A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and support for the last chapter. Also, thank you to those who read and reviewed 'Spin and Spiral.' I really appreciate it.
Thank you to Lamia, my lovely pre-reader, and Latessitrice for her beta magic.
Chapter 4
"Ah, there you are Rose Tyler," he said, his mouth moving around her name as if tasting it. Rose swallowed, momentarily put off by his casual but slightly loaded greeting. She shook her head, forcing herself to believe she'd imagined his eyes light up when she walked in. She'd never noticed him have any particular reaction to her before she'd found the picture. She was drawing ridiculous conclusions.
"Here I am. How can I help you?" she said, switching to professional mode.
His grin faltered and he immediately sobered. "I need a suit. Two, in fact, one for general use, and one for the ball your father has generously invited me to."
Rose's stomach sank as she recalled said ball. Cameras, fake smiles and simpering followers. At least, that was her experience of the last event she'd been forced to attend. She had no idea if she'd enjoyed them before the accident, but she highly doubted it. Perhaps she had a better coping mechanism though - hopefully that memory would return soon.
"Suits, of course. Any colour or style that you would prefer?" she asked, running through her usual questions.
He mulled over the question, pulling faces as he did. "Dark colours I think, nothing too adventurous. Blacks, greys..."
"Brown?" Rose interrupted before she could stop herself. All at once, the atmosphere in the room changed. John stop speaking abruptly, his expression closing off and his eyes flashing darkly. The hairs on the back of Rose's neck stood on end and she found herself wanting nothing more than to run from the room.
"No," he insisted through clenched teeth. "Not brown."
"Okay," Rose said, her voice shaking and her heart pounding. She took two steps backwards and clenched her fists together. In a matter of seconds something in him had changed so deeply that she wished to be anywhere but here. She inhaled sharply, and he blinked, seeming to recover. He looked back at her, his eyes colouring with the sadness she knew so well. Before he spoke, she backed up against the door.
"I'll be back with your suits," she stammered. Her hands fumbled with the door handle and she shot out of the room before he could do anything further. As she practically ran down the stairs and to the shop floor, words and feelings rang through her mind.
It'snotmeanttobelikethis.Thisiswrong.Allofthisiswrong.
#~#~#
She was stalling, she knew it. She'd already picked a selection of suits, all in black and grey, and was now wandering through the mens' section aimlessly. Now that she'd overcome the shock of John's swift change in personality, she found herself wondering what exactly she'd witnessed upstairs. She didn't understand why he'd had such a reaction to a suit colour. She had photographic evidence that he'd worn a brown suit before, all be it, a very strange one. Yet he'd reacted with so much anger to the prospect of another one that she knew there had to be something more behind it. Rose sighed heavily, rubbing her temples as her head started to pound. He'd scared her. Scared her in a way that nothing she could remember ever had. It was an anger, a violence that made her flight response kick in, as there was something not quite...rightabout that level of anger. But what was probably the most frightening fact was how a part of her had recognised that reaction. There was just a tiny spark in the back of her mind that knew this anger, this part of John Smith that her current self did not.
She shivered, and as she turned around to head back upstairs, a suit caught her eye. She frowned and walked up to the hanger, inspecting it closer. She smiled, picked it up and walked back. He hadn't specified if he had anything against navy, but seeing as it wasn't brown, she assumed it would be safe. She passed by Charlotte as she made her way back to the private dressing rooms, who nodded and gave her a sly thumbs up at her choice. She smiled in return, and braced herself for what was coming next. Plastering a smile on her face, she entered the waiting room.
John Smith turned and smiled at her, already inspecting the suits she'd had sent up. He frowned as she handed over the blue suit. He took it slowly, as if not sure if he should touch it.
"I know it's not black or grey, but I thought it would suit you. Bit different too, and that's always a plus. Fabric's amazing quality, and the price is exceptionally reasonable considering it's designer," she said, sales woman back on in an instant.
"Reasonable?" he answered as he lifted the price tag. Rose resisted the urge to role her eyes. She was almost certain he would be using the company credit card for this, and that would make it more than affordable for his budget.
"Well if you suggest it, then I'll trust you," he said, winking and disappearing into the changing room, taking a selection of clothes with him. Rose gulped, her skin flushing, and was rather glad he'd gone before he'd noticed her reaction. She sat down heavily on the chair he'd recently vacated, and hoped the rest of this session would go quickly. It was too hot and dry in this room, and she wished there was a window to open. She almost jumped when his voice carried through the otherwise empty room.
"So how's university going?"
Rose mouthed a confused "what?" at the closed door. She couldn't recall him ever attempting to engage her in idle conversation before. After a moment, she realised she had to reply, and managed to turn words into a sentence.
"Fine, thank you. Spending the next three weeks on the French Revolution," she said, automatically wondering why she'd offered additional information. It was as if her mouth had a mind of its own, one that couldn't resist drawing him into conversation.
"Ah yes, 1789-99, storming of the Bastille, Reign of Terror and all that. Fascinating time period, very violent, and that Napoleon, interesting man, he..."
"You're wrong."
John stopped talking immediately, although Rose barely noticed due to the ringing in her ears. Her hands began to shake, but her voice somehow remained steady.
"The French Revolution was from 1793-1803."
The was a pause where all Rose could hear was the swish of fabric.
"My mistake, must have got my dates mixed up," he said cheerfully. Rose swallowed.
"Yeah. Funny, I made exactly the same mistake too. Same dates and everything."
Again, her comment was met with silence. Then, when she thought she wouldn't be able to take it anymore he spoke.
"Well, you know what they say, great minds think alike. And I am certainly a great mind."
And once again, she was back to disliking him severely. She was about to respond scathingly, when the door swung open and Dr Smith emerged in the blue suit. She swallowed her comment and just stared at him. There was something about a man in a suit that generally pushed her buttons, but John Smith in a suit was something else. She admired him for a moment, before smirking.
"I was right about the blue."
He grinned right back, a smile that for once reached his eyes. "You were. Do you like it?"
She swallowed, the air in the room seeming to have disappeared with those few words. Rose shivered, then stood her ground, looking right into his eyes when she said, "I do. Much better than the brown."
The fire in his eyes returned, but it wasn't the same. Less of the anger, more of the pain but far more volatile than the usual hurt that she saw in him. This time, he was the one who stepped back.
"What do you remember?" His voice was demanding, but with a faint note of something that she thought sounded like desperation. She dismissed that quickly. She was almost certainly wrong about that. She considered lying to him, creating a story about a sketchy memory based around a photograph, but she decided it would be best in the long run to not try.
"I don't. I found a photograph. Of us. You in a brown suit, me with platinum blond hair. It's Christmas."
To her surprise, he laughed. Something in the back of her mind rejected this, the hollow and painful laugh that he directed at her. She grimaced as tears threatened to escape, even though she had no idea why.
"Isn't the point that you remember yourself?" he asked, once he'd recovered.
"How am I meant to do that? I don't even know what I'm supposed to be remembering. But obviously, you do. You knew me before all this happened, right?" He nodded curtly. "Then help me. Just give me a hint, a clue. Something that might help. I'm fighting in the dark, I don't even know where to start!"
She was breathing heavily by the time she finished speaking, so emotionally and physically drained. Dr Smith closed his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair.
"I can't help you, Rose," he said, sounding just as tired as she felt. "You need to remember by yourself." He turned away and looked at himself once in the mirror. "I'll take this, the first grey and the third black."
"Just tell me one thing." Her voice sounded desperate, and he didn't bother to turn around as he walked into the changing room. He did stop though, so without really thinking it through, she said the first thought that crossed her mind.
"What were we?"
His shoulders shook, and on instinct, her hand reached out towards him, even though she had no idea what she was doing in this moment.
"Nothing."
The word cut through her, echoing louder than the slam of the changing room door behind him. Her hand fell down and she swallowed once. On unsteady legs she rose and made her way to the cash desk, instructing them on exactly what Dr Smith wanted. Then she calmly walked out of the shop, round the corner and right to the loading dock at the back. Then, and only then, when she was sure no one would see, did she let herself cry.
#~#~#
Rose picked her way through dinner, responding when she remembered to when her family spoke. Her brother seemed to pick up on her mood, and insisted on sitting on her lap once he'd finished his dinner.
"Will you play space invaders with me?" he asked, naming his favourite make believe game. As much as she loved playing with her brother, she didn't have the energy to pretend to fight off monsters from another galaxy tonight.
"Tomorrow, I promise we will play. I'm really tired right now." she said. Tony's face fell and he slid off her lap without another word. Rose closed her eyes, fighting off another bought of sadness as she did.
"Did something happen today?"
Pete's voice caused her to open her eyes. His voice was hard and cold, and she flinched at the tone. She didn't want another person shouting at her over the photograph today.
"Nothing," she said flatly, once again speaking without thinking. Her hand flew to her mouth as she began to cry again, completely powerless to stop herself.
"Rose," her father whispered, standing as he did, when she shook her head.
"I'm okay," she sobbed, having no clue why she was crying so hard or for so long. She'd skipped class and curled up in bed all afternoon, feeling annoyed that she was this upset, and frustrated that she had no idea why. Dr Smith had been a twat, a complete and utter twat, but that still didn't merit her feeling as terrible as she did. She swallowed a few times, trying to get control of her tears as she sobbed at the dinner table, Pete with his arm wrapped around her. Jackie brought her a glass of water, appearing from nowhere at the sound of her tears. After a few moments, she recovered. Her eyes stung from the amount of tears she'd shed, and her head ached so badly that she excused herself to bed.
She made her way up the stairs, her heels dragging, corridors passing in a blur. Her bed felt like perfection as she slid in, wrapping the covers over her so tightly she felt as she would never be able to escape. She closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. She turned over, and over, trying to get comfortable, but failing completely. In the end she sat up, lying back against the pillows and staring around the dark room. Her eyes fell on the drawer that contained the picture, and after a moment, she stood and walked over to it, turning on the lamp as she went.
Rose reached into the drawer, and picked up the photograph. She sighed, her hands tracing the outline of his face, the smile that she wore, and the way their bodies were pushed so close together. Her back hit the wall as she turned around, and she slid to the floor still holding the picture.
"Liar," she murmured, staring down at the photograph, "this wasn't nothing. I don't care what you say, you're lying."
And then, it happened. For a second, she felt as if she'd dipped out of reality, that everything had fallen away and she was seeing the world through another's eyes. It was only then that she realised it was a memory. It was as if her mind suddenly clicked into place, bringing something to her that had always belonged there.
She had sat, in this very corner of the room before, holding this picture. The room had been different, barer then, the walls a different colour. But she'd done this before, sat in the same position and stared down at their faces. And it had hurt. It had hurt in a similar way to how she'd been hurting today, but it was worse. She gasped as the memory of the pain seeped through her. Excruciating, biting pain that she almost wished she could forget. Almost. Rose smiled, still clutching the picture in her hands as the recalled pain subsided.
"Liar," she said.
For once, her head was silent.
