Title: Manipulation of the Mind

Author: Trustno1

Disclaimer: Doctor Who related things property of the Beeb. Story, other characters and the Voice property of my disturbed little mind :-D

AN: This is it! The final chapter! Or is it…? Because there are still a few unanswered questions; not many, but a couple that could give way to an epilogue of sorts, if people are interested. I'm actually happy with how it's ended, but would be equally happy to write a little epilogue to tie up a few loose ends.

Thank you so much for all the reviews; thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, especially those who reviewed many times, and gave me some very helpful pointers – thanks Dr Azaria! – it means a lot to a pretend writer like myself :D

Also, I already have the beginnings of another fic running around in my head after a rather annoying plot bunny disturbed me at work, so hopefully that will be up and running shortly.

Again, thanks for the reviews, and enjoy!

Chapter XXV

The Doctor and Rose sat in an enormous window seat on an observation station which had been set up by a species from a galaxy in an arm of the Milky Way, but who would become extinct a few millennia before even dinosaurs existed. The height of each of the 13 windows was about a storey, giving a spectacular view of the interstellar clouds from which the Sun would appear anytime. According to the Doctor, these particular clouds were about 200 light years across, but towered at least a thousand light years high; colossal clouds of incandescent gas, bright reds and greens and blues, with strikingly bright stars around them. The observation station was many light years away, but with an overwhelming view that had Rose speechless for longer than when she had first seen the Earth from above.

The depth and width of the windows weren't quite as impressive at around four foot each, but could quite comfortably seat a cross-legged human and a sprawling Gallifreyan. Rose was currently leaning back against the padded wall gazing at the stars, the bright and puffy clouds of gas, and what would soon be her Sun, and suddenly finding she had no idea how to tell the Doctor about what happened. She knew what happened – at least she thought she had most of it sussed – but now she had to actually go about it, her brain seemed to have frozen.

The Doctor leant against the opposite wall, one leg outstretched next to Rose, the other bent in front of him, staring not at the stars but at Rose. They had been like this for the last ten minutes, and he was worried she wasn't going to tell him anything at all.

"Why did you keep all those books and clothes and things in that long room?" Rose asked suddenly and quietly, breaking the silence, but not the tension, which now increased that little bit more with the completely unexpected question. "I can remember the room, and things in it, like that column at the end, and I can see you in my mind, talking to me. But I can't get any sound, it's just a picture. Like that crappy TV I had in my bedroom at the flat," she said with a wry laugh. " I know the Voice was talking as well, but I don't remember what it was saying then." Her brow creased in concentration as she tried and failed to recall anything further. She turned her head away from the window to look at the Doctor, meeting his distressed blue eyes. "What are they all?" the Doctor took a deep breath and began to continue where Rose left off.

"On the column is the only piece of Gallifrey I have even managed to find, which is now hidden at the back of a room in the darkest corners of the TARDIS with everything I could possibly find that reminded me of my home, my people, my companions – everything that reminded me how completely alone I was in time and space and the Universe." The grief in his voice matched that which had taken over his eyes, and Rose's heart ached terribly for him. And were it not for the fact that he used the past tense and she knew instinctively that he had more to say, she would have immediately interrupted him, and comforted him, telling him he wasn't alone anymore; that everyone had to grieve – especially the Doctor, who had lost more than she could comprehend. As it was, Rose remained silent and seated, soulful brown eyes gazing at his face that was turned to the stars and clouds now as opposed to her. She did lay a comforting hand on his leg that rested lazily at the side of her, and they both appreciated the simple gesture and contact.

"And then I ran into you, a little human from 21st Century London, unlike any other human I've ever met, and I've met thousands, believe me. And you weren't made for that little planet; you were destined for better things than working in a shop, and having Mickey for a boyfriend." He glanced up at Rose then, wondering if he hadn't overdone it a little this time, but she smiled back at him, sharing his knowing look. Sure, Mickey was a good guy, but he wasn't the Doctor, and never would be. "I never once went in that room since you came – never needed to. Like you said, it's better with two. Much better. And I meant what I said in Cardiff – I am so glad I met you, Rose Tyler," he said sincerely, his eyes never leaving hers and his hand, like in Cardiff, seeking out hers and interlocking their fingers tightly.

With the strength of the Doctor's hand in hers, Rose felt as ready as she'd ever be to tell him about the last couple days. She took a deep breath and began.

"It kept telling me you were gonna leave me. Over and over. It took every ounce of hope out of me and replaced it with guilt and pain. And it was always there – the Voice, the feelings, the pain. It was like nothing I even felt before; it was a dull ache, a throbbing pain and a sharp pain all at once. I could feel every cell in my body something. All in crippling pain. It only stopped if I listened. I did too, in the beginning – I didn't know what I was listening to, or realised there was still a part of me that was alive. And the first time it took me to the nothingness, the place where I just existed, but couldn't feel, or see, or touch, or hear anything but the Voice, that's when I really started to fight back." Rose's face, which had previously been slightly pale at the memory of the voice, and with eyes that still contained fear and guilt and pain, much to the distress of the Doctor, transformed into one of angry determination. "This… thing… was inside me, telling me things that deep down I knew weren't true – I could feel it. It was making me feel guilty, taking all of my hope away from me. And for what? To prove it was better than me? Better than humans? For fun?" The Doctor saw in her face the same thing that he and the Director had seen in Max Duffy; a pure anger at whatever it was inside of them that they had no control over, only Rose didn't dissolve into grief – she gained momentum, brows furrowed, staring into the Doctor fiercely.

"I refused to be told what to think, and how to think, by something that I can't even see, or touch or feel – when it itself doesn't have any senses, and can only survive in the mind or someone else, because it's that weak! I paid for it, for refusing, because the pain got worse the longer I ignored the Voice, but I knew I was still alive at least. And that you were coming back – I heard you. In my head, like I head the Voice – only not from the exact same place, not in my mind per se. It's difficult to describe, I'm sorry. But I knew I didn't have to wait too long. And I wasn't gonna give in without a bloody good reason. It's like terrorism," she said, her voice slightly less angry now, more contemplative, much like the Doctor was, contemplating what she had revealed about how she had heard him inside her head. But he didn't have time to think about that now, not with Rose on a roll.

"The point of terrorism is to install fear and terror into innocent people's lives by, for example, blowing up something or things and killing people who happened to get in the way of your opinion. Now, if you never got on a bus, or train, or plane, never went out into a large crowded shopping mall for fear that someone would have a strong opinion there, then they win. Terrorists win. It's especially difficult for people to not feel something if they are the ones who lost a loved one, but equally they are the ones that have to fight – you don't let them get to you no matter what. And I was not going to go down without a fight."

Rose stared at the Doctor with fiery eyes, breathing heavily after this long speech that had tumbled out of her from no-where. She hadn't intended to go into so much detail, but the words had a mind of their own and wanted to be told. Now she had finished though, her gaze and stare relaxed somewhat, and she was almost embarrassed at this outburst, not because of what she said, but more how she said it. The Doctor's gaze didn't waver though. He gave her the same penetrating stare as he had done at Downing Street and Utah; the one that darkened his eyes by a few shades; the one that made her knees weak and a while host of butterflies to dance wildly inside her.

And before Rose could begin to open her mouth and ask him if he was okay; before she even had time to blink, he had closed the small gap between them, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her fiercely on the lips.

No rational thought entered Rose's mind in the few seconds the Doctor's lips were pressed against hers in an electrifying kiss; though the first sentence that managed to scramble itself into coherency was 'thank God I'm sitting down'. The second was 'that wasn't nearly long enough'.

The Doctor watched Rose's eyes widen in shock, felt her pulse race and watched, when he pulled away with a big grin on his face, as she bit her bottom lip as if trying (and failing) to hide a smile. He had a very hard time trying not to kiss her again because of that.

"Rose Tyler, you are absolutely fantastic!" he grinned, and she gave a small laugh at his utter madness. "And if I'm honest, so am I – 6 billion people on Earth in your time, and I find you! What are the odds!"

"Just lucky?" Rose asked with a smile, only a little uncertain as to where this outburst of the Doctor's was coming from. After all, he could get very enthusiastic at times.

"D'you know how many people would have given up, faced with what you were? Probably a third. At least. But you – " He gave a small laugh and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear before letting his hand rest against her cheek again. "Perfect," he whispered, more to himself than to Rose. Nevertheless she heard it loud and clear, despite her heart hammering loudly against her chest. She didn't care. She closed her eyes instead, and felt herself being pulled into the Doctor's strong, safe hug. She slipped her arms around his waist, laid her head against the cool, familiar leather jacket, and settled into his embrace that felt so natural, so right.

The Doctor glanced down at the woman in his arms with a smile on his face, before turning to the window and the spectacle in front of them – the three trillion mile long jet of rose colored gas exploding outwards from an interstellar cloud, signifying the birth of a new star. He heard and felt Rose's sharp gasp and breathed 'wow', but both kept their eyes on the window, and didn't move from their positions – the Doctor leaning against the wall, legs outstretched, Rose sat comfortably between, their arms encircling each other.

The Doctor adamantly told a certain voice (that was beginning to have less and less influence on him now) that this wasn't domestic. Not at all. This was… Rose. The voice seemed okay with that answer, and wisely decided to shut up, and the Doctor was also strangely satisfied at this simple answer. The only sound to be heard now was that of their combined breathing and the low, quiet roar of engines.

Rose broke the silence a few minutes later, if only momentarily.

"Thanks for saving me," she whispered, knowing the Doctor would know she didn't just mean this time.

"Thanks for saving me," he replied, knowing Rose understood exactly what he meant.

She hadn't ever truly thanked him for everything he had done for her, from asking her to come with him, to saving her countless times, to letting her see her father. Likewise the Doctor had never thanked Rose for saying yes, or saving him many times in many ways; they hadn't needed words to convey how much they meant to each other, allowing surreptitious and direct glances, or comforting hand-holding to do all the talking, often more loudly than some couples actually talked. But those four words spoke volumes for the Doctor and Rose, saying far more to each other than an outsider could have known. And both began to realise that in the few occasions they had really talked, they had understood a phenomenal amount; in those instances it was maybe too much information to listen to in such a small amount of time; so much to comprehend about another person, and their feelings, that it had scared them.

After the last few days, both believed they were now ready to reallylisten.

The End…?