A/N: Sorry for being all silent and not making it clear that this was a multi-parts story, I'm usually more chatty in my author notes, I do apologise! Thank you for reading, I hope you keep on enjoying it ;)
CALLUSES
II.
As Rose distractedly listens to the sound of the shower, she can't help wondering how long it's been since she last showered herself.
When it comes to keeping track of time, dimension-hopping is as confusing as travelling in the TARDIS used to be. From the slightly grimy feel of her clothes, and a growing awareness that her hair is a lot slicker than she likes it to be, it's been…a while.
She doesn't care, though. Not enough to pounce into the bathroom and hide in there, anyway.
She rests her head against the palm of her hand, her legs once more tucked under her, elbow pressed into her thigh, wishing there was an off button she could press to put an end to the throbbing in her brain and chest. Her limbs are heavy with exhaustion, and her head aches from stress; that time she did spend hiding in the bathroom a few hours ago did not help either.
Her distress had been real, her tears seemingly endless, as it always is when it comes to this man (or various versions of him). She'd pulled herself together in the end, stood back up and gotten on with it…the ways she always does when it comes to this man and his many incarnations.
She's back to feeling numb, now, which is fine; that's another state of mind she's familiar with.
When the water stops and she hears movements, she briefly wonders how long he's going to stay in there before he dares coming out. He surprises her by doing it within the first five minutes.
The door whinges as it opens, just enough for him to stick his head out – and for her to know he's not wearing much. She stares at the flushed skin of his face, a deep, warm-blooded colour she's still not used to seeing on him, wet hair spiking in wild directions, while steam slowly escapes the bathroom through the small opening.
In spite of herself, her own cheeks warm up.
"Mind tossing me my jacket?" He asks. "I'm guessing you'd rather not have me parade half-naked in front of you while I wait for my shirt to dry."
From one brief, insane instant, Rose almost tells him that she wouldn't mind it that much, actually, cheekily dare him to come out, the way she would have…back then. The corner of her mouth has already started to twitch, as if ready to smirk at him, when she remembers that the man she's staring at is not exactly the man her brain and body think she's staring at.
The thought successfully drains the colours from her face.
She uncurls herself, her eyes roaming the floor, quickly finding the blue jacket she and her mother had taken off him. She walks to the bathroom's door and hands it out to him, keeping her eyes down, too bone-tired and confused to initiate more eye-contact.
He's a bit more daring; when he could have simply grabbed the jacket from her, he covers her hand with his instead, causing a small shiver to shoot up her arm. Unable not to, she raises her head and meets his gaze. His eyes are just the way she remembered them.
Same brown, same depth, same pull.
"Hello," he says softly, in a tone she remembers well, too. He even smiles a little.
In response, her eyes begin to prickle.
She pulls her hand out from his loose grip and takes a step back, her gaze once more to the ground, staring at his toes, peeking out from the cusps of his blue trousers. She almost apologises for her reaction, before swallowing down the words, turning her back to him, crossing her arms across her chest.
She has nothing to apologise for.
This is…confusing, even by their standards. She's allowed to be a bit of a mess. He sure wasn't doing any better less than twenty minutes ago, rocking and mumbling – not to mention the drooling.
"I imagine you have a lot of questions," he says from behind her. His tone is patient, as it's often been before; she wonders how close he is from being condescending.
All of a sudden, Rose isn't so numb anymore. She's not upset, or confused, or heartbroken.
She's livid.
"No," she states coldly.
"No?" He repeats tentatively.
"Not really," she replies. "I guess I'm just coming to term with the fact that I'm never gonna get the full story with you, am I?" When he doesn't answer, she turns around. He's leaning against the doorjamb, suit jacket back on and buttoned up, having the decency to look solemn, if not a bit puzzled. "After all, when you went and changed your whole body and face, I was pretty much expected to just get on with it or stay home. Of course you'd go and make a clone of yourself the next time you almost died."
"Weeell," he begins. "Technically, I'm not a clone. I'm more of a…hybrid."
She stares at him.
"That's…not helping, is it?" He asks, and she doesn't even bother shaking her head. "Biological metacrisis is an extremely rare phenomenon, immensely tricky and rarely ever successful. On a mere physiological level, this body is more human than Time Lord, but I still retain every memory and experience from my original self. Same mind, different…packaging."
"So you've said," Rose states, unable to hide her wariness, now.
He seems to deflate slightly at her words, his shoulders slumping, the light dimming from his eyes. "Would you like me to prove myself?"
She shakes her head, swallowing hard. "There's no need," she says. "I get it. You've got the memories, all of them. Which means that you'd be able to answer any tricky question I could possibly come up with about the time we spent together."
He tilts his head. "So…what's wrong?"
She almost snorts at this. What's wrong?
She breathes in very slowly, blood rushing to her ears. "Three years," she says, as quietly as she can, yet it's not enough to conceal the anger and pain constricting her voice. "Three years of my life I've spent on that dimension cannon. The last few weeks alone have been nothing but a succession of jumps in and out of time, in and out of this world. Three years spent trying to go back home, to get back to the TARDIS, and when I finally succeed, I'm brought back here and left behind."
The 'with you' doesn't need to be said out loud.
Silence stretches, the kind she'll never get used to.
"You seemed less…reluctant, back on the beach," he reminds her, just as quietly.
Rose doesn't know how to explain what had happened on that beach, although she's self-aware enough to understand what sparked that kiss. Years spent grieving and longing definitely had something to do with it. She'd virtually put her whole life on hold to find him again, and in her mind and heart, the him she'd been searching for was the him who'd burnt up a sun on her behalf and vanished from her world just as he was about to return her feelings.
Does it need saying?
It sure as hell did need saying, and the him now standing in front of her had said it all.
In retrospect, she should not have kissed him. Not only did it cause the Doctor to leave her behind, but it also gave this him more hope than she can handle right now. He's similar enough to the man she's loved for years to recognise the signs.
Rose takes a few deep breaths, her anger having already turned into something else. She's too tired for this, for any of it, really, but she does owe him an explanation.
After all, she knows what it feels like, to be human.
"Back on the beach, I didn't realise my reaction was gonna be seen as me making a life altering choice," she finally says. "Can't say I'm surprised The Doctor thought of it that way, but that's not how I work, and he should've remembered it. No one as sleep-deprived as I am right now can be expected to act very rationally, or to be able to make any kind of informed decision. It was selfish of him to leave like that, and quite frankly, immature as hell, too."
This other Doctor seems to be shrinking into himself, obviously taking her accusation to heart. "I don't think that's…why he did what he did," he says, subdued.
"Enlighten me, then," Rose replies, her irritation flaring up again. "What can possibly justify him just dumping us here and running away the way he did?"
"Isn't it obvious?" He asks.
"Not to me."
A pause, and then:
"He gave you a chance to have a life with...him…with me. A proper life."
Rose does her best to control her breathing, more upset by the second. She'd already heard it all on that damn beach. "There's one thing missing in that scenario of his, though," she says, her voice thick. From the look on his face, he doesn't understand what she means, and so she asks: "Tell me, how many times have we held each other's hand?"
He stares at her, the creases between his eyes deepening. "In which body?"
"That's kind of my point," she says quietly, before taking a few steps closer to him. "Remember what I said, the first time you offered to hold my hand after regenerating?" She asks, pointing at his right hand.
He raises it in front of him, observing it for a few seconds, before nodding, meeting her eyes again. "You said it gave you the creep."
The memory used to make her smile; all it does now is tighten her throat a little more. "When you held my hand that night, I felt how different it was, from…before." His hand had been thinner, just like the rest of him, his grip as strong and comforting as it was with her first Doctor, yet it'd been…smoother. "I got used to it, though. Eventually, it became more and more as I remembered it."
She takes his hand in hers, turning it over slowly, tracing the silky skin of his fingers and palm with her fingertips, inducing a succession of shivers that echo through her touch, his breathing halting.
"There's no more calluses, there," Rose says to his hand. "I felt it on the beach, after he left. It's all brand new."
He releases his breath, which comes out too loudly, and a bit shakily. "It's always brand new, at first," he reminds her quietly.
She looks up, meeting his gaze. "It wasn't, though. Not back on the Crucible. I guess that's one memory the two of you don't share," she adds. "It wasn't your hand I held when he was forced to watch the Daleks destroy his TARDIS with Donna trapped in it." She watches his Adam's apple going up, then down. "You do have his face. You even have his eyes. And yeah, I guess you've got most of his memories, too. But the man who experienced them with me…the man who thought he was giving me a chance at a life with him? I watched him leave on that beach."
Rose lets go of his hand, and it falls limply between them. She has to look away when his face starts to constrict, unable to bare his pain, which she's solely responsible for. His breathing becomes louder and louder, more irregular, too, something she's never heard from…him before, dimly wondering if his respiratory system has been altered, along with the rest of his body.
In the end, he mostly sounds like any hopeful human would after being shut down.
When he moves, she doesn't.
Rose lets him slip passed her, keeping her eyes down when she realises he's going for yet another door, soon leaving the room altogether.
She can't say she blames him.
A/N: Reviews always help! ;)