Je!" She almost rolled her eyes. Of course he would answer with a word she didn't know. But. he'd been nodding as he said it, so she decided that mean 'yes'.

To test her theory, she held up three, then five, then seven fingers and said, "Aq?"

"Je," he said again.

So, it was an even-odd choice. But, how did that work for when you didn't have time to count? Or when the numbers were too big to count? She picked up the bag of blocks and dumped them onto the table, then before there was time for the doctor to count them, she asked, "Hueqi?" She wanted to say 'how many' but had no idea how to get at those words.

"Qhueqe," he said. He picked up one block, "Hueqe," and gestured to the large group, "Qhueqe." They'd crossed over some other invisible line, but she didn't mind because she understood. Items came in ones, evens, odds, and groups. She could handle that.

On the third day, when she applied that knowledge to the pages of a book she felt a thrill of pride like none she'd known before.

The thing was, Rose had not enjoyed school. Her mom was always working and didn't have the time to help Rose with her homework and so, even as a very small girl, she felt like she was always behind. She knew she was smart, but it seemed like everyone else was smarter. They all seemed to get what the teacher was saying without needing extra help. Rose hadn't wanted special treatment, really all she wanted was a few minutes to puzzle things out herself before being asked to give an answer. She was good at school stuff when she had those minutes. But, none of her teachers ever gave her that, they always wanted answers right now, Miss Tyler. Unable to understand why she was different than her friend and embarrassed that it all came so easily to them, she grew frustrated and eventually retreated from the more academic side of school. She didn't need any extra time to learn gymnastics or a proper slide tackle in footie.

Learning with the Doctor didn't feel like school had. He was quieter and more patient than she'd ever thought he could be, gently encouraging without seeming bored or frustrated with her mistakes. To her surprise, she found she was enjoying their lessons. Idly, she wished he'd been around when she was in school. Maybe she'd have gotten her A-Levels and done something more than worked as a shop girl. Maybe she'd have gone to uni and maybe she'd be able to actually help him out on their adventures as more than just his tag-along. Of course, she told herself, if she wasn't a shop girl, she wouldn't have met him in the first place. The thought didn't stop the thin trickle of wanting at the idea actually making something of herself, but it helped.

She shook herself from her thoughts and set the book back on the table. Then, in careful Gallifreyan, she said, "Food? I be empty." Something wasn't quite right there, she thought. The Doctor's laugh confirmed it. He stood from his spot on the chair beside her, and took her hand.

"I am empty," he said as he levered her to her feet. Oh, right, the word changed when it was in a sentence. They started towards the galley. As they walked, the Doctor pointed to his stomach. "Empty," he said, "Word is jjelik." The word trilled from him like a fragment of birdsong. He cupped his hands around air and said, "Word is empty."

"I am... jjelik?" she asked.

He said something else, a rapid fire sentence she didn't know any words in, but before she could try and pick it apart, they had arrived at the console room. Currently, the library was located close to the bedrooms. The galley, medbay, and swimming pool were on the opposite spoke, through the console room.

The Doctor peeled away from her to check the monitor. He tapped the screen and then frowned.

"Doctor?" she asked. He didn't respond. She'd noticed he seemed less responsive to his name now. She wondered if that was because it was an English word. She hoped it was just that he was distracted, losing one's name (title?) seemed cruel. Her stomach rumbled.

"Come on, Doctor," she said, not bothering to try for Gallifreyan. He would get what she meant by her tone.

The Doctor tapped at the screen again. Then, he exploded into motion as the TARDIS lurched. He grasped at the levels and knobs, desperately flicking and spinning and trying to keep his feet. Rose, who'd been standing in the middle of the walkway, was thrown into one of the railings. She shouted, more in surprise than pain.

"Doctor!" she yelled, "What's happening?"

He was yelling too and now his words sounds less like music and more like grinding machinery, like metal against metal and breaking glass. She wanted to cover her ears against them. Words weren't meant to be like that, they weren't meant to hurt.

The TARDIS lurched again and suddenly Rose was in the air. She had a brief moment to see the Doctor's feet float up from the deck before gravity reasserted itself and they slammed back to the ground. This time she did yell in pain as she caught her arm under her torso, twisting the elbow far past where it was meant to be. She could just see the dark tuft of the Doctor's hair peeking back up over the console before the lights flickered out.

"Doctor?" she said into the silence that pressed down around them.

The word she thought was probably her name floated through the space between them. It sounded thin and tired.

She twisted her body, trying to shift to a more comfortable position without hitting her throbbing arm. She groaned when her side stretched. She'd landed hard and her entire right side was protesting violently.

Cool hands appeared on her shoulders and she started.

"Kuoliros," the Doctor whispered. She hoped that word was her name, it was her favorite one he'd used so far and he'd only shrugged when she asked for a translation. "Feghi uj xbuis?" She shook her head. She couldn't see anything in the pitch black, but he was close so she hoped he could see her.

"Doctor, I can't understand," she said. Then, remembering the word he'd been using to praise her when she got a word right in practice, switched to Gallifreyan, "I am good." it wasn't true, she hurt all over. But, she could feel him trembling and her aches could wait until they knew what was happening. She raised her left hand to where his gripped her shoulder.

"Not I good?" she asked. She didn't know the word for 'you' but she hoped he understood.

"No," he said. Well, that wasn't helpful, she had no idea if he simply didn't understand her question or if he was saying he was injured. Before she could try and ask a different way, the TARDIS doors swung open.

Light pierced the space, illuminating absolute chaos. Smoke filled the room, though she couldn't see flames anywhere, and the console appeared to have fallen to pieces. The Doctor made a strangled noise. She understood. This was a nightmare brought to life. What had happened? She turned back to him to ask but the words fled when she realized he wasn't actually looking at the TARDIS. Instead, he was gazing at her arm. Rose swallowed and looked.

Oh.

She was no doctor, but she was pretty sure arms weren't meant to bend that way. Dimly, she was grateful it did not hurt as badly as she thought it probably should. She pat the Doctor's wrist with her good hand, a clumsy attempt to soothe the twisted expression from his face.

The TARDIS made a complicated sound and the Doctor was on his feet. When had that happened? Rose blinked. She felt very fuzzy all of a sudden, like her brain was floating free of her body. She hoped it didn't crash back down like they had. The thought made her giggle a little.

Her brain would probably bounce if it fell like she had.

There were hands on her, sliding across her back and under her knees and then she was floating up to catch her brain. It drifted further away and she protested. She didn't want it to go.

"Doctor," she whined, "Make it come back."

He said something she couldn't understand and she was afraid.

"Doctor why can't you talk?" she asked, "If your brain going away too?" Hers went a little farther and now even the light coming in from the TARDIS doors (closer than before, closer, closer) seemed dim.

"Doctor?"

A pretty little sentence in a voice she'd only just met but was coming to love. Not Northern, not like before, but still hers.

All hers.

All-

Fingers tightened around her and she drifted away.