Title: Mercy (2/14)

Author: scangel72

Rating: M

Characters: Rose, Ten, Others

Spoilers: Up through s2

Disclaimer: Not mine. I just like to play in the BBC's sandbox

A/N: Written for Wendymr and Dark Aegis' Rose Tyler Ficathon, specifically for Lafemmepapillon . I'm not going to list what she requested yet, because that would ruin the surprise! Thanks, as always, to the magnificent beta-babes, Wendymr, Dark Aegis and Manticoran !

Summary: What if the Universe gave as much as it took away? Would the results be beyond anything imaginable?

Chapter Two

"Now is the winter of our discontent."

-From King Richard III

The nightmare was the same as it had been for months. Faces paraded in front of him, friends and family, each beloved to him, each lost or left behind. And each of them was in pain. They needed him, but he had walked away and had no way back. Rose appeared before him, arms outstretched, calling, beckoning him to her. Pain knifed through him, sharp with the knowledge that he would never know the feeling of her arms around him or her hand in his.

Then the dream changed. Rose smiled at him, the look in her eyes solemn and sad, yet full of an ancient wisdom that should not have been hers. He blinked to dispel the sight and when he opened his eyes, everything had changed. The indistinct mist was gone and he stood hand in hand with Rose on the apple grass of New Earth. The wind was blowing her hair as she smiled up at him. He couldn't help smiling back, warmed from the inside out simply at being there with her again.

"Come with me," she said, stepping away and giving his hand a tug.

He frowned and glanced around, realizing he could see nothing but grass and the horizon for miles and miles. "Where?"

Rose tilted her head at him. "Do you trust me, Doctor?"

"Always."

Her brilliant smile blinded him. He blinked and the scene changed once more. This time he was on Platform One where he'd brought Rose to watch the Earth die so very long ago. But it wasn't as he remembered it. There was a feeling of cold disuse to the place. He shivered and was surprised when someone squeezed his hand. Glancing down, he realized Rose was still with him and felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

"Do you know where we are?" she asked curiously.

He glanced out the large window looking out into space and felt a stab of panic when he recognized the constellations and the place where a planet used to be, but existed no more. "How do you know this place?" he demanded.

"I know much, Doctor," she replied gently.

He searched her eyes for some hint of what was going on, but they were shuttered and enigmatic. "But… I don't understand."

"That's all right. I do." Rose paused and looked at him curiously for a moment before repeating her earlier question. "Do you trust me?"

"I already said that I do," he said with a frown.

"Good, because it is time, Doctor. The waiting is nearly done."

"Waiting?" he asked, feeling his hearts skip a beat. "Waiting for what?"

She smiled at him, mischievous, her eyes dancing as her body started to fade away like mist. "Come to me, Doctor. It is time."

"Time? Time for what?" he begged, trying to grasp her hand and hold her there, but it was no use. Rose faded away, leaving him wrapped in her soft scent and the echo of her last words. "It is time…" /i

With a gasp, the Doctor sat up in bed, the room dark and the sheets tangled around him. He shivered, his skin clammy with a fine sheen of perspiration. Groaning, he pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them, head in his hands. There had been something terribly i real /i about the dream. Some purpose behind Rose's cryptic words that he wasn't getting. Or maybe he was simply going insane. It was entirely possible.

Sighing heavily, the Doctor threw back the sheets and padded off to the shower, intending to wash away the dregs of the strange dream. He stepped under the steaming spray, braced his hands against the wall and closed his eyes. The nightmare had started out the same as it did every time he finally gave up the battle and allowed his body to rest. Each time he slept, his subconscious seemed to ruthlessly batter at him over the loss of so many, but Rose in particular.

If he was honest with himself, he wasn't surprised. For so long he'd struggled against allowing their relationship to become more than it should be. He'd been distant, thrown up roadblocks, even allowed himself to be intimate with another woman, all in an effort to protect himself from the pain when—not if—he lost Rose. Losing her had been inevitable, as was the pain it brought. The only measure of control he'd had was in how much of his soul he gave her before the time had come.

In the end, his struggle had been in vain. After thinking the TARDIS was lost, facing the Beast and his fear that the Beast's prophecy could be true, all the walls he'd built against Rose had crumbled like a sandcastle assaulted by the tide. He'd run to her in the middle of the night when her nightmares left her screaming in terror. He'd slipped into her bed to hold and comfort her. Not long after, when he slipped into her body, she'd comforted him as well.

Later, Rose sleeping in his arms, the transition from companion to lover made with terrifying ease, the Doctor stared at the ceiling and wondered what sort of madness he'd just prescribed for himself. He loved the woman in his arms, despite his inability to say the words, but there were so many reasons he shouldn't: The intensity between them was almost frightening. She'd have expectations that he could never fulfill. He was jaded and cynical, despite being better at hiding it than he had been. She was an infant and he was ancient. And when she was gone, he would be broken. Even knowing all that, he couldn't stop himself.

And now, seven months since he'd lost her—four since he'd said goodbye, leaving her on that desolate beach—and he still hadn't been able to pick up the pieces. In the past, when a companion had left or been left behind, even though it hurt, he'd been able to compartmentalize them. Say goodbye and then shut the memory away in that hidden place not too far from his heart where all his lost loves were kept in perpetuity. He hadn't been able to do that with Rose and it was driving him mad. Living by just going through the motions wasn't living at all.

Turning off the water, he stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, rubbing it roughly over his body as he tried to hold the memories at bay. The effort was wasted. In his mind's eyes, he could see Rose, flushed and smiling, draped only in a damp towel after he'd made love to her there in the shower. His addiction to her had been complete, all the more so because she had never pushed him for a declaration, nor had she—to his surprise—made any of her own. Until that day on the beach in Norway. But he had already known her feelings as well as he had prayed she knew his.

The Doctor pulled his thoughts back to the present and stalked back into the bedroom, cursing his own weakness. He'd built the hell he was existing in with his own two hands. He was going to have to claw his way out of it.

With jerky movements speaking much of his frustration and tension, he dressed and made his way out to the console room, intent on finding a revolution somewhere to immerse himself in. And maybe he could find someone he was interested in traveling with as well. He knew it was long past time to find another warm body to occupy the TARDIS with him and help dispel the ghosts that haunted his every moment.

A soft i beep /i caught his attention as he reached out to twirl a dial. He paused, glanced up at the screen on the console and frowned. Coordinates had already been entered and were only waiting for the command to execute. His eyes widened as he realized exactly where the coordinates would take him. He stared for a moment then forcefully jammed his finger at a button that would wipe them away.

Grimly wondering if there were some short in the TARDIS memory banks that had drawn up that location, the Doctor went about checking systems when another insistent i beep /i drew his head up. Once again, the coordinates were on the screen. He felt cold.

"What are you playing at?" he asked the TARDIS sharply, erasing the contents of the screen a second time.

The TARDIS suddenly pulsed with energy, every light on the console shining bright enough to blind him. There was a sense of excitement coming off the ship in waves; almost a giddy anticipation. The coordinates were back again.

"I don't understand!" the Doctor shouted, desperation lacing his voice. He couldn't go there. Wouldn't. It was bad enough that he was still struggling to cope with the loss of Rose. Going back to where Gallifrey had once existed was unthinkable.

The TARDIS' lights dimmed a bit, but there was still a sense of vibrant anticipation about her as the screen flashed at him. And then the words of his dream were echoing through his mind once more:

"It is time, Doctor. The waiting is nearly done."

He exhaled slowly and fought back the tide of panic that had threatened to swamp him at the idea of returning to the scene of his most heinous crime. Why now? Why, when he was so very alone that his bones ached with it?

There was no one to answer his silent questions. He struggled for a moment more, trying to reject the inevitability of returning to where his home used to exist, but it was a futile exercise. Even in his grief, the Doctor recognized that there were outside forces pulling on him. The question was why. The answer…

The Doctor sighed. The answer most likely lay where those coordinates would lead him. Granted, he had choices. He could force the issue with the TARDIS and take himself off to the furthest edge of the universe, away from Gallifreyan space. Or could he take the path of the least resistance and go, hoping there were answers to be found and not simply more pain and complicated questions.

For just a moment more, he hesitated before his shoulders slumped and he gave in to what seemed to be inevitable. Features drawn, he gave the TARDIS her head and sent them on their way.

As soon as he stepped out the TARDIS doors, the Doctor felt a sense of uneasy anticipation. Someone or something had brought an eerily similar facsimile of Platform One to the hollow place in the universe where his home used to exist. It was as if he'd stepped into his dreamscape. The observation platform was dark and cold, like a house left too long without the warmth of occupation. Even the soft hum of maintenance machinery seemed absent. The utter stillness was unnerving.

For just a second he forgot when and where he was and almost pulled one hand out of his pocket to reach for Rose. Her presence had been so strong in the dream that it overlapped reality, leaving him stung when he realized what he'd almost done. Jaw clenched, he strode to the mammoth window looking out into space. Gallifreyan space, to be exact.

Where his home planet used to exist, there now only floated random bits of rock and other flotsam, the only products left of the massive destruction. The Doctor stood rigid and silent as the memories crashed over him. So much horror and pain and death. So much he could have—should have—prevented.

Leaning forward, he rested his head against the thickly shielded plexiglass and looked down in the endless expanse of space, stars twinkling in every direction. There was still a very dark part of him that wished he had died along with his people that final day. But for some reason the universe seemed to enjoy seeing him clawing his way into some semblance of a life, day after day. He'd done it before Rose and he would do it again. Could do it again, at least. It was just that he was so very tired of losing everything he loved.

A soft whooshing noise broke the Doctor's dark mental meanderings, but he didn't turn. Someone had led him to this place. He would have been naïve not to expect company at some point.

"So, Doctor, we meet again," a deep, rich voice echoed in his mind.

The Doctor's eyes widened and he turned, his surprise written on his pale features. "The Face of Boe. I didn't think… I mean, it didn't occur to me…"

"Not so surprising. You have had much on your mind of late," the Face of Boe replied gently, his expressive eyes radiating sympathy.

"Been watching, have you?" the Doctor asked, rocking back on his heels, hands jammed in his pockets as he tried to decide how he felt about the idea.

The Face of Boe chuckled softly. "To an extent. But of course you of all people know that there are those who exist solely to watch and silently guide."

"Not always so silently," the Doctor said flatly, suddenly reminded of the Guardians. He wondered if the Black Guardian had celebrated the death of the Time Lords. His eyes narrowed. "How do I know you are really the Face of Boe and not… some other?"

"Because you have seen through the ruse before, Doctor," the Face of Boe replied calmly.

The Doctor's expression tightened. "How… No, switch that. What do you know about it?" he asked sharply.

The Face of Boe seemed amused. "I know that you were charged to collect the Key to Time so that the White Guardian could restore balance to the universe, and his counterpart, the Black Guardian, did all in his power to stop you. I believe he even impersonated the White Guardian in order to gain the Key, did he not?"

"Whoever your source is, they're good," the Doctor muttered.

Once again a soft chuckle came from the Face of Boe. "But, as I said, Doctor, you were able to discern the truth there. Can you not do it here as well? What do your senses tell you about me?"

With a short nod, the Doctor relented. He sensed nothing deceitful or untrustworthy from the Face of Boe as the ancient being moved forward in his tank, looking out into space.

"You are called so many names by so many," the Face of Boe went on, seeming to take the nod as acceptance. "The Oncoming Storm. The Man Without a Home. The Lonely God. The Wanderer. I wonder if any of them really name you in truth."

The Doctor shrugged. "Not to be rude—especially since I do seem to have a problem with that—but is there a point to all this or should I just break out tea and biscuits and settle in for a visit and a nosh?"

"No, Doctor, there is a point. I told you the last time we met that there was a truth to be told."

"That feels like such a long time ago," the Doctor murmured, looking far away for a moment. "Rose—" He stopped as something occurred to him, his gaze fixing on the being in the tank next to him. "That was you in my dream, wasn't it? Using Rose to get to me."

The Face of Boe nodded. "Indeed, it was. Her image was—is—so very strong in your mind, Doctor. Besides, she was there the first two times you and I met. It seemed fitting that she should be a part of the third."

The Doctor pursed his lips. Despite his slip, he had no intention of discussing Rose. It was bad enough that she occupied his thoughts to the extent she did. Having a conversation about her would only make his problem worse. "You said there was a truth to be told," he said conversationally, as if his companion hadn't even spoken.

There was silence for a moment as the Face of Boe watched him, the enigmatic alien's face full of some emotion the Doctor couldn't describe. "Very well. It is as you say, Doctor. When we last met, I promised you a truth and now it is time."

Again, there was quiet, but this time the Doctor felt a sense of ancient power flare and permeate the room, sinking into him and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. In that moment, he could very well believe the Face of Boe was indeed as old as legend wanted to claim. Then the eyes closed and he began to speak.

"In a time before time, when even the lesser gods were in their infancy, there was a foretelling. A foretelling that was hidden from all but a trusted few so that the universe would remain whole and not ripped asunder by those seeking to refute what had been seen.."

The Doctor opened his mouth to question, but the Face of Boe went on before he could make a sound.

"And so it was said: The lesser gods will depart from all that is known and leave a remnant of their darker natures behind, leaving as their legacy all things hostile to the nature of the soul. Only one, a wanderer, will remain to stand witness to what was, what is and what shall be. Then in time the darkness will tremble into chaos, and all things good will begin to disappear. The one must sacrifice his soul to stop the conflagration. But when all this has befallen, when that which is foretold has come to pass, the balance of the universe shall be restored. Those who have gone shall be recovered, yet changed, plucked from the fiercest fire to begin anew. And the wanderer, the one who stood alone, shall find his home once more."

A feather landing on the floor would have sounded like an explosion in the aftermath of that comment. The Doctor blinked and stared at the Face of Boe with a slightly open mouth. "Yes. Well." Unable to find something more coherent to say in that exact moment, he focused on the vastness of space spread out before them.

"My home is gone and will never be again," he finally said hollowly, staring at the place where Gallifrey once hung among the stars. "They're all gone. And the irony is that, when they were alive, I ran as far and as fast as I could. But now…"

The Doctor shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore. I know the penance for my crimes. Besides," he added with a look that would have been careless if it hadn't been for the darkness in his eyes, "I've always found prophecies to be dodgy things. Even if they do come true, they rarely end up meaning what you thought they would."

He glanced over at the Face of Boe. "There isn't any more, is there? Any translation you might like to offer just so I'm not tearing my heart out wondering at the possibilities?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"No, Doctor. I have imparted the truth with which I was entrusted so very long ago," /i the Face of Boe said, obviously undisturbed by the Doctor's tone. i "And now I must go. I am weary and it is time that I rest."

"I know the feeling," the Doctor muttered under his breath.

The Face of Boe smiled sympathetically. "I imagine you do. But you have much yet to accomplish, Doctor. There are things to be done that you do not even dream of as yet."

The Doctor sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of."

With a soft laugh, the Face of Boe shifted in his tank. "What is the saying, Doctor? That those with great strength are given great burdens?"

A thoughtful grunt was the Doctor's only answer. His mind was still turning the so-called prophecy over, trying to make sense of it.

"And now it is time for goodbye. This will be the last time we meet, Doctor," the Face of Boe said softly as his image shifted and shimmered, beginning to slowly fade away. "Remember what I have told you. The time draws near…"

tbc