Chapter 8: Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
She waited until Rose, the Professor, and their friend were gone before she carefully picked her way through the rubble and into the courtyard. Much as she wanted to run out, to show herself, to launch herself into the Professor's arms and shock him, she couldn't.
The Doctor wasn't meant to know that she was there. Not meant to know she was still alive after the Time War. Not yet, at least. Their first meeting had to be in her past, the Doctor's future. Otherwise, the fragile fabric of the time-space continuum might unravel. Only Rose could know she was there.
But she'd heard Rose's words. She'd just called her a friend, not mentioned her by name. She hadn't told her not to say anything about her, but somehow Rose'd known. Perhaps it was part and parcel of her connection with the Vortex. Ah, it didn't matter.
At least, it didn't matter yet.
Time was fragile enough as it was. She couldn't help it along, much as she wanted to. Just as she couldn't help Rose. The other woman's connection to the Vortex was strong, and was getting stronger all the time. One day soon the after-effects would be known, would be obvious.
Just not now.
Once she was free of the rubble, she broke into a jog. She needed to get her bike and, from there, head to the TARDIS to see Rose. There was one last thing she had to do before she returned to her time. One last gift she had to give.
One last goodbye. Though, admittedly in her case, it was more a 'see you later'. The intricacies of time travel in a sentence. She'd met them before. They would meet her soon. It was enough to give her a headache even in the best of days.
Right, then. She had history to set in motion. Someone had to give the Doctor and Rose a nudge in the right direction to find her.
And that was what her gift was for.
You'll see me soon, Professor. In my past.
After reclaiming the Doctor's and Mickey's clothes and the sonic screwdriver from the prison compound, the remainder of the walk back to the TARDIS was spent in silence. Mickey had tried to start a conversation, but neither she nor the Doctor were in the mood to talk. Something was wrong. She could feel it in the clench of his hand around hers, in the tiny glances he gave her as they walked, and in the knowledge that filled her mind.
Somehow, she knew that she wasn't meant to remember. Wasn't supposed to remember the Vortex, remember the kiss, remember all the possible futures, or the past. What was she now?
Not entirely human, she suspected. She wasn't meant to know what the turn of the earth felt like beneath her feet. Wasn't supposed to know what it was like to fall off into eternity, to see what could happen. She was just supposed to know the present and her own past, her personal past. Not a planet's past, or another person's past.
I looked into the TARDIS. And the TARDIS looked into me.
…I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself.
Her steps faltered for a moment as the memory washed through her. No. She wouldn't give in, wouldn't let the Doctor know that something was wrong. He'd try to fix it, somehow. And she feared that she knew what he might try.
He'd try to save her at the cost of another regeneration. But that wasn't necessary. She knew it wasn't.
She was fine. Different, but fine. She wasn't dying, not anymore. She could handle it, could control it. Admittedly not well, as evidenced by her earlier paralysis, but she'd be able to learn.
She still was Rose Tyler. Human, yes. But a little something more.
When they reached the TARDIS, she held back, releasing the Doctor's hand. "I'll just be out here for a mo'. I'll say goodbye an' then come inside, 'kay?"
He didn't look happy about it, but he nodded. "Right. And then..." His voice trailed off, but she knew what he wanted.
"We'll talk," she agreed to his unspoken request.
After another nod, he opened the door and slipped inside, leaving her alone with Mickey.
"Rose, are you okay? I mean, really?"
She fought back the urge to snap at him. It wasn't his fault that she didn't have the patience for this right now. Hell, she'd almost seen him killed and what was it that she wanted to do? Snap at him. Snap at the Doctor. Damn it all, anyway. She had a lot on her mind.
The image of Mickey and the Doctor tied to the guillotines flashed through her mind. "Yeah," she said, offering him a faint smile. "'M fine. You?"
Mickey grinned. "Great. Fantastic, really. Just played a minor part in startin' a revolution and, even better, my head's still attached to my neck. But that's me." His expression grew serious as he continued, "I'm more worried about you."
She shrugged. "Yeah. Told ya, I'm fine." Well, as fine as one could be considering she had all of time and space swirling about in her head.
"Liar," he teased, using a tone that once upon a time could've encouraged a smile.
He still knew her too well, but she didn't bother to answer. She let her silence answer for her.
After a long, awkward moment, Mickey shoved his hands into his pockets. "Right, then. S'pose I'll just…go inside."
She gave him a tight smile. With a shrug, Mickey opened the TARDIS door and walked inside, closing the it behind him.
In the distance, she could hear the low rumble of a motorbike over the even fainter sounds of the riot making its way through the city, and she smiled. She knew Dorothée couldn't come any closer to the TARDIS – there was always the chance that the Doctor might look through the scanner and spot her. Through her experiences with the Vortex, as Bad Wolf, she knew what was meant to happen.
The Doctor couldn't know about Dorothée. Not yet. But soon.
She crossed the street quickly and turned into the alleyway where she'd first met the other woman. Something told her that this would be where she'd find Dorothée, and, sure enough, there she was, leaning against her bike.
Dorothée grinned at her as she slid her mirror shades off her face. "See? Rescue some prisoners, start a riot, change history. Not bad for a girls' day out, wouldn't you say?"
That startled a laugh out of her. "No, not at all. Can't say it was planned that way, though." Was it only yesterday that she'd stormed away from the Doctor, still angry about what had happened in the fifty-first century? It seemed so petty now.
"Never is," the other woman said wisely. "But, well, gotta roll with the punches that life gives us. Glad to see that your lot's okay. I'll admit I was a little worried there, but you came out all right."
"Yeah, with a lot of help from the prisoners. From the Doctor. And from you. I saw you back there, at the courtyard, hiding behind the wall. But I knew you couldn't come out. Couldn't let the Doctor see you. At least, not yet." In her mind, she could hear singing.
There was this singing…
She shook herself and realised that Dorothée had held out a hand toward her, outstretched as if she were about to touch her shoulder. "Sorry. Don't know what came over me."
Dorothée frowned, biting her lower lip as if she wanted to say something but couldn't. "I wish there was something I could do, Rose."
"But there isn't," she completed. "I know. This is somethin' I've got to figure out for myself."
"Not alone, though. Never alone. Remember that." Dorothée looked at her intently.
"Yeah." Sometimes, though, she wondered. "I wanted to say thanks, though. For helpin' me out, for helpin' me rescue the Doctor and Mickey." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver. "Here, thanks for loanin' me this. Came in handy."
Dorothée accepted the device with a slight nod, sliding it into a pocket in her armour. "You're welcome, Rose. But it wasn't me that did the rescuing. That was all you. I just helped from the sidelines."
She smiled shyly at the compliment. "Couldn't've done it without the distraction."
Dorothée grinned. "Explosions can be useful. Oh, before I forget-" The other woman reached into a different pocket and pulled out what looked to be a playing card and pressed it into her hand. "-see that he gets this, 'kay?"
She nodded, feeling the sharp edges of the card dig into her palm. "Yeah. But, Dorothée, before you go, who are you? Really?" Even the part of her that was forever Bad Wolf couldn't tell her that. All she could see was the other woman's shadow spread through time, forward and backward, entwining briefly with others but never constant, never steady.
"A friend," the other woman replied before pulling her into a loose hug. "Take care of him, Rose. He needs it. Always has, always will. And take care of yourself. I'll be seeing you around, yeah?" Dorothée released her and stepped away, climbing onto the motorcycle.
The rumble of the motor echoed through the alleyway and, with a jaunty wave, Dorothée gunned the engine and sped off. A brilliant flash of light and a wave of Vortex energy later, she was gone.
She suddenly understood the Doctor's tendency of putting his hands into his pockets, as she did the same. She could feel the lint caught at the bottom of each pocket and she could feel the turn of the Earth beneath her feet.
It was something to hold onto, something real. There wouldn't always be a hand to hold, after all.
She sighed as she pulled one hand out of the pocket, the hand that still clutched Dorothée's card. It was a message, she knew. Something that only the Doctor would understand.
She frowned as she turned the playing card over in her hand.
It was an ace of clubs.
He wondered if this was what insanity was like. Time was slipping between his fingertips and he couldn't hold on, couldn't force it to stand still. He couldn't protect her forever, especially not from herself.
He'd seen gold in her eyes.
Damn it, what had he done? What had he done to her? Forced her into? Oh, he knew that she'd been the one who had made the choice. She'd wanted to come back to him on Satellite Five. She'd wanted to save him, and she had. She had, of course she had.
But the price. Her humanity? Her soul? All sacrificed and for what? Why him?
He gripped the edge of the console, feeling the edges press into his skin. This body was so tactile. He needed to touch, to taste, to see. He needed her hand to be held within his. He needed to see the universe through her eyes. He was a selfish old fool.
The hum of the TARDIS increased in pitch, almost as if she were denying his thoughts.
"Doctor?" Mickey asked tentatively, causing him to start. He hadn't heard the doors open as he was too embroiled in his self-accusations and worry to notice.
"Yes?"
"Rose, is she...will she…is everything okay?" Ah, Mickey. He'd always kept him on the outside, hadn't he? But, this time, he had to.
He turned toward the other man, his smile somewhat forced. "Oh, she's fine. Everything's fine. Spectacular, really."
"Now I know you're lying," Mickey said, folding his arms before him. "Don't think I don't. I might not know you as well as Rose, but I know, okay? There's something wrong, isn't there? With Rose?"
He sighed, the breath leaving his lips with an almost explosive force. "Maybe. Possibly. I don't know." How he hated those words.
Mickey didn't look happy after hearing that answer, but it was all that he could give. He didn't know. Had no clue. Rose could be fine. She might not be. He just didn't know.
"She's different, y'know. Different from when me an' her…well, she's jus' different. She's more like you, now."
He winced. He'd never wish that upon anyone, let alone someone he cared for. "I never..."
"You never asked for it?" Mickey completed, showing an uncanny understanding. "Too bad. It's happened, Doctor. An' I don't know if there's a way to fix it. D'you?"
He shook his head sadly. No. He had no idea if he could or if it was even possible.
Bad Wolf had left its mark on all of them – even Mickey - in its aftermath. He'd regenerated and Rose…oh, Rose.
"What've I done?" he asked, but no one had an answer. Not Mickey. Not the TARDIS.
Not even the universe.
If he had to describe the Doctor's expression in one word, there was only one he could possibly use.
Remorseful.
The last incarnation of the Time Lord had been guilt-ridden. He'd known it from the moment that he'd swanned into their lives. This one seemed to be the same. Hid it behind a mask, perhaps, but the same.
Every time someone was hurt – especially Rose – or whenever someone was suffering – again, Rose – it was there. Remorse, guilt. It was always there.
But it wouldn't help. All the guilt, all the remorse in the world couldn't help Rose. Not now. She'd changed ever since she'd first met the Doctor. Bit by bit, she'd become something new. Rose, but different. Better in some ways, really. Better because she was far stronger than she ever had been. More independent. More, well, Doctor-like.
"What've you done?" He repeated the Time Lord's words. "Nothing. You've done nothing. It jus' happened. 'S not your fault. Not anyone's. It just 'appened." It wasn't an accusation, really. It was just a statement of fact. True, there were aspects that wouldn't've happened without the Doctor in her life but there were others that would've.
He wasn't too proud to admit that she would've left him behind sometime. She'd always been destined for more. For, he now realised, this.
The Doctor frowned. "Maybe." It was an allowance, not an agreement. There was a shadow in his expression, something that hadn't been there before.
"Are you all right?" he ventured. He had to ask, even if he was told a lie.
The Time Lord turned toward him, his eyes strangely dead. "I'm always all right."
Two days ago, the Doctor's face had been a mask. When Rose had asked him if he was all right, his response had been the same. The exact same. It was a lie. He'd known it then, just as he knew it now.
He sighed and turned toward the interior of the TARDIS. There wasn't anything he could do. He couldn't talk to the Doctor, because the other man would remain stubbornly silent. He couldn't help, because there was nothing he could do.
"I'm gonna go make some tea. Want some?" he offered, desperate to do something, anything.
"Not thirsty."
Of course not. But at least he'd tried. Only Rose could possibly reach him now and she was the problem.
Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.
This was what being the tin dog was like, he supposed. He'd tried, he always would. But he couldn't succeed. Not with the pair of them.
They were far too stubborn for their own good.
To be concluded...
