I can't tell you how much fun I had writing this chapter. I hope you enjoy it!
"Earth to Agent Tyler, come in Agent Tyler."
Rose gets one look at Victor and snorts. He's holding his fork to his ear and mouth like it's some sort of communication device. "Please check your coordinates and report your location to headquarters."
His grin is cheeky, far too Doctorish for her liking, but Rose makes herself laugh. "HQ, you say? Where's that, then?"
"Why, I do believe it's across the table from you. Looks like some poor, lonely, abandoned bloke."
"I really was a million miles away, wasn't I?"
"You've been staring out the window for a full two minutes and you've barely touched your salmon. Does it taste alright?" Scratching a sideburn, Victor looks over at the two Tesi guards, one on each side of the small archway that opens to their private alcove. "I can have Dom fetch our waiter–"
"No, my food's good." To prove it, Rose picks up her fork and pops a bite of the salmon into her mouth, chewing slowly as her gaze drifts back to the view. The sky is crayoned in orange and pastel pinks, its streaks of colour mirrored on the surface of the Thames. Sunset already. It must be nine by now, or very near. Not that Rose dares check the time on her phone after being caught doing so twice already.
Beneath the table, her foot taps out an anxious rhythm. What was taking the Doctor so long? Has he been biding his time in order to act under cover of darkness? She glances down the street, at the windows of the nearby buildings. Could he be watching her right at this moment?
Although for all she knows, he's been here in the restaurant this whole time. If only they didn't have such a private table; Rose can't see any other guests, nor any staff except their waiter. What if the Doctor's impersonating a server or something, impatiently watching the minutes tick away as he waits for her to get up to use the loo?
But she dares not leave the table. It wasn't one of his instructions.
'Make sure to scream.'
Goosebumps prickled her skin, as they do every time she thinks of it, and then suddenly she hears Victor chuckling. Rose's eyes snap to his. He's shaking his head, expression amused, though his annoyance is palpable. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"
Rose wrinkles her nose in apology. "Sorry. I must be really tired or something."
"I was just saying, your salmon looks over-seasoned to me. My steak is too if I'm honest. I know you were excited to try this place out, Rose, but I'm not so sure it lives up to the hype. Maybe we should go somewhere else–"
"No!" It comes out as a near shout, and Rose cringes. "Wow, sorry. I really don't know what's wrong with me." It's not too hard to offer him a smile– Victor looks genuinely startled by her reaction, and it takes the edge off his carefully curated attractiveness. The styled spikes of hair, the stupid cufflinks and tie-pin, the open expression, the charm; he dons it all like an elaborate disguise. Distracting all attention away from the ugly soul beneath.
"Sorry, Doctor," Rose says again. "But please, I don't want to leave. It's so late already. And I like this place. 'S quiet, we've got a great view, and privacy, for once. Most times when we eat out Dom and Pinnen stand right by our table, and I don't like how they listen to everything we say."
She can tell Victor is trying to not roll his eyes. "For the millionth time, they're alien, and not interested in our gossip, Rose."
Rose nods agreeably, wondering why she'd even said that. She has zero desire to argue with him again about the constant Tesi presence in their lives. "You're right, I doubt they wanna hear about Mum's most recent pregnancy scare."
To her relief, that gets a snicker out of Victor. "Again? Why doesn't that woman just get an IUD?"
"Ooh, you should ask her."
He feigns a shudder. "I've only got one life, Rose Tyler. I'm not about to risk it by daring to suggest birth control options to your mother."
"Will your death be a homicide, or by embarrassment?"
"It will be death by disgust."
Chuckling, Rose tugs a thin shoulder strap back into place for the hundredth time. It was her first (and probably last, given how uncomfortable and annoying it was) time wearing this dress, which was tight and black and a little too short.
When she glances up, she finds Victor watching her. "Is that the dress I bought you a month ago? I thought it didn't fit?"
Rose shrugs. "Had a hunch it might now, so I tried it again."
"Didn't I tell you it would if you stayed entirely off that greasy food you seem to love so much?" Victor sits back in his chair, looking pleased.
"That you did," she mutters, and he either ignores or does not notice her sarcasm.
"Well, you look gorgeous in it. Classy, with your hair done up like that. I always secretly loved it when you'd get all dressed up. Never happened often enough."
She smiles and takes another bite of salmon, pretending to appreciate the compliment. She hates a lot of things about this man, but the fact that he's privy to the Doctor's memories enrages her above all else. He uses them like weapons, dropping little comments here and there, secrets big and small, things she only ever wants to hear from the Doctor's own willing lips.
C'mon, Doctor, where are you? she thinks again. It's driving her mad that there's no evidence of his presence. No psychic pollen in the air, making Victor act anything but his usual delightful self, no teleport bracelets or perception filters or fights breaking out, nor even any explosions. Her heart skips a beat as she, for the first time, allows herself to wonder if he had been caught. What if Victor knew all about their plan, knew she was lying to him, playing him, pretending to believe he was her Doctor whilst secretly pining for his counterpart?
"You're just picking at that," Victor comments suddenly, and her heart skips another beat. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing." Rose pushes her plate away. She's too keyed up to eat, so why bother trying? "It's just, I thought I was in the mood for fish, but I'm not." Spotting the dessert menu, she grabs it, to give herself something to focus on. "Ooh, I know. I want tiramisu."
"More sugar? Rose, you had a candy bar for lunch."
Anger jolts through Rose. "How'd you know that? You were in meetings all day, I didn't even see you."
"Dom mentioned it to me."
"What, the bloody Tesi are policing people's food choices now?"
Eyes flashing, he leans in. "Keep your voice down. No, they're not, but he's spent enough time around us to know I worry about your eating habits."
"My eating habits are fine!" hisses Rose. "They're healthy, even!"
"Yes, but you have to admit, you eat way too much sugar."
"You used to," Rose mutters, unable to help herself. "I liked how you used to drink sugar with a little tea added."
His answer, when it comes, is mild, but his jaw is so tight his cheeks dimple. "Well, at least that's one good change the metacrisis has wrought in me, I suppose."
Rose looks down, fiddles with the dessert menu. 'One of many good changes' is what she ought to say, but can't. She can't find it in her to apologise, either, even though she is genuinely sorry for saying what she did. Months and months stuck with him, and she's never gone and compared him to the other Doctor like that. She's never wanted to. She hated him for wearing the Doctor's face; hated each and every similarity. She has only survived by focusing on, by encouraging, the differences.
But tonight, she can't pretend to appreciate anything about the bloody metacrisis. Not after having seen the real Doctor today, after soaking up his warm, kind energy like sunlight. She had quite forgotten how wonderful it was, to look into those ageless dark eyes and see, not cold ambition, but the oh-so-familiar love, genuine and deep and all for her.
It's never felt audacious to call it love. The Doctor has never said how he feels about her, yet he's never hidden it either. It was in his limitless interest in her as a person, his deep care for her wellbeing, his desire for her companionship, her attention, her approval. It was his love, however misguided, that put her in this predicament in the first place.
Not that she didn't shoulder some of the blame for it. Their problem was, they knew each other too well, read each other too easily, which had made Rose feel legitimately secure in leaving the most important things unspoken, trusting the Doctor to intuit them. If only she'd communicated better, and let him know openly that the emotional intimacy they shared was more than enough. That while she may have wanted him to love her as more than a friend, that was not the same as needing it.
Well. This time, she will not miss her chance to tell him her forever does not come with contingencies.
Someone comes through the archway and Rose looks over eagerly, hoping...but it's only the tuxedoed waiter, carrying a frosty pitcher of water.
"Is there anything else you need, Your Highness?" he asks, as he carefully tops off their glasses. "Ma'am?"
"Yes, there is. How about an order of tiramisu for my lovely fianceè?" Victor gives Rose a tight smile, reaching across the table to thread his fingers with hers. "You'll share a bite or two with me, right?"
"Of course," she agrees sweetly, smiling back and hating him. It's incredibly obvious that he's still put out, just as he always is when she doesn't behave as he thinks she ought to. The poor thing, having to deal with her stupid human emotions and her stupid human moods. Not for the first time, Rose wonders why he bothers with her. Just what is he getting from their relationship? There must be something, why else would he go to all the trouble of pretending to be the Doctor just to keep her happy?
Although, Rose considers, he plays that game with everyone. And right now he's just phoning it in– like, the real Doctor would unfailingly order his own dessert because he knew Rose never shared. She had tried that once, and after he'd inhaled nine-tenths of it without apology, had learnt her lesson. But she's certain Vic the Prick will stick to his pretentious "bite or two."
The only way Rose has coped with the situation is by never forgetting she's an agent on a mission. She's trained to take down alien threats, and that's exactly what she's looking at. An evil alien who's taken over her world, who just happens to inhabit the form of the man she loves, which is admittedly an added challenge.
He is not the Doctor, but he's got his intelligence, and Rose is beginning to despair. Victor is on to her, he must be. He caught the Doctor in action, and now the Doctor is miles in the sky chained up in a Tesi prison-ship and that's why he's not come yet.
Victor begins playing with her fingers, and it makes her skin crawl. "Have I done something to upset you?" he asks. "I can't remember the last time I've seen you so out of sorts."
Rose lifts an eyebrow wryly. "What about the day of the invasion?"
"Yeah, well, I was pretty out of sorts myself that day. But" –after a glance to Dom and Pinnen he leans in, whispering– "this will come to an end, I promise. We just have to be patient. I know five years seems like forever to humans, but once our TARDIS is ready, I'll be able to quash all this, easily. And for the time being, all I care about is that you're safe."
Gag me, is what Rose longs to say. "Yeah, I know. You're right. Gotta play the long game."
Inexplicably, Victor's eyes warm. "Not always," he says. "I've been thinking that, well...I would really, really like to shorten our engagement."
"What?" Rose stares at him. She can't have heard him right.
"I've been so busy lately, and I've missed you terribly. I hardly see you during the day, and now, with me having my own place, it seems like we get a couple of hours together in the evening and that's it. If we were married, not only could we live together again, but we'd be able to work together too. Your clearance will be so much higher once you're officially Queen."
"How soon are you thinking?"
He grins, charmingly. "Well, how about Saturday?"
"As in, two days from now, Saturday?"
"That'd be the one."
"Doctor, how can we? Mum and I have barely started planning our wedding, I don't even have a dress yet, or-"
"We can still do the big wedding shindig later," he cuts in. "I'm just talking about making it legal. Omara has already offered to officiate for us."
"Omara? Why her? You don't even like her. You're always moaning about how she sticks her nose in your business."
"Right, but as the Tesi's high commander, it's sort of her job to keep an eye on me."
"Was this rushed marriage Omara's idea, by chance?"
He looks hurt. "Of course not. Rose, I just miss you, okay? I can think better when you're around. Sarge needs his Lewis on the job with him."
His calling her 'Lewis' infuriates her so much that she can hardly keep her seat. Rose bites her lip hard and stares at the table. "Can I think about it? Just for a bit? I'm sorry, I don't mean to act like I'm not excited about the idea of marrying you, s'just..."
When he doesn't fill in the silence she glances up again, only to find the waiter has returned with her tiramisu. "Can we get that in a box to go?" Victor asks the man in a curt tone.
Rose begins to panic. They can't leave. "What? Why?"
"Rose, love, you are obviously exhausted. Wouldn't you enjoy your dessert much more at home, in bed, in your pyjamas?"
She wants to say no, to stall him, but she's played this all wrong. Let her emotions get involved. And now she's screwed everything up.
So Rose picks up her phone and forces a smile. "You're right, yeah, that sounds brilliant, let's go. M'sure I'll feel better to talk wedding plans tomorr–"
Her last syllable is lost to an immense, explosive crash, as something like a rocket blasts through the plate glass window they're seated near, shattering it. Rose shrieks, curling down with hands over her head as bits of glass cascade over her, a few stinging her skin. An engine roars and a strong arm slides around Rose's waist, hauling her bodily from her chair. In a blur, she finds herself straddling the hot, wide frame of a motorbike.
Rose gets a glimpse of combat boots as a helmeted, black-clad figure slides onto the bike in front of her, clutching the handlebars one-handed while his other arm curves back to hold her in place, his gloved hand pressing the small of her back. He revs the engine, and Rose screams again as they hurtle through the hole where the window used to be. The arm leaves her waist as they hit the street and skid sharply left, tyres screeching as they race off.
The chill evening air blows rough against her skin, which is all too exposed in her skimpy dress, but Rose flushes with heat as she wraps her arms around the man's trim waist. They careen wildly to the right at the next intersection, and she swallows down another scream, one of pure exhilaration this time. She can't see anything of her captor, but she'd felt the care with which he had handled her. Without a doubt, it's the Doctor.
The Doctor. She's with the Doctor, on a motorbike. Which he'd just crashed straight through a window in order to snatch her away from another man. She'd expected his plan would be geeky and clever, hoped he might show her some Spock, but had never dreamed it would turn out to be so...so physical and violent.
Heat flashes through her again, and she shivers.
There are traffic lights just ahead; they're nearing a main motorway. Those are always crawling with Tesi, as she well knows. Rose's next shiver is one of fear. What in the world is the Doctor thinking? They have an extremely short window of time before Victor gets over his shock and sends forth his troops, and it's surely closing by now.
"Doctor!" she shouts, praying he can hear her over the rush of wind. "We've got to–"
He shoves up the wind guard on his helmet. "Drop your phone!" he yells at her over his shoulder.
Rose stills, confused.
"Drop your phone!" he shouts again.
She's still got it clutched in her hand, she hadn't even realised. Rose tosses it away, and a few seconds later a little shriek escapes her as they drive straight up a ramp and into the back of a large lorry.
Put put put put idles the motor as the Doctor brings the bike to a halt. The lorry they're in is full of furniture, Rose notices, even in the dark she can make out a sofa, a few armchairs stacked haphazardly, lots of boxes. "Hurry, hide!" he hisses, and this time she moves quickly, scrambling off the bike. As she ducks behind the far end of the sofa, she watches him move his bike behind a stack of boxes and shut the engine down. Crouching beside it, he tugs his helmet off.
Their eyes meet. The Doctor is breathing hard, but he smiles at her before bringing a finger to his lips.
Rose smiles back and rolls her eyes. As if he needs to warn her to be quiet.
Briefly, she wonders why he hasn't closed the door at the back, but then cowers into a ball, hugging her knees, when all hell breaks loose a moment later. There's whoosh after whoosh, as hoverbikes blast by in the dozens, sirens blaring. Before long there are voices too, loud and just outside. Rose's heart tries to beat out of her chest. No doubt they've found her phone by now.
She glances the Doctor's way; finds him watching her intently. "It's okay," he mouths. At least that's what she thinks he mouths. It's so dark she can barely see him, though his eyes gleam in the faint light.
It feels like hours go by as they wait, hardly daring to breathe, but eventually, the ruckus dies down. There's a clatter at the back that makes Rose nearly jump out of her skin. The back door is rolling down.
"It's okay," she hears the Doctor say, as they're shrouded in near-total blackness, the only light coming from a tiny window that looks into the cab. "We're in good hands."
The engine rumbles to life, and then Rose clutches the arm of the sofa for balance when the lorry lurches into motion. She's trying to readjust how she's sitting when suddenly, she notices a shadowy form towering over her. "Come see," the Doctor says, offering a hand to help her up. Rose smiles and takes it.
Together, they pick their way over to the little window. Rose puts her nose to it as the Doctor raps the glass, and then she nearly laughs out loud when the driver swivels around just to make a rude face at them before returning his attention to the road.
"Oh my god," she whispers delightedly. "It's Jake."
"You don't need to whisper," the Doctor tells her, chuckling. "This trailer's not bugged or anything. I've checked."
Rose laughs aloud then, in relief and joy. "I can't remember the last time nobody's known where I am. I love it!"
The Doctor seems to stiffen a little, though she can't be sure, and then they both nearly tumble over as the lorry passes over a rough bit of road. "Whoops, steady on now," he says, grabbing her by the waist.
"Thanks." Giggling, Rose puts her hands on his shoulders. A long, weighted moment passes as they hold on to each other, eyes locked, smiles fading, neither one moving. Then the Doctor clears his throat.
"Got a bit of a drive ahead, might as well make ourselves comfortable," he says, helping her over to the sofa. Rose drops onto it with a sigh of relief, kicking off her heels. The Doctor rummages through a box.
"Here we go!" She hears the whirr of the sonic, and all at once, a warm, cheery light fills the space. "Ta-da!" He holds up a couple of camping lanterns. "Don't worry, they're battery-powered, the last thing we need is an accidental fire in here."
"Brilliant," says Rose, as he sets them on the floor near her feet and begins to dig in the box again.
"Are you hungry? Your mum said she was sending snacks. Should be in here, somewhere…"
"Nah, though I should be. You interrupted my dinner," she scolds teasingly.
"Right, sorry 'bout that." He sounds anything but sorry.
"Sort of wish we could build a campfire though."
He looks her way quickly. "Are you cold?"
"Sort of, yeah." Rose hugs herself, bare arms and legs chilly.
"I know there are blankets here somewhere...ha! Here's one." The Doctor tosses it to her and Rose wraps herself into it gratefully. It's warm and fluffy and smells of her mum's house.
"Did Mum pack me a bag, by chance? I'm assuming we'll be gone for a couple of days?"
"Yes, at least. Your dad made some arrangements for us, said he rented us a cottage somewhere in Cornwall...Penzance, I think? I've got the address in my pocket."
"Oh, that's right on the sea. I haven't been that far south in ages. Dad's smart. The Tesi presence isn't near as heavy in the rural areas."
"Yeah, that's what I hear."
"So did she?"
"Did who what?"
Rose laughs. "Did Mum pack a bag for me?"
The sofa jiggles as the Doctor drops down to sit on it. "Well, we were worried it might seem suspicious, your mum going to your flat whilst you weren't there, especially right before your abduction. So." He scratches the back of his neck. "Ehm, I told her I could pack a few things for you. From your old room on the TARDIS. I hope that's alright. I needed to go back there anyway, to fetch a few things for myself and–"
"Doctor, it's fine. Thank you."
"I apologise in advance if I did a rubbish job." It's still fairly dark, but Rose thinks she sees a blush tint his cheeks. "I tried to remember which things you used to like wearing, practical things, since it might be a bit chilly and rainy–"
He cuts off as Rose bursts into giggles and playfully pouts at her. She can't help laughing, the image in her mind is fantastic. The Doctor, digging through her closet and drawers, trying to decide what she might need, god. She couldn't wait to see which pairs of knickers he'd chosen for her. If he'd even thought to. If he was brave enough. "Did you pack me some trainers, at least?"
"Oh yes, those were the first things that went in."
"Pyjamas?"
"Yep." All at once, he shoots the sauciest of grins at her, and her heart thrums faster. "Remember those flannel ones you had, dotted all over with little green aliens?"
"Oh, those were my favourite, I've missed them! Did you think to grab my toothbrush?"
"Not only that, there's even toothpaste to go with it."
"Blimey, you went above and beyond. Bravo. Top marks."
Grin a mile wide now, the Doctor preens, attempting to straighten the tie he's not wearing. A bit awkwardly, his hand smooths down the front of his black leather jacket instead.
It's so...odd, seeing him wear anything that's not the suit, especially clothing that's so unlike it. Rose feels a bit guilty for liking the change as much as she does, but she can't help it if she has a thing for a well-dressed bloke. The outfit he'd worn earlier in the day was smart and had flattered his tall, lean frame. And this one, all black and denim and big boots and leather, blimey; she wants to fan herself. Also, how had a few swipes of his fingers gotten his hair looking that good, after being crushed by a helmet for who knew how long?
Lucky alien, Rose thinks, as she puts a hand to her own hair and finds more than a few wisps have been blown free of the pins. Great. He gets to look like he's ready to grace a magazine cover whilst she sits here looking like a hurricane survivor.
But the Doctor, noticing her eyeing him, drops his eyes to his lap and shifts uncomfortably. "I was going for nondescript," he mumbles, sounding almost embarrassed. "You know, the cliché biker look, to make it more difficult to track us. Plus, I really can't have him suspecting I'm back."
"And here I was thinking you were just trying to look good." It just pops out of Rose's mouth, unfiltered.
Before she can inwardly chastise herself, the Doctor's eyes snap to hers, and the look in them is so astonished and warm that her heart flutters. "You look good too," he tells her, utmost sincerity in his voice.
Coughing out a laugh, Rose gives him a doubtful look, gathering her blanket closer around herself. "Glad to know this 'police raided my party so I spent the night in jail' look I'm rocking is doing it for you."
"Been a while since I've seen you all dressed up," he goes on, still with that earnest warmth in his eyes. "And if your hair's a bit windblown, well, that's my fault, isn't it?"
There's a dark, possessive note in his voice that robs her of speech. All at once, Rose recalls the way he'd grabbed her, setting her onto his bike like it wasn't an abduction at all, but rather him taking what was rightfully his. So she only nods, and starts pulling the pins from her hair.
"Anyway," says the Doctor, stretching one arm along the back of the sofa, "we'll both need to change clothes before Jake drops us off; he's only taking us as far as Exeter. Then it'll be a good couple hours on the motorbike before we reach Penzance."
"Yeah, I don't fancy being on that bike again in just this dress and heels. Brr. Besides, what if you crashed us? I wouldn't have any skin left!"
"Crash?" He looks offended. "I would never!"
"Um, you literally just did. You crashed through a window. Like, an hour ago."
"That was on purpose!"
"You crashed your motorbike through a window," she repeats, beginning to laugh all over again because she still can't quite believe it. "I only wish I could've seen Victor's face!"
"Ha, I saw it. His eyes were round and so was his mouth, it was all very unattractive. Please tell me I don't look that stupid when I'm shocked."
The Doctor's attempt to maintain a straight face fails, and the last sentence ends with a laugh, probably because Rose is laughing so uncontrollably. She wipes at her eyes, trying to calm herself, but she can't, it's been so long since she's truly laughed and she fears it might carry her away. The pressure builds and builds, in her chest, behind her eyes, and she's gasping, she can't breathe, she can't see, she's too full, she might burst at the seams.
The next thing she knows there are strong arms around her, cocooning her into safety, as she sobs against the Doctor's chest.
She'd been hopeless for so long- yes, she was confident they'd overthrow Victor and his Tesi thugs, and was even grateful to have such a complex problem to pour all her focus and energy into. But Rose had never dared think about what would come after it was all over, the blank, empty future that awaited her. But now, impossibly, the Doctor is here. He's helping her, holding her, and suddenly everything is splashed with rainbows. It's too much to process.
Dam now broken, Rose cries and cries and cries, and the Doctor never says a word to try and calm her. Just holds her tight and rubs circles on her back, a bottomless well of comfort. Eventually, her sobs subside– although, when he ever-so-gently begins dabbing her runny face with a handkerchief, the kindness of the act nearly makes her break down all over again.
"Oh, Rose," he says quietly. "I can't begin to imagine how awful all of this has been for you."
Still sniffling, she takes the handkerchief from him and blows her nose. "Let's just say I'm glad you showed up when you did. I was one backhanded compliment away from punching him in the mouth."
The Doctor exhales a laugh. "Well, his cheek was bleeding when we left, if it's any consolation." A thought seems to occur to him and he suddenly frowns. "Did you get cut by any of the broken glass? That was the one part of my plan I was worried about, I can't believe I forgot to ask–"
"I'm fine." Rose knows she sustained a few little injuries, but nothing serious. She'll inspect herself later, once she can get into a shower.
"Liar." He looks at her pleadingly. "Can I check? Please? It will make me feel better. And it's not like we have anything else we need to do right now."
With a sigh, Rose capitulates. "Check away," she says, and shivers as she lets the blanket fall to her waist.
Unzipping his leather jacket, the Doctor takes his screwdriver from an inside pocket. "Left arm," he instructs, as they angle toward each other, sitting knee to knee. Rose puts her arm out, and he runs the sonic's beam down one side and up the other, taking his time.
They don't talk as he works, meticulously inspecting her right arm next, her neck, her legs, her feet. Rose basks in the quiet intimacy of his touch, his care, and suspects the Doctor is doing the same, though he does apologise for each little nick he discovers before closing it up.
"Oh, this is a deeper one," he says after she turns around for him, touching a cool finger to her right shoulder-blade. "Still bleeding a bit."
She hears him rustle through his pockets, then he presses some sort of fabric to the wound. Rose winces, for the first time realising how sore the spot was.
"Sorry," he murmurs again, dabbing at the skin.
"'S alright, Doctor, it's no big deal. You did what you had to do."
He goes silent again, tending to her wound. "That's what I told myself," he suddenly says in a low voice, "when I left you behind on that beach. That I had to do it."
Rose's heart begins to pound.
"That I had to make the choice for you, that I knew what you needed, better than you did. And now, look how it's all turned out, it's all my fault, and you're like...it's like, you aren't even holding a grudge against me. And you should, Rose. What I did was unforgivable."
Looking over her shoulder, Rose meets his tortured eyes. "It wasn't unforgivable. You were trying to do right by me. It may not have turned out very well, but your motive was good, as always."
The Doctor shakes his head, like he doesn't believe it. He's being ridiculous again.
"Oh, so you didn't think I'd be happier? You left me because you wanted to be alone and didn't care how I felt?"
"Of course not, but– Rose. I made your choice for you. I manipulated you."
Rose swallows, gazing down at one of the lanterns on the floor as she considers how to answer. He's given her the perfect opening. Will she pass up the opportunity again, and not say what needs saying, just because she's scared?
She will not risk losing him again.
"Yes, you did manipulate me a bit," she says after a fortifying breath, glad she's still facing away from him. "And I'll admit I was angry about it at first. But then, once I totally understood why you did what you did, I realised the outcome was both our faults. You weren't totally forthright about why you wanted me to stay in Pete's World, and I...well, I never outright told you what I needed from you."
His hands fall still against her back. "I wasn't forthright?" The Doctor sounds genuinely bemused. "I really did think he was me...you know that, right?"
"No one could've guessed the truth about Victor, okay? I don't blame you for him, and I hope that sooner or later you'll decide to believe me. This is about...well, it's a misunderstanding, I suppose." She glances back over her shoulder again, to momentarily meet his eyes. "I know you believed that in the long run, if I'd stayed, I'd have been unhappy with you."
She waits, hoping the Doctor will take his cue and begin explaining his side of things. But all he does is mumble, "I worry about that with everyone who travels with me."
"I know, but...that's not what I mean." Rose tries not to be frustrated. "Okay. You thought, since he was part-human, that he was the one who could make me happy, yeah?"
"Yes," he agrees, though he sounds confused.
Rose gathers all her courage. "But what you didn't know, because we never actually discussed it, is that I didn't ever expect any sort of a...a relationship. With you." She takes a breath, and forces herself to say the word that might scare him. "A romantic relationship. Maybe you believed I needed that cos I'm human, or that I had...expectations...of you because of what I'd said on the beach when I thought I'd never see you again. But I didn't. I was so happy in our friendship, Doctor. It's okay if you don't want more with me. It's always been okay."
Practically panting for breath, she pauses and waits for his reaction. Is it sinking in? The hard truth, that he gave her up to his double for no good reason? That she was never unhappy with the state of their relationship?
When she can't take his silence any longer, Rose turns to face him on the sofa. The Doctor gazes at her, his mouth opening and shutting, like he wants to say something, but can't find the right words. Understanding, she rescues him. "I know you were afraid that I would want more than you had to give, that I'd end up disappointed with our life. But Doctor, I wasn't going to leave, ever. Anyway, I should've told you before, but...I assumed you knew. Which was stupid of me. So I'm sorry."
Finally, the Doctor seems to find his voice. "Rose. I don't think you–"
He cuts off as the lorry slows, tyres crunching on gravel as it comes to a full stop. When he rises to his feet, watchful eyes on the door, looking as if he has no intention of finishing his thought, Rose wants to scream in frustration.
There's no saving it, though. There's a metal clank as the ramp hits the ground, then the door rolls up to flood the truck with light. "All right, kids," says Jake, grinning at them. "Let's go, time's a-wastin'. I gotta get this truck back to the depot before the sun comes up– good god, Rose, you haven't even changed out of your bloody dress yet?"
"Sorry, sorry. We got distracted."
"Spare me the gory details. I'm giving you two five minutes," says Jake, and yanks the door down again.
The Doctor and Rose move quickly. He ducks behind the boxes hiding his bike in order to change clothes in the small space, promising he won't come out till she says he can.
Dropping back down on the sofa, Rose rummages through the knapsack he'd packed for her, her thoughts still stuck on their frustratingly unfinished conversation. Right on top, she finds jeans, an old blue jumper and trainers, plus a brown leather jacket she's never seen before. She digs for a bra, since this dress hadn't required one, but gives up on it quickly, pulling the jumper on without.
"I'm done," she calls, tugging her shoes on.
The Doctor responds by rolling his bike out. He's got on blue jeans and a different leather jacket, a darker brown than hers, though he's wearing the same hefty black boots. His helmet is slung on one of the handlebars. "Watch this," he says, and aims his sonic at the helmet. It shimmers, black shifting to become a glossy white. "Isn't that brilliant?"
"Oh, nice one!"
"Now for the bike." A few seconds later, the motorbike matches his helmet, and he shoots her a smug grin. "There. Now we're totally unrecognisable."
"I can never tell the difference between motorbikes anyway," Rose tells him as she gets to her feet. "Or cars. Small, medium, big, that's the only way I sort them. I don't care about vehicles. Horses are cooler."
The Doctor looks a bit horrified by this. "Rose, I didn't change anything about the bike. Just the colour."
"Yeah, I never notice colours either."
The door rattles up again, and Jake is back. "Thank god, you two are ready. C'mon, move it!"
Rose skips down the ramp, looking around the instant her trainers hit gravel. They're at a petrol station in the middle of nowhere, a single tall lamp illuminating the desolate parking area with yellow light. Outside of it is nothing but inky blackness. The only lights in the sky are stars.
Inside the lorry, the Doctor's bike starts up, and he drives it carefully down the ramp, then parks it and smiles at Jake. "Thank you, old friend," he says, slapping his palm into the other man's wholeheartedly.
"Hey, you know me, always up to topple an evil government."
"You're the best, Jake." Rose gives her friend a tight hug. "Hurry home. Make sure you behave."
"Make sure you don't," he replies with a smirk, gaze shifting pointedly from her to the Doctor.
"Shut up," says Rose, kicking his shin. The Doctor revs the engine, pretending not to hear.
As Jake climbs back into the lorry, Rose turns to the Doctor. He's watching her intently, an unreadable look on his face. "You gonna hop on, or...?"
"Don't I need a helmet?"
"Oh, right, sorry. There's another one in here." He unzips one of the bike's small saddlebags, and Rose grins as his arm dips deep into it. Bigger on the inside. He fishes out a bright pink helmet.
"Can I put my knapsack in there?" she asks, taking the helmet, and at his nod, shoves the pack into the saddlebag. Then she dons her helmet and climbs onto the seat behind the Doctor. "Giddyup!" shouts Rose as she wraps her arms around his waist, kicking her heels against the bike's sides like it's a horse.
She feels the Doctor's rib cage lift and fall in a deep sigh, and she grins as they speed off into the night.
"No, I said." Victor maintains unflinching eye contact with Omara, and is gratified when the Tesi commander is the first to blink. The woman is taller than he is, intelligent and powerful, and nearly his equal when it comes to intimidation tactics. She also rarely backs down, but he scents victory this time.
Ghareem is silent and tense beside him, watching as he and Omara continue to stare each other down.
"Things are unstable enough as it is," Victor adds, when Omara does not speak. "If the humans believe, even for a day or two, that the resistance has won a battle against us, we may see a large-scale rebellion. We cannot allow the media to report Rose's abduction."
Omara smooths a hand over her long, sleek white hair, studying him with eyes like blue ice. "I understand it is a risk, Your Majesty. But it is not our greatest risk. There are only two days left until the treaty with earth expires. If your marriage does not take place before then, we will have to withdraw from the planet. All of our hard work will be wasted. Therefore, we need as many people searching for Rose as possible. I believe you underestimate how much the humans love her. They will want her rescued."
The vile, puny-brained woman, daring to believe herself wiser than him. As his anger flares to life, Victor takes slow breaths in and out, maintaining his facade of calm. Inwardly though, he revels in the burn, the heat. His is a Time Lord's fury; it is his greatest weapon, his greatest strength.
Victor longs to let it consume him, to fully display his incredible power, but this is not yet the time. Omara already distrusts him enough.
Needing to ignore her, Victor goes to his desk and retrieves his cup of tea- the one he'd just begun to enjoy when he'd been so rudely intruded upon. "Humans are stupid," he finally replies, after a leisurely sip or two. "They'll think every young blonde woman they see is Rose and flood us with tips. The Tesi have numbers, brains, and technology. I trust our soldiers to find her quickly."
"Trust," scoffs Omara, and he burns hotter. Soon, he thinks to himself. So soon, she will know exactly what he is. She will bow and she will beg.
"Commander Omara," he hears Ghareem address her, "even if Rose is not discovered in time, that need not mean all is lost. Our King has many admirers, yes?"
Victor turns to glare at him. "I'm right here, Ghareem. Why don't you address me directly, if you feel the need to offer your opinion on my personal life?"
"Forgive me, Your Highness." The Tesi second-in-command crosses his muscular arms and bows his head, his white hair cropped so short that Victor can see the pink of his scalp. "But it is not my opinion, sir, it is merely the truth. If Rose isn't found in time, you could easily marry–"
"No." He grips his mug in so tight a fist he feels the handle crack within his palm. "It has to be Rose."
Wide-eyed, Ghareem concedes with a quick nod, but Omara only taps her chin. "Why?" she asks. "Ghareem is correct. There are others as popular, others as beautiful, who would be just as willing to marry you."
Pacing to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Victor stares out, unseeing, over the Wharf. His single heart beats hard, pulsing rage through his veins like life-giving oxygen. "This is my life," he grinds out. "Is it so strange for me to be particular about whom I choose to spend it with?"
"I could understand it if you were in love with her. But you're not. From what I see, you don't even find her all that interesting."
"You know nothing," spits Victor, still facing the window. "Get out of my office."
Five, four, three, two, he silently counts, and still they stand there, those disobedient specks. Where is their respect? Their fear?
A surge of pure power like a lightning strike whirls him around. "Go!" he hears his own voice scream, as he hurls his half-full mug of tea in their direction. The two commanders cower as it crashes against the wall just to their left, spattering them with liquid and broken bits of ceramic.
Hands held up to protect himself, Ghareem gapes at Victor.
Omara's jaw is tight with anger. "Let me remind you," she says, nostrils flaring as she touches the row of pink lines on her cheek, "of what these mean. Until that treaty is finalised I still outrank you, Your Majesty. Do not test my patience."
Victor breathes hard and does not move, waiting for his power to subside enough to allow for rational speech. And then, because he will not risk losing his throne, he apologises. Omara smirks, and though he feels a stab of shame at her temporary triumph, he does not react. Logic must trump emotion, always. Empowering anger aside, he hates every emotion he feels, but shame is the worst. Just another useless inheritance from the bloody Doctor.
After offering the customary bow, the two Tesi Commanders finally remove themselves from his presence.
Exhausted, Victor sinks down into his desk chair and rubs his burning eyes, his aching temples. Rubbish human physiology. One measly night without sleep and he's already suffering consequences. Sighing, he reaches inside his suit jacket and retrieves his mobile, hoping that Rose has found a way to contact him by now. For a human, she's fairly clever, and he's got better things to do with his time than search for her.
There is no message from Rose, which annoys him. He tosses the phone on the desk.
For the first time, he wishes they were already married, already psychically bonded. If that were the case, Rose's disappearance would be of no consequence, and not just because his rulership would not be in jeopardy. As long as she lived, he'd own her, even if she were half a universe away.
He might even prefer it that way.
Victor smiles as he thinks about her. His Rose, his prize, his ultimate victory. While the Doctor may have retained the superior biology and the original, fully operative TARDIS, Victor has what the Doctor wants most. The love of the Doctor's life. Even now, he can hardly believe his good luck.
It was just so perfect, the way Rose chose him, kissed him, right in front of the heartsick Time Lord. Whenever he thinks about that moment, the crushing defeat of his greatest rival, Victor wants to laugh with giddy joy. Best of all, while Victor will eventually regain what he's lost, the Doctor never will. The Doctor will suffer forever.
His head is heavy, and as he lets it drop back against the headrest he closes his tired eyes. Just for a minute, he tells himself. It might be the middle of the night but he can't afford to waste time sleeping. He hasn't even had a chance to teleport up to the royal cruiser and have the gash in his cheek fixed yet.
Victor touches a gentle finger to it and scowls at the sting. Bloody resistance group. How dare they inconvenience him? There'll be no second chances for them, whoever they are. No matter how much Rose might beg.
With that thought in mind, he forces himself upright and turns on his Tesi-designed supercomputer, in order to review the surveillance footage from the restaurant. He's already watched it a good twenty times, but there's got to be something he's missed.
Victor gives it up quickly, though, because his head hurts so much he can hardly see. A growl escapes him. Blast it all, he's got to have a kip. Never has he been so disgusted with his body, now adding stupid headaches to its stupid mortal repertoire. All because of a little bit of stress.
He's halfway to his office sofa when a sudden realisation stops his steps. Since his creation he's been stressed plenty of times, but has it ever given him a headache? He frowns, thinking back. This body...it's actually served him fairly well. Lots of energy. Pain of any sort has been rare.
The most recent headache he can recall wasn't even his own, it belonged to the Doctor. Right after that entity on planet Midnight had invaded his head.
But nothing has been in Victor's head. Not since the TARDIS left.
That's when he remembers it. That...twinge, deep in his temples, that he'd felt on waking early this morning. A tiny bit of an ache, easy to ignore. But there.
Suddenly suspicious, Victor closes his eyes, reaching out with his stunted, but still capable, Time Lord senses.
He immediately detects something. A psychic presence. Faint, but there, and definitely not human. It doesn't feel like a Time Lord, though, and Victor slumps in relief.
Then he straightens, eyes flying open. No.
Yes.
It feels like the TARDIS.
Pain entirely forgotten, Victor darts back to his desk and, without bothering to sit, types in the commands needed in order to run a search for a spike of atron energy.
Parameters; greater London area, last twenty-four hours. He mashes the enter key and waits, bouncing on his toes. Nothing, nothing, nothing…
A hit. Central London, near Paddington Station, twenty-two hours and eighteen minutes ago.
Forty seconds later, he clicks play on the area's surveillance footage and watches, in disbelief, as a blue Police Box drops from the sky and crashes onto the darkened pavement.
When a man with a face like his own stumbles out the doors in a fog of smoke, Victor's pulse throbs loud in his ears.
The Doctor is back.
Which means the Doctor has Rose. He's the man who abducted her.
It's impossible to draw any other conclusion. Unable to breathe, Victor stares at the image frozen on the screen, the TARDIS and its exhausted-looking pilot, and waits for the rage to overwhelm him.
But as he begins to fully understand the implications, laughter bubbles up instead.
Oh, this is perfect.
If he ever doubted it, he is certain now– he is the universe's favourite son. How many gifts has she handed him since his creation? Wonderful gifts he never even asked for. Things better than he's ever dreamt of.
But this… this might be the best gift of all.
Victor is still laughing gleefully as he pushes the button on the holophone. Omara's image appears, and she frowns at him.
"I have good news," he informs her, beaming. "You can call off the search."