4: The Doctor gives a damn
Yep. He's going to have to blow up that star.
Creating a supernova, ripping a hole through time and space, risking an implosion of... well, universal proportion – he'll do it.
He'll do for her.
For her, he will tear down the skies, crumble the walls, lay the stuff of the world to waste. It doesn't matter. He'll do it, because there is simply no other option.
Because that girl there, that's not Rose.
It is, of course, but it's not his Rose, the Rose that he...
He knows that now. He's been travelling with an impostor, a copy, a watered down replica of the human he sort of likes best and the real thing is left back in that parallel world.
So, he's going to have to blow up that star.
There's more to it than that, of course. There is: the matter of spotting the exakt version of the truth; that is, land in the one possible reality of legion that holds the world in which Rose is now. There is: the matter of keeping a rift open between the two worlds for long enough to make it there and back, but short enough to reduce the risk of all of cosmos going to hell. There is: the question of whether to lock Stupid Bogus-Rose in the bathroom or let her roam free around his dear Tardis while he works.
"You don't understand", she says when he's been staring at her for a while without speaking. "It wasn't meant to happen, it just... sort of did." She pushes her toes to the floor, rocking the chair lightly. "I didn't mean to- ...We were at the shops, there was such mayhem, you saw it. I think it was the militia..." She looks somewhere far away, lost in thought for a moment. "Anyway, there was a blast."
He blinks.
"Right above us, tore the whole wall open. I think she must've gotten slammed in the head 'cause then she was just laying there. Brick in the head or something. I couldn't wake her up. And her phone just kept ringing and ringing and I just... I picked it up."
From the other side of the room the Doctor leans in, as if he didn't quite catch that.
"You left her unconscious? You left her unconscious and ran?"
Stinking Treason-Rose opens her mouth. Nothing comes out. Her eyes twitch, she bites her hand. She draws the air in deep and lets the words out in one quiet breath. "Must be the shittiest thing I've ever done."
"Must be!" the Doctor agrees. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his fingernails into his scalp until it hurts, and paces.
"You don't understand", she repeats, tears rolling down her cheeks now. "You don't know how... You think those riots were bad? They're only the beginning!" The desperation grows in her voice, tinted by the underlying anger. "My whole country's going to collapse! It's been brewing forever, all the corruption and dodgy politics, people aren't going to take it anymore. There's going to be war! And all my friends..." She sniffles, tries to regain calm. "All my friends are in the resistance." She gives him an intense stare. "I'll go to prison just for knowing them. Or I could just... disappear."
He stares back.
"So you left her! My-" He bites the inside of his lip. "In your place. Not even knowing if she's dead or alive."
"I really am sorry", she says to the floor. "I can see how much you-"
"Care", he snarls. Then he restrains himself, because he knows she means it. She is, after all, a Rose. Not the best version, admittedly... Maybe he could keep it and train it to be almost like the right one, that way he wouldn't have to risk so much destruction clawing his way through parallel worlds in search for Her.
As if, ever.
"Ideally we'd wait for it to turn pulsar on its own but we've enough with the spatial dislocation, no need to add any chronical complications by going forth in time, and then back, and then maybe not forth but... well, you know", the Doctor rambles, and for a moment it almost feels like home. But while he's swiftly moving about the consoles, pulling levers and pointing to things for Ugly... er... Dodgy Coward-Rose to push, and she's obediently trying, she gives the impression that her heart's not completely in it. Her familiar face lacks that excited glow.
He hardly knows what he's doing himself. This is so beyond, so far out of everything; he only has half an idea of how the space station (it can hardly be called hijacking if the thing's abandoned) relates to the phishline, and the proton accelerator seems a little out of place right there, but he lets his mind go searching for what his people hold in their legacy, and works.
And in the end, it all comes together – the energy, the vortex, the crumbling walls. The trembling of reality jostles them violently and he silently begs the Tardis to hold together, just for that little while, just until he's close enough, just so long that he can reach out and touch her and then it can break into as many pieces as it wants.
Upon appearing it actually doesn't break all that much. A few bits go flying, some are fried, and a leak springs in the kitchen, but all in all it's still holding up. Momentarily, at least. To completely materialize in the new dimension will close the gap behind them; the battered ship needs to stay short of the end of the corridor and this open, sizzling wound in time and space is what threatens to collapse said time and space. Stumbling out the door with his phone in hand the Doctor turns to consider the strangely glowing, vibrating, in-and-out of sight Tardis. Fifteen minutes, perhaps, give or take. Fifteen minutes to find Rose, in London, in turmoil.
But hey. He's the Doctor.
Now, if Rose is Rose, she'll have her phone around and be very traceable. She'll probably even have it switched on. Unless she's...
Anger flares up in place of that thought and he waits impatiently for Fraidycat Deserter-Rose to timidly step out of the blue box. He leans over and slams the door shut behind her, an involuntary growl slipping from the back of his throat, and turns to his phone. Dialing the pattern so familiar he doesn't need to look, he shortly deducts that Rose's phone is not switched on, but indeed operational and blessedly close. He activates a remote homing-signal to raise its holder's attention and starts walking.
For the moment the streets are tired and empty, save for the dust and debris. Something makes its way into the deceptive peace; a heartbeat, a beckoning. A tiny, blinking dot. It calls to her, and Rose follows.
"I'm scared", Simply Wrong-Rose states, scurrying behind the Doctor's determined steps.
"Aren't we all", he says to the display on his phone. "Well... Not me, obviously..." He stops to look around, comparing map and scenery, and continues to turn a corner. "But everyone else is. It's part of the human condition. What makes the difference is how you act on your fear. Without fear, you see, Rose... ish... there is no bravery."
"But what's going to happen to me?"
"It'll be what you make of it", he mutters, and keeps walking.
Then he sees her.
At the end of the street, there she is.
Rose.
Genuine Rose, living Rose, standing up with what looks like all major limbs intact (he'll count fingers and toes later). Actual, factual Rose and the sudden lightness in his chest lifts his feet off the ground. They pick up the pace all on their own and after a few steps he starts jogging, but it's not getting him there fast enough; he starts running, and as he closes in his arms are opening up; he can already feel her precious body pressed against his in the longest, tightest embrace he will ever give her. His face is splitting into a giant smile for the first time in what feels like years.
She's not coming to meet him.
He slows down.
He slows down, because there is something wrong. He slows down, because Rose – Right Rose, Brilliant Beauty-Rose – isn't coming to meet him. She's standing still, looking at him, expressionless. He closes the distance and stops in front of her.
"Rose!" he tries. His smile falters when she doesn't return it.
She looks haggard. Her hair is pulled back in an unbrushed ponytail, there are dirty streaks across her face. Her clothes, which he doesn't recognise, are worn and speckled with soot. Her eyes are hollow and tired; she looks absent, as if she doesn't really believe he's there, as if he's a tiresome transparent image that she is used to ignoring.
And the assault rifle resting naturally on her back is too heavy for her, making her shoulders slump unevenly.
His face falls, his shoulders fall, his guts fall. She blinks. He doesn't know what to ask, where to start, and after a million heartbeats she beats him to it:
"Three months."
He tries to catch her eyes but they won't come all the way up to his.
"Three months... Doctor, three months. I've been here for..." She turns her head, her voice trails off. Then she turns back, trying hard to look at him straight, as if through a haze.
"You left me here."
Something gets stuck in his throat. His breath, his life.
"You left me here. You left me-" she repeats, the indifferent expression finally shattering as her brow furrows, her eyes squint together, her lips pull into a grimace. She raises a loosly clenched fist and hesitantly slams it down on his chest, then grasps the lapel of his coat. "You left me here."
"I came back", he forces out with the breath from his lungs, because he did, he came back, after five days he came back, five Earth-days of strange feelings of something missing and building amazing dimension-travel contraptions... Five days.
Moving between worlds is hard to make an exact science.
He begins to whisper her name, but loses her attention to Wrong Rose, quietly coming up beside him. Rose's hand falls from his coat as she turns to stare at her copy.
"You."
Other Rose ogles her, curiosity mingling with the horror. "What happened to you?"
Rose eyes her up and down. Clean, pink-cheeked and filling out her favourite jeans with the weight she's lost herself Other Rose reminds her of something long gone, of a dream.
There's a barely noticeable howl on the wind.
"Here." She slides out of the strap across her shoulder and holds out her weapon in one fluent motion. Other Rose slowly reaches out and takes it, confused. "You've been heading cells fourteen and eighteen, and organising overall communications within the southern district." Her voice is matter-of-factly cold, the indifference back with a hard edge. "Ralph's dead. Hannah's dead. Jameson's..." She motions to look at her wrist but there is no watch on it; she rubs it with her other hand. "...probably dead, by now..."
Other Rose gapes, not knowing how to react to the unwanted debriefing. But her eyes tear up and spill over, silently.
There's a barely noticable tremor in the ground.
"Rose..." The Doctor's voice is a hoarse whisper. "We need to go."
Rose snaps her head back at him. She nods, suddenly a look of nervousness in her eyes as she gazes past his shoulder. She brushes past him and starts along the way he came from. The Doctor glances at Other Rose, engaged in a blurred staring contest with the AK-107 hanging from the strap in her hand, turns on his heel and follows.
Not too many steps are taken before Other Rose wakes from the initial shock and calls out to them. "You can't leave me here!"
"This is your home", the Doctor calls back without turning.
"But I can't do this!"
Rose makes a swift turn-about and stomps back. She pushes the weapon in Other Rose's offering hands back into her chest and proclaims, sternly but not very supportively: "Yes, you can." Turning and leaving once again she mutters: "At least I sure as hell won't."
The howl on the wind surges into a short siren and a few windows are blown out. The shards of glass raining down on Other Rose have her indignantly wail and give it one more try.
"Stop! Please! Stop, or I'll..."
Rose spins around and keeps walking, backwards, holding out her arms to Other Rose pointing her old weapon at her. She raises her eyebrows, defiantly, challenging her adversary to take action. "Or what?"
Other Rose stands frozen, fallen apart. Rose offers her target for a few more steps and then turns the right direction, arms falling to her sides. The Doctor suddenly lets a noise slip. Rose didn't hear, but knows, what caused it.
"Safety's on."
The Doctor shoots her a very alarmed look.
"Don't worry, she'll figure it out."
"That's what I'm worried about!"
"Don't worry, takes her twenty minutes."
The ground shakes, nudging them sideways. A chair goes flying by, tinted with an unearthly glow, taking the lead on the way towards the time-and-space wound.
"Better hurry up", says the Doctor and takes Rose's hand as they pick up the pace. His own hand aches from how hers stays listless in his grasp, without squeezing back.
The Tardis is the flickering eye of the storm when they reach it. The surrounding buildings are well on their way to becoming completely disassembled, brick by brick torn away and sucked into the awaiting maelstrom growing around it. Taking aim on the entrance from a straight angle they make a run for it, land pressed against the door and the Doctor gets his key out. As they stumble inside, into relative safety, his grip on her hand loosens and it limply slides out of his grasp. He swallows the thoughts he doesn't have time for and goes to steer them free of the to the universe intolerable tear, back home.
A/N: For your evening pleasure, read "Hers lies listless" out loud as many times as you want. And I hope you enjoy the angst, because there's more coming up, I'm told.