A/N: Thank you so much for all the support and reviews for the last chapter. I really appreciate it, and I'm so glad that you're all still enjoying it.
My wonderful beta is Latessitrice, and my lovely pre-reader is Lamia. Huge thanks to them for all they do for me.
Chapter 8
"It's only us, thought you might need a hand finding your way around," Jackie announced walking through the door without any pretence, while Rose's heart hammered uncomfortably inside her chest.
"What?" she said dumbly, her pulse slowing and annoyance creeping through. She'd thought this mysterious person would walk through her door, and instantly her world would right itself again. For one fleeting minute she'd thought someone had come to rescue her, fly in and save her from all that was wrong and mundane. But she was naive to even think that sort of thing happened, let alone believe it would happen now.
"I thought about it after you left, decided we should come and help. Rose, stop gawking at me, I brought boxes in case you wanted to take anything," she said, waving her hand dismissively at the relatively empty space.
"That's not why...hang on, we?" she questioned, only just twigging that her mother wasn't alone.
As if hearing her, Dr Smith took the opportunity to waltz into the room, carrying a set of large boxes. Rose stared in both shock and aggravation as he put them on the floor and straightened up, smiling too widely and too perfectly for her liking.
A thousand rebukes and jarring comments flooded her mind, but she didn't have the energy to speak. Instead she just turned around and walked back through the flat, into a bedroom and shut the door firmly. She sighed and leaned again the door, closing her eyes. It seemed that everywhere she went, someone followed her. They wanted her to remember, they kept convincing her that she needed to. But at the same time she couldn't help but feel that there was something locked in her memory that they didn't want her to recall.
It would be simpler, wouldn't it, just to erase years of a life? Of course, you could forget so many wonderful, brilliant events and instances, but so much you wished had never taken place could go too. All those moments you wished the floor would swallow you whole, little incidents that you would do over if you could. The big things that changed your life, and the small events that somehow stuck to you for weeks. All vanished in an instant. But that wasn't what she wanted, not really. She needed her memories, needed to understand the person that she had been, to be the person she was. Despite the fact that it would be painful, she needed that time back.
She opened her eyes to see that she'd ventured into the other person's room. She frowned, wondering if that meant something, but decided she was almost certainly reading too much into it. Seeing as her mum and Dr Smith were probably doing something to the remainder of her possessions, she decided to take a closer look.
She wouldn't exactly say this room was lived in. The bed was perfectly made and didn't look as if anyone had slept here for a while. It looked more like a hotel room crossed with a storage space, or possibly even a study. Somewhere to go once in a while if necessary. Wandering forward, she picked up the first piece of machinery she came to. It was small and looked like the bones of a robot, all the insides laid bare. She had no idea what it was meant to be. It looked almost like a finger, and she put it down quickly before her imagination got too carried away.
She ignored the half-open packets of sweets and went straight for the books. Deciding they would tell her more than anything else in the room, she picked the first volume up...and immediately realised she was wrong in her assumption. It was written in another language, one she'd never seen before. She flicked through the pages, hoping that something would spring to mind but the language was like nothing she'd ever seen before. She assumed it must be similar to Arabic, all symbols and lines that didn't make sense to her eyes. Placing that book down, she rifled through the rest of the stack. She picked out four other books in languages she'd never seen before, one in the same symbols as the first book. There was another in French, one in German and something that looked like a Scandinavian language. There were only two in English, and both were on subjects she had little understanding of.
"The molecular destruction of the transdimensional being," she muttered, staring at a hefty volume.
"It's about as dull as it looks."
Rose almost dropped the book as she turned on her heels, the world spinning out of control as she righted. John Smith stood in leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets as he grinned at her.
"You've read it?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound as startled as she felt. He pushed himself off by his shoulder and took two steps into the room.
"Well, it is my book," he answered lightly, not looking at her as she spoke. Rose really did drop the book this time, narrowly missing her foot as she did. She gulped for air, feeling her eyes mist and darken with static as everything became a haze of headache and impossibilities.
She felt herself move downwards as she was guided, whether on her own accord or not, to the bed. She sat there for a moment, seemingly holding on for dear life until her head became stationary and her eyes began to clear. She realised she was gripping John Smith's suit jacket with both hands, really holding onto something rather than imagining it. He was kneeling in front of her while she sat on the bed. He stared at her, a look of absolute panic on his face.
"Are you alright?" she asked him, unnerved by just how scared he was. He blinked, the fear dissipating but somehow still staying fixed on his face.
"Isn't that my question? You almost fainted, I'm meant to ask that. Or did I nearly faint? I'm not sure who exactly was fainting or not quite fainting, but I think that's what happened."
Rose snorted, unable to stop herself as she did. Not thinking, she leaned forward, and dropped into him, her head hitting his chest at the same moment her knees his the floor and her arms circled his torso. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but after no more than a few seconds, he wrapped his arms around her too, and he was just holding her. Holding her close and safe and just there in the moment, away from the wind, and the cold in the air and that wasn't right and was just too bitter to handle in this moment, and if she let go then she'd shatter, and she couldn't cry now, not now, not after...
She pulled back and let go with a gasp. She gulped and pushed down...whatever that was, deciding she'd sort through that later. She pulled herself up awkwardly and sat back on the bed, not really sure if she should acknowledge the hug or not.
"So...any reason why your books are in my flat?"
He flopped backward onto the floor, his long legs looking out of place as he tried to sit comfortably on the carpet.
"Any reason why you're looking at my books?"
Rose rolled her eyes. "Why are they here?" she asked, not bothering to respond to his diversion.
"Occam's razor!" he cried, sitting up straight and beaming. Rose jumped. "The simplest explanation is usually correct. So, a collection of my books in a room in your house would lead to the conclusion that..." he prompted, gesturing in her direction.
Rose glared at him, feeling as if she were being treated like a child. She opened her mouth to reply with something scathing, when she actually registered what he was saying. The simplest explanation.
"You...this is your room..."
The humour left his expression as she voiced her thoughts. He seemed guarded, almost as if he was waiting for her to break down. When he nodded slowly, she actually wondered why she hadn't yet.
"You...lived here. With me. In my flat."
"Our flat."
The correction was barely out of his mouth when Jackie burst into the room without knocking. Both Rose and Dr Smith jumped, so caught up in the moment that they'd forgotten she was here.
"Right, all tidied up, lord knows how long those cups had been there. Are you done? Did you need anything else?"
Rose stared at her mother for a heartbeat. "I didn't need anything in the first place, I came here by myself! For myself!" She exploded before she could stop herself. The huge amount of information that had just been dumped on her head was starting to make its mark, and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep herself in check for much longer.
Jackie huffed, her expression shifting just enough for Rose to realise through her haze that she'd managed to get to her. She felt exhausted, annoyed at her mother but knowing she was only doing her usual and trying to help. She was frustrated with herself that her flat appeared to have held more answers that she could have imagined, but her memory was only working in fits and starts.
"I'm not a child, mum," she said into the silence, looking away before she could see the reaction her word had caused.
Dr Smith stood, lifting his arms over his head and stretching as he did, making the awkward tension slightly with the movement. He lowered his arms and stretched his hand out towards Rose.
"Come on, let's go," he said softly.
Rose looked up, hesitating for second. Then she took his hand, and stood up letting him go first as she walked out of the room still in a daze. She only let go of his hand when she reached her car.
#~#~#
It was almost 2AM and Rose still couldn't sleep. The day was running through her head on a loop, and she was unable to break out of the cycle. After visiting her flat, she'd followed her mother home, arriving only a few minutes after. During that time, Dr Smith has already left, so she didn't have a chance to speak to him again.
He had a room in her flat. That small piece of information still caused bile to rise in her mouth, and the world to spin before her eyes. That combined with the picture really only lead her to draw one conclusion, one she wasn't ready to think of deeply. They could have just been friends. They had separate rooms, similarly decorated she had to admit, but still separate. Whatever their relationship had been, they were more than the 'nothing' he'd originally labelled them as. Why had he done that? It couldn't have just been to try and get her to remember then by herself, there had to be something more than that. And while she was thinking about it, where did he live now? Maybe he didn't live in her flat, maybe he just had a room that that he used occasionally. There was still the mystery of the ring he wore around his neck - who it had belonged to and why he wore it now.
Her head was beginning to hurt, and she had to get up in the morning. Willing her mind would quieten down for at least a few hours, she turned onto her side and closed her eyes, hoping sleep would come.
#~#~#
The man in the leather jacket was back. He was walking just ahead of her at a steady pace. She smiled and ran to catch up with him. Except no matter how fast she ran, he always stayed that short distance away from him. She tried calling out to him, but she couldn't remember his name, and when she shouted he didn't seem to hear. Eventually she gave up, and stopped, watching as he turned a corner and disappeared. She stared after him, just standing, waiting. She couldn't tell where she was, it was just a street somewhere. So she stood still and waited until it got dark. She didn't move, she barely breathed, and waited.
"Am I late?"
She turned around to see Dr Smith standing behind her, smiling and dressed in a smart suit as if ready to go to one of the many formal events her parents hosted. She turned fully to face him, her own smiling growing, and she felt as if something was shifting, as if the earth were moving faster beneath her feet, the world spinning and turning until all she could see was his smile in the night and the light that came from...
The window she was facing. Rose blinked, realising that she'd left the curtains open before falling asleep. She groaned as she noticed the numbers on the clock, mocking her with the knowledge she was awake an hour earlier than she needed to be. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. The man in the leather jacket seemed to appear far too often to be just a dream. Perhaps he was a memory? A person she'd once known that wasn't a part of her life, just like Mickey and Shareen. She sighed and sat up, deciding it was probably best to start her day. She needed to ask someone about these things, someone who, unlike her father and Dr Smith, would actually help her. She just needed to figure out where to start.
