REVELATIONS
TWENTYSEVEN
It's possible, likely even, if you were the kind of person to quantify such things, that Rose and Jack loved The Doctor more than Wil. They had certainly known him longer, and been closer to him.
But when the three discussed in quiet tones which of them should sit at his bedside, Wil had insisted that it had to be her and the other two gracefully stepped aside.
Not that it was easy for them.
And so the ship traveled back to the security of the Torchwood hub.
The Doctor was safe in his TARDIS, tenderly ensconced in what Rose had always thought of as the 'Shogun' room, after one of her favorite books. Tatami mats, shoji screens, polished rosewood walls, a low table, a tea tansu, and a thick, soft cotton futon spread out on the floor made up the minimalist interior. On the table a multi-tiered rock fountain was softly gurgling – the only sound that could be heard other than The Doctor's slow, rhythmic breathing.
Wil sat cross-legged on a mat next to the futon, watching his face and meditating. She was serene – at total peace with herself and her surroundings. She knew that to some extent he could sense her emotions and beneficially absorb them, although there were many parts of his psyche that were severely bruised and damaged, as was his body.
He would sleep until he had no further need of it. Until then, she waited, watched and… what? Prayed? She had never believed in God, at least not in the God of her parents or the God of her born-again friends.
And yet, lately, she had come to feel that there was something – perhaps somethings – out there greater than her, greater than anything observable. She was humbled and comforted by the revelation. There was so very much she did not know. The words Shakespeare put in Hamlet's mouth were true after all:
'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'
And so she prayed for him, that he would always be well, would always be himself, and would always exist, because the Universe-with-a-capital-U needed him.
She studied The Doctor's face. Her pilgrimage had brought her full-circle, not once but twice.
"And what of me?" she whispered.
The Doctor opened his eyes and looked at her.
"You are the bravest person I know," she went on as if they were in the middle of a conversation.
"I couldn't tell them, but everything that happened to you – everything you went through, experienced and thought – I felt, shared, knew. I am in awe of your strength and your resilience. I am inspired by your fearlessness. I revere your sense of mercy, fairness and morality."
She reached out and lightly touched his face.
"That is why I return your gift to you. Not because I do not want it, but because as long as you are with us I have no need of it.
"And because this is where I belong."
She smiled and was once again, entirely, only – and that is saying a lot – the human being Wil Beinert.
The Doctor smiled back.