Author's Notes: I'm Alive! And so is this story. I really want to finish it :)
"I love you," he told her, eyes dark and pained, as he drank her in as if it would be the last time he saw her.
She'd made sure it wouldn't be, that he would see her again, in the messages she'd left behind. But he didn't know that. Not yet.
Her eyes softened at his confession.
"I love you, too," she repeated, her hands tangled with his, eyes closing as she leaned her forehead against his. "Forever," she promised, eyes focusing on his as she leaned back.
"My Doctor," her voice was soft, warm, but the shudder as she said it betrayed her grief at the loss she could already see written all over his face.
"I will see my little brother grow up. Tony. He's adorable and tiny and trying to walk and calls me 'Wose'."
There was a catch in his throat as he laughed, but he could feel his burden lighten. He wanted that for her; the slow life, a happy life, full of joy and laughter and love. A life he couldn't give her.
"And I'll see my Dad retire and live a happy life with my mum. Mum's mellowing out, if you can believe that."
He laughed at that. "I can't," he assures her, still chuckling.
"You will," she promised, "other you – he'll be right there, see the same thing. Christmas Dinners, Easters, Birthdays – together, as one big, happy family."
Without her, never knowing she had even existed. Rose felt her eyes water, bit back the tears and gave the Time Lord a trembling smile.
"That life there, I promise you, it'll be fantastic."
It was their goodbye, she knew.
"Yeah?" His eyes were searching hers, looking for a lie in her promise – but he wouldn't find it, because she knew their life would be fantastic, they would never know the loss they felt now.
"Hey, I promised you forever, didn't I?"
He laughed, pulling her against him in a tight hug.
"You did."
She knew there was more grief and loss in this hug than the happiness he wanted her to see, but she also hoped that at least some his qualms and worries had been assuaged.
"It's time," the blue Doctor's voice interjected from the hallway and Rose allowed herself another second to breathe him in, another second to clutch onto him, regaining her own strength for what would inevitably follow.
She was so, so scared.
The torture, the electro-shocks, even the rummaging in her brains; none if it had held a candle to the times the time vortex tried to tear her apart, atom by atom. She wasn't prepared for it to end, not like this. She didn't know if she could hold out through that pain.
And yet she had to be ready, had to hold out.
Rose let her hands fall down, giving up not only her hold on the Doctor but also the last remaining shreds of hope, deeply buried, which still wanted her to tell him, wanted him to assure her he'd find a solution, a way to save her.
Except the Tardis hadn't found one. Hadn't seen a way for him to save her.
And she couldn't put that on him.
Another tremulous smile as they separated, and she stepped closer to the Metacrisis.
"Let's do this," she tells him.
"Alright," the Time Lord tells her. "You fetch Mickey and your mum. I'll get Jack and Sarah Jane. You," he points at the Metacrisis, "get Martha and Donna. We'll all meet back here – and we're running out of time – so no dilly-dallying."
Rose mock-salutes, although the action comes out more crisp and perfect than she meant to with years of experience.
"Yes, Sir-Doctor-Sir," she teases, tongue poking out of the corner of her lips as he shakes his head, lips twitching with amusement.
"Off with you," he orders, but his voice is softer again, more amused than strained and that's good enough.
"Mum, you can't tell, alright?" Rose presses her again as she guides her through the Tardis. "It would just hurt them."
Her mother barely missteps, despite the Hypervodka in her system still, eyes blazing as she looks up.
"You mean like me?"
Rose swallows hard, hand shaking as she pauses for a moment.
"I know – believe me, mum, I know. If I'd had a choice, I would have rather you didn't know either, but I need you to take him when we're there. I need you to be the strong one, because he won't be, he can't be. He's too new, too much knowledge, too much human impulsivity, too much willfulness and not enough restraint to know where the line is. But you know, mum. And this is it – the line he can't be allowed to cross. Please. For Tony. For Dad. For yourself. Please."
Jackie swallows once, twice, then resolutely wipes her face and nods.
"I know, sweetheart. I do. And I'm so sorry."
Rose pulls her in for a quick hug, hiding her face as she tries to gather her composure again, same as her mother, both trying to put up a brave front for the other.
"Console room's through that door, then the first door on the right. I'm off to grab Micks." Rose hesitates for a second before continuing. "Love you, Mum."
Jackie's eyes well up but she just pulls her shoulders back, lips turning up in a warm smile as she nods. "Love you too, sweetheart. And I couldn't be prouder of you."
She feels her breath hitch and just nods silently, quickly turning away, wiping futilely at her eyes as she searches for Mickey, the ship helpfully pulling her mentally to tell her what direction to head in.
She finds Mickey in the star-room of all places.
"How's it feel? You'll get to see this for the rest of your life." He nods at the planets and stars the Tardis is showing him, the vast blankness of space in between.
Rose stops for a moment to look and try and see what he's seeing but all she can see is the wonders, the amazing people and planets, the adventures that she will never see again.
"'s beautiful," she tells him, voice soft with admiration and Mickey smiles at her.
"Yeah. It is." He looks back at the stars. "And sorta terrifying," he adds with a slight frown prompting her laugh.
"I mean, what you've seen, in those other worlds – and then all this, holding maybe the same kind of people – aren't you scared?"
Rose shrugs.
"Yeah, course, sometimes. But here's the thing – those other worlds in those other dimensions? They didn't have what this one does. The Doctor." Rose tilts her head to take in the stars above her before turning to make eye contact with Mickey.
"So yeah, 'm scared. 'Course I am. But I'm not terrified. Because He's here."
Mickey sighs explosively as he steps closer.
"I just don't understand how-" He stops himself, tacking in the tear tracks and reddened eyes he can now undoubtedly see despite the darkness in the room. His hand is on her cheek, calloused thumb wiping away tears like he did when they were younger.
"What's wrong?" His voice is harder, concerned frown taking over and Rose allows herself to lean into his hand, grateful once more that she managed to find such a wonderful friend.
"Said goodbye to mum," she tells him honestly and the concern is wiped away, replaced with sympathy.
"Aww, 'm sorry, Rose," he tells her, pulling her in for a hug.
"Micks?" She begins as she pulls away, dragging him towards the console room.
"Hm?"
"Promise me that if you see the Doctor again, and I'm not with him – don't ask him about me, yeah?"
"What?" His brows furrow as he stares at her.
Rose sighs again. So many lies – she's never been good at them.
"He regenerates, yeah? And I mean, I could die tomorrow. 's like I said. The Doctor always tries to save everyone – but he can't always, yeah? So, if I'm not there by his side – promise you won't ask? 's gonna be painful for him."
Mickey's brow has smoothed out, but the lines around his jaw have hardened and his lips are pressed thin.
"What about me? Don't I get to know what happened to you?"
Rose sighs. If Mickey confronts her Doctor, some ugly truths are going to come out – and all it will do is hurt both of them.
"Please, Micks, for me," she pleads, never answering – an answer in itself. She hopes dearly he doesn't find out. She hopes he thinks she's out there, always, travelling with her Doctor.
Finally, just before they reach the console room he nods curtly and Rose lets him join the rest of the companions mingling around the console.
One by one, the Doctor directs his companions and they land.
Sarah Jane is the first to leave.
"'m gonna miss you," Rose confesses. It's baffling now that their first meeting went so badly when they get along so well now.
"My door's always open if you need a friendly ear. Or some help," she offers with a slight undertone and Rose laughs.
"Thanks. Promise you won't tell?"
"Hey," Sarah Jane responds, mock-affronted, "as a reporter, I'll have you know, I always protect my sources."
"Cheers," with a friendly hug, Rose leaves the Doctor to say his own goodbyes.
Her departure is followed by Jack, Martha and Mickey.
Jack had obviously been the first one to note the reddened lips of both Rose and the Doctor, wiggling his eyebrows and bumping shoulders, asking her for a call later with details – cue another salacious wink. Rose sniggers, slaps his shoulder and then pulls him in for a tight hug.
"Love you, Jack," she tells him and he smiles warmly, tapping his chest. He is immortal because she loved him so much – so yes, he does know.
"I know," he says. "Love you too, darlin'," he presses a kiss to her temple as he tucks her in for another hug and she holds on a second longer – only to feel his hands wandering.
"Jack!" The Doctor and Rose both echo, outraged, only eliciting more laughter from their friend.
"Hey, can't blame a fellow for saying bye."
Neither is surprised anymore when he does the same to the Doctor moments later, although Martha is laughing uproariously and Mickey's smirking slightly at the chaos Jack always likes to cause.
Until only Rose, her mum, her Doctor, the Metacrisis and the Donna-Doctor are left.
"Just time for one last trip," he starts and the group around the console is solemn as they direct the Tardis through the Universe's rapidly closing gaps.
Rose could feel it in her bones, the slightest jerk sideways as the Tardis lands on Dalig Ulv Stranden in Norway instead of by the mansion.
Her mother does as Rose has asked – she is the first out of the door, complaining and grabbing the attention of the Metacrisis.
"Oh, fat lot of good this is. Back of beyond. Bloody Norway? I'm going to have to phone your father. He's on the nursery run. I was pregnant, do you remember? Had a baby boy."
The new Doctor chimes in, "oh, brilliant. What did you call him?"
"Doctor," Jackie says, deadpan and Rose barely manages to hold in a snigger when the Metacrisis jumps on it.
"Really?" He looks proud and excited and Rose turns, burying her face in the Time Lord's chest, shoulders shaking with laughter.
"No, you plum," Jackie tells him, complete with eyeroll. "He's called Tony."
The Doctor in the blue suit pouts adorably for a second when Rose giggles aloud as she straightens, stepping away from her Doctor.
"Back in the parallel universe, eh, Doctor?" She asks, watching amused as he takes in their surroundings.
"Back home," he affirms with a sharp nod.
No, never home. Not to her. She allows a final glance at the Tardis, having exchanged their goodbyes earlier – a mere momentary touch against the strata around the console room, a mix of longing, wistfulness, sorrow, loss and affection sent to one another.
"And the walls of the world are closing again, now that the Reality Bomb never happened. It's dimensional retroclosure. See, I really get that stuff now."
Rose offers the excited woman a warm smile. Not long for her either. Losing everything – that's got to be hard.
"Can't believe I spent all that time tryin' to find you and end up right back here," she tells her Doctor dolefully and he bumps his shoulder with hers gently.
"You've got to," he tells her after a deep breath, meaning we've got to, she knows. It's just as hard for him as it is for her, but it still hurts, still feels like being left behind.
"We saved the universe, but at a cost. And the cost is him. He destroyed the Daleks. He committed genocide. He's too dangerous to be left on his own."
"You made me," the Doctor in blue says darkly and Rose finds herself reaching for him instinctively, holding his hand, trying to offer her silent support. The Doctor's always been his own worst critic, she's not really surprised to find them at odds.
"Exactly. You were born in battle, full of blood and anger and revenge." With that he turns back to Rose. "Remind you of someone? That's me. When we first met. And you made me better. Now you can do the same for him."
It's a paltry summary of their relationship, but she knows that her Doctor is trying to stop her from changing her mind, trying to push them together, make sure they have a happy life together. Rose knows he's forgetting – or deliberately not thinking about – the aspects of Donna her human-Doctor has in him, the way that might change his opinions and feelings about her – but neither of that will matter as it will never come to fruition.
"But he's not you," Rose finds herself saying, hoping he will remember, carry the words somewhere in his hearts. She's loved him. Always and forever. Whatever time and attention he could give her had always been enough.
"He needs you. That's very me," he confesses, eyes dark and hooded, heavy with loss and grief – their time together broken before it could ever really begin.
She wants to hold him, tell him how much this him needs her too – especially once Donna is gone – and, even more, how much she needs him, now. Needs to know if he'll still let her travel with him, be by his side. Love him. If he could still love her.
Donna tries to encourage him – them – tries to tell her the positive, but Donna-Doctor doesn't know either.
Rose can feel the gaps closing, time running out. She wants to run back in the Tardis, wants to hide, but knows the ship would never let her. Wants to shake the Doctors both, snog them, tell them, wants to cry her eyes out.
"I've only got one life, Rose Tyler. I could spend it with you, if you want," the Human Doctor offers cautiously, as if he expects rejection. Ludicrous – yet heart-breaking, because that is exactly what will happen. There is no forever for them.
"Together?" she asks nonetheless, the lie lying heavily on her tongue.
"Together," he affirms, looking a little brighter now that she isn't rejecting him outright.
It won't ever happen.
The Tardis starts up in the background.
"We've got to go. This reality is sealing itself off for ever," her Doctor interrupts, shoulder tight, face closed off and eyes hooded, already warding off the impending heartbreak.
Rose can feel it already pulling at her.
"Doctor?" Both men look at her. "I need you to- I-" Rose hesitates, uncertain of her words before finally giving up, taking a few quick strides until she's back at her Time Lord's side, pulling him down by his neck for a last kiss goodbye and lets him go just as fast.
"Remember," she tells him, her hand on his chest above his rapidly beating hearts, "I love you. Forever. No matter what you do or what incarnation you're in."
She hopes it will carry him through, will help him.
"It was lovely meeting you, Donna. Both of you had better vamoose, before you're stuck here."
With that she steps back, watching the gentle smile she'd elicited from her Time Lord fall away, darkness and sorrow replacing it as he looks at her, then at Donna and finally steps into the Tardis.
Rose quickly steps back to join her family, eyes falling away from the disappearing Tardis as she turns to the human Doctor, pulling him in for a quick kiss before she pushes him away to her mum.
"It's time," she tells her, ignoring the confused Metacrisis, and her mother nods sharply, eyes shining as she grabs a hold of the man and pulls him away further.
"I love you both. Now," she turns to the Metacrisis. "I need you to trust me and run – run fast, run far. I don't want either of you to see this. Please." The last is directed more at her mother than the Metacrisis, but the Doctor looks more hesitant, resisting Jackie's pull more and more the further away they get. He's reaching for her but Rose, alarmed, pulls back rapidly before he can touch her. She can't risk it – can't risk him.
She can feel it, when the last cracks between the universes pull shut and her connection to the Tardis, to her timestream, snap, leaving her weak and shaky – and this universe's timestream objects just as violently as it had before.
Her hand is shaking itself apart, separating into atoms, into nothingness before coming together again when Rose fights back only for it to begin all over again.
The Doctor has stopped dead, looking horrified when he hears her scream, high, in pain, everything forgotten when the very marrow of her bones seems to vibrate, blood boiling and lightning coursing through her as her body is being taken apart.
She gasps a breath, managing a momentary return of consciousness, hearing her mother's rushed explanations, her Doctor's despair, his curses and desperation, knowing that even if he had the Tardis, with the little time they had – he wouldn't have had a chance to rescue her even if he had everything at his disposal.
With no equipment and no Tardis, there's no hope.
Not that there ever was.
He reaches for her once more, coming closer – too close and Rose is desperate as she's never been before, teeth gritted in pain and only her willpower to hold back this timestream from tearing her apart at the seams.
He touches her and Rose is too slow, her body too stiff, to pull away fast enough and she can feel herself touching the very essence of his timestream before she manages to regain clarity, pulling herself away having only taken a small amount of his atron and huon energy from him.
"Take it," he tells her, stepping closer but Rose falls to the ground, her legs giving away in her hurry to scramble away.
"No – I'll drain you dry," she tells him despite knowing that he knows it all-too-well, would've understood the implications and meaning within seconds of her mother's words.
"I don't mind," he tells her gently, eyes tender, and Rose bites back tears, closing her eyes for a second before she has enough strength to make eye contact again.
"I know," she tells him softly. And she does, - her Doctor loved her, always, and would sacrifice anything to save her. He didn't know what she'd done, who she'd become, but right here, right now? He would lay down his life without a single regret to spare her.
But they both know it won't work.
"I'll live maybe a few months longer, in agony." Her jaw works hard as she tries to press out more words between the pain wracking her body. "You can have a full life."
"Without you?" He asks, without pause, eyes dark and Rose smiles.
"Don't worry," she tells him. "There's a little Donna in you yet. You'll find someone you can live the slow life with. Be happy. Watch Tony grow. Tell him all about his sister."
Her Doctor's already shaking his head.
"We won't remember you," he tells her, like it should be news to her, like it'll change her mind.
Rose's answering smile is a pained grimace, grief in her eyes and she watches his eyes widen in realisation.
"You knew." He pauses, eyes searching hers at the latest realisation. "You knew before we even landed here."
She manages a nod.
"I could've saved you," he tells her urgently, full of grief but she shakes her head.
"No, there wasn't a single timeline where you could've," she tells him, echoing the Tardis' words. He looks confused, full of so many questions, but she doesn't have enough time to answer them.
"Doctor," she says pleadingly and he shakes his head in denial.
"No – You- You asked for one thing. One thing only you've ever asked of me. To remember you."
"And you will," she tells him, but he scoffs.
"He'll think you're here, living the slow life, with me, happy. He won't know what you did."
Rose freezes, eyes wide – did she leak? What did he see? She's been holding tighter onto her memories than her body, half her left foot's gone already and the rest will disappear in a matter of moments. Did he see her as a soldier? Ordering people to their death? Did he see her killing people?
"You walked here, to your death, willingly, without telling us because you knew I'd tear apart the world the save you."
Rose nods, relief lightening her pain momentarily. There is nothing to deny anymore. This Doctor won't remember or know this for long anyway. His jaw is clenched, his hand keeps reaching for her, stopping, balling into a fist at the helplessness of it all. He swallows, hard, eyes dark with grief and love, shoulders stooping under the weight of his anger and loss.
Still, he stays, eyes finding hers.
"At least let me stay here, with you. Until the end."
It would be a comfort – but it would be nothing short of torture for him.
And that's precisely the reason she didn't tell Mickey, didn't tell Jack or anyone else. She doesn't want to hurt them. It will be over for her, shortly. She doesn't want to torture those she loved, even for a short time, watching her die slowly in agonising pain as the universe takes her apart bit by bit.
"Run," she tells them again and her Doctor picks it up this time, eyes searching out hers. "Please," she begs, desperately looking at two of the people she loves most in this entire universe.
Self-loathing and despair takes over again and the Doctor nods sharply.
"'m sorry that we can't be together. Sorry I can't give you forever."
Her last wishes – he will listen, at least, to that.
"Don't be sorry," he tells her fiercely, brown eyes firmly on hers, as he bends down beside her one last time. "Never, you hear me? Not a single moment, not one. Everything we had – every moment, don't regret it. It was perfect. I would give anything to give you more time, but not at the cost of what we had."
He takes a deep breath, hovering over her, eyes heavy and tells her emphatically, "never that. So don't you dare regret any of that. Just- remember I love you. We both do. Forever and always."
Tears spill out of both their eyes now, but he doesn't hesitate to do as she's asked of him anymore. He takes Jackie and this time he's the one pulling her along, away, further from Rose.
Another pained breath but this time she thinks they're far enough away. She tries to reign in her screams, her tears, but doesn't know if she succeeds.
Her surroundings blur as more and more of her disappears – she manages to force some of it back, fighting against the very universe she lives in, but not for long, never for long.
Then he's back – he never listens and has the audacity to scold her for the same. But she has practice, knows how to do this – so she holds on, clings to existence, gasping for breath, opening her eyes to glare at one of the iterations of the man she adores.
Finally, his words come into focus.
"-chance. Please, trust me. Please. I believe in you, Rose. You have to try, at least. Please."
She feels light as a feather, like the next brush of the wind might just disperse her across the universe, like a dandelion. The next she feels heavy, grounded, like every part of her is made of lead. Impossible to move.
"Try what, Doctor?" Rose forces herself to ask, the words sitting heavily on her tongue, wrapping clumsily around the difficult words, her mind still focussed on keeping an iron-tight grip on her mind, her artron energy, her body, forcing herself to fight. Just a moment longer. Just long enough for him to say what he wants and leave.
"There's this thing- it's like a gap. Between universes, between worlds. It's- remember, where the Daleks had their ship? It's- well, it's-" he breathes out sharply, before becoming firm, posture straightening, eyes meeting hers. "There's no way to make it nicer. It's hell. It's everything and nothing – all at once. It's – there is no time. No space. No body. You will be held together by sheer willpower alone. But – and here's the thing. It connects all the universes. It connects back to our own. And you could- you can use it to get back home." He pauses, her blue-clad Doctor and offers a wet-sounding, desperate laugh. "To me."
Rose remembers now – she's seen it, sometimes. Seen herself trying, grasping for that one in a billion chance, hoping- and yet… and yet.
"Doctor, I'm tired," she tells him instead, exhausted.
"I know, believe me, I know. And this has got to be so painful but please, for me – for us – just hold on a little bit longer. Fight. Come back to me, the other me. He can help. Will help. Please."
Rose exhales, staring at the blue sky, limbs trembling as part of her is still fighting – always fighting – against the very universe trying to erase her. For a moment she thinks about leaving it there, about reassuring him, about not telling him- but there's so much between them already, she thinks, so many lies and so many things unsaid. She doesn't want to add to that, not like this, not in her last moments.
"Doctor," she tries again, and this time she turns her head, forcing herself to look at him, to let him see, to not hide it anymore, hide herself away, her exhaustion, her despair, her hopelessness.
"I'm tired," she repeats softly, voice forlorn and can see the realisation and sorrow setting in.
"You're- Oh, Rose." He aborts the automatic way he reaches for her. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't see it before-"
"I wouldn't let you," she corrects him.
Her Doctor still looks horrified as she grits her teeth through the next bout of pain.
"Just- please let me go," she asks, pleading with him. She wants- absolution, she guesses. "I'm tired of fighting," she says. Tired of living, she doesn't say – but she doesn't have to.
There are tears openly running down his cheeks as he bows his head for a moment.
"I'm sorry, so sorry. But I'm going to ask you to fight for just a little bit longer, darling. Please. For me – for us. I know the chance is infinitesimal but if anyone can do it – it's you. Stuff of Legend, remember? Please. You have to try. Please fight, for just a bit longer. I promise he'll be there and he'll love you and help you. I promise. Please, Rose. Please. You promised me forever, didn't you. Please, try and fight."
She takes another gasping breath, everything feels so faint and far removed and yet she doesn't think she's ever seen more clearly – her Doctor, brown eyes darkened with pain and knowledge yet also containing an abundance of love and painful, desperate hope. And faith. And unrelenting, indesturible belief – in her. In Rose. The girl in hoodies and ripped jeans with a too-wide grin from the Estates with her bleached-blonde hair.
And her Doctor had just told her he would've torn apart the world for her. How could Rose stop at any less?
This is not tearing the world apart – it's allowing the universe to take her body and destroy it, to stop fighting and hold onto her memories, her sense of self, her timestream and drag it into the gap between the universes.
The place that the Doctor, her Doctor, called hell. A place of nothingness. Where an eternity could pass in a second and a second could stretch for an eternity. Where the creatures straight from his nightmares dwelt – both Cybermen and Daleks. A place which drove people to insanity.
But it also connected the universes.
And it was her only chance, however remote. Their only chance.
She takes another breath.
"Okay," she promises. "I will find you again."
"I will wait for you," he promises, relief in his eyes and his voice.
"Please, run. Get mum away from here. Be happy. I will love you. Always."
He laughs, tears mingling with joy.
"I'm only just beginning to understand how much," he tells her, voice warm and deep. "I look forward to him finding out, too. Remember the Ood? The Devil? I said it to him, but I never told you. It thought you were just a victim in this grand old universe of gods and devils. I've met fake gods, bad gods, demi-gods, would-be gods. Out of all that, that whole pantheon, I believe in one thing, just one thing: I believe in you."
Tears are spilling down her cheeks as she stares at him.
"I love you. Find me. Let him prove it to you," he demands and waits for her nod before jumping to his feet and, with one last glance at her lying on that beach, runs – just as he promised.
There's nothing else she can do, now, she knows. This will have to be the one chance, the one universe where she not only manages to enter that gap between the universes but also finds her way back out. She's going to have to fight and keep fighting and make the world – all the worlds – obey her. She has to make it back to him.
She waits, until her Doctor and her Mum are just blurry figures in the distance. Only then does she succumb, allow the world to take her, riper her apart.
And so, Rose lets go of her body, lets the universe take her apart as a foreign contaminant and uses her mind and grip on her original time vortex to find and reach for that gap, for that wall, pressing herself against it until she finds the tiniest little crack she can slip through.
It takes her a long time to realise she's made it.
It's like the star room in the Tardis she'd been in with Mickey, only without stars. There's nothing but blank nothingness.
Rose has no physical body, so there's no sound, no touch, no sight.
Yet she knows, intrinsically, that there is nothing around her.
It takes time to figure out how to move. There's no ground, no sky. It's not like swimming, walking or flying.
Time here is – discombobulated. It exists in small bits and spurts here and there; sometimes it loops over itself, sometimes it just runs into nothingness, disappears as if had never been there. Yet the more curved and convoluted the time that is there, appears, the more linear it is. It hurts, trying to wrap her mind around it.
Maybe it was never the in the first place.
Ever since she became Bad Wolf, Rose has known time. She knows, feels, every second passing, every minute, every hour. She can feel along the time stream. She can sense fixed points.
There's none of that here.
She doesn't know if a second has passed between one thought and the next, or an hour, or a week or a month. Time doesn't exist here – it's why it doesn't revolt against her, but it also means she doesn't know how long she's been here for, how much time has passed.
Rose doesn't know how to find the right universe. The space she's in, the nothingness, it has no beginning or end, but there's billions of universes, all over, but the walls to them are shut tight and she doesn't even have the beginning of an idea on how to reach through or to tell which one is the right one even if she could figure out how to reach through without collapsing the universe(s?).
The rules of the space she's in change between one moment and the next. Sometimes she can't even finish a thought before the rules change, other times it feels like months or years pass between changes.
Mostly, she moves with her thoughts, wants to be somewhere forward or sideways, so she is. Find another world, another universe, so she does – finds another wall, another barrier to yet another world, anyway.
Sometimes she needs to manifest herself, her body wobbly and missing limbs too often as time goes on, to hop, crawl, walk or run her way on. Sometimes she needs to think backwards or move upside down.
Time passes, more and more.
She starts hallucinating – first friends and family.
Then more time passes and she loses track, loses sight of herself, of her past.
The hallucinations become strangers. There's memories, she's holding onto them, but they're not connected – she doesn't remember what's in them, just clings on, because it's her, because she knows she should.
She doesn't remember if she knew them once upon a time or if they are just born of the desperate desire for her to hear sound, to see someone.
She touches herself, sometimes, in the short moments when she has a body.
Just a brush of skin.
A hand brushing her thigh, her arm, her face.
But her brain no longer knows how to interpret the signals and she is left in a panic, often hallucinating if the panic lasts too long and she's half-catatonic. It feels like pain, sometime, even the barest brush of skin.
She can't remember the last person who touched her.
Still, she knows she needs to reach the Doctor. He's the only one who can fix her.
There's only pain and screams and nothingness. Sometimes she's the one doing the screaming, she thinks, but she can't tell if it's in her head or out loud.
Does she have a body? Did she ever? What is real, even? What was real?
She's herself but who is herself? She remembers a whistling sound and blue, and that's also her.
She is mutable, a conglomeration of things, not a singular thing, she determines finally. There's so much in her, so many memories. They can't be one person. They are many. They are all. They are everywhere.
Time is irrelevant. It always moves – forward, backward.
She thinks the world outside is different, the dimensions. But she isn't sure, not anymore.
She-who-once-was had influence on such things. She-who-is does not.
Time obeys no one in the nothingness.
More is fading, disappearing.
Time passes, as it always must.
She doesn't know how to hold on, when everything urges her to just let go, to become part of the nothingness as so many before her had. She's already a thing made of many, why not become part of more many?
Except the Doctor. He can fix her. And she needs to find him. She doesn't know what need is except for the urgency in her chest, the pressure in her mind, the longing in her heart.
Doesn't know why it matters, who he is, where he is, but there's something burning in her chest, fiercely, still, when she thinks of him. It's motivation she wouldn't otherwise have, to continue.
So, when the crack appears in the nothingness, a bright white shining thing with voices, she makes her way there, lets herself fall through one of the many, cracks, one which resonates with such a lovely, lovely song – a familiar one, one she should recognise but doesn't. But maybe also does? Kind of?
She doesn't know how much time has passed – years, decades? Maybe centuries or millenia? But she knows it was long. Knows she lost things, but not what. But she remembers the Doctor will fix her.
The world needs a body to interact, much like the nothingness had, occasionally.
So, she pulls one together, creating matter, like materialising between one moment and the next. Unlike the nothingness, this one needs a specific shape, forces her hand when she is lazy and tries to deviate, forcing her power into the gaps until she's a full person.
It takes an eternity – a second – for her mind to register the body as part of her, not just an extraneous pair of limbs she's moving for convenience, but actual part of the thing made of many that makes up her.
When it does, it is not pleasant.
There are so many sounds.
Water hitting the hard, firm non-earthy ground beneath her sounds like the cracks of a whip, echoing loudly in her head – novel thing, that, a head.
Hands clamp over ears automatically, but do nothing to drown out the sounds of cars starting, trucks beeping as the reverse, traffic moving, honking, tyres screeching. She hears people talking, shouting as they fight, names called out at cafes, orders shouted to the chef, workers being berated by managers, bosses, meetings held as people try to talk over one another.
Her skin hurts.
The ground is hard – asphalt, her mind says – unforgiving against her soft skin. The cold rain makes her body shake as if it's become faulty. The wet impact of the rain feels abrasive on her skin, every movement hurts, even the air makes her gasp with pain.
When she tries to look around, everything is so bright she has to close her eyes again. The colours hurt.
The brightness hurts more.
That's how she remains.
For hours, her time-sense insists, having reasserted itself in the universe.
A woman comes, tries to talk to her, but it just makes her shake harder, curled into a ball, whimpering with pain.
The woman leaves.
Twelve minutes and forty-eight seconds later, one man and a woman in a dark blue outfit with a high-vis vest approach. When the woman reaches out to touch her, gently, just a brush of fingers, she flails, screaming, every nerve on fire at the harsh, painful contact.
They both step back and she makes a tighter curl, trying to offer this world the least amount of surface contact. They talk at her, but she doesn't listen, their words lost among the cacophony of her surroundings. She just keeps asking for the Doctor, the one who can fix her. The one who needs her.
Everything hurts.
Another man appears, in a black leather jacket, waving the two people from earlier off. He approaches carefully, cautiously, hands clear and empty – but he doesn't reach for her, she notes, peeking at the latest stranger.
His voice is soft, soothing, but also lost among the cacophony – or at least until she looks up and his eyes go wide.
"Rose?" He asks, voice going higher and louder and he's reaching for her. She whimpers and hides again, barely in time to see his frown before she closes her eyes.
The world is so bright, it burns her eyes. Hurts, having them open. And the water – rain – falling in them hurts, too.
"Rosie, what's wrong?"
She opens her mouth, trying for words, but all that comes out are whimpers of pain and 'Doctor'.
"Were you in the Tardis?"
That word makes her head snap up – more pain – and her eyes snap open.
She knows that word.
It has to do with the Doctor.
It has to do with her.
"Tar-dis?" she forms the word slowly, painfully, and the man winces.
"His timeship, remember? Were you with him? Are you okay? Is he okay? Where is he?"
"Tardis?" She asks again and he sighs.
"Time and Relative dimension in Space. It travels through time and space, remember? It makes this sort of weird sound when it moves," he makes an attempt at a wheezing, groaning sound and this time something in her vibrates. She knows that noise even more than the word.
That's her!
That's her.
Or part of her at least.
She is Tardis.
"Tardis," Rose says with finality and makes the same wheezing-groaning sound as she allows her body to disappear.
The man's eyes widen and he reaches for her, but Rose is already gone, reaching for that wheezing-groaning sound she remembers so well, reaching across this universe until she finds it.
When she tries to become part of the Tardis again, the ship gently but firmly rebuffs her. Tells her that she has part of the Tardis inside her, but is very much separate.
She doesn't remember separate.
She has always been made of many parts. How is she now separate? Always been separate?
It doesn't make any sense, but she is small and the Tardis is vast, there is no sense in arguing with a colossal giant when one is an ant. So, she pushes at the Tardis again, like a child begging for attention, pushing the name Doctor at her.
The Tardis affirms the Doctor is nearby, but not the right one.
She doesn't understand that either.
She needs the Doctor.
The Doctor can fix her.
How can he be the Doctor but not be the right one. There's only one him.
But there is no arguing with the vast Tardis so she wheeze-groans her way back to the man in the black leatherjacket.
The one who knew of the Tardis.
Maybe he knows more.
Rudely enough, he has moved, but she finds him anyway.
"Rose?"
It's what he said the first time too. Is that a name for the many-things-she-is? It's certainly shorter.
"It's been six months," he says, tone lower, softer, brows furrowed as he stares at her.
He doesn't reach for her.
"What's happened to you?"
"You said… Tardis. Went to Tardis." She nods to herself. "But not right Doctor. Which one is right Doctor?"
The man's mouth opens, closes, and finally opens again.
"In a moment," he says, "but first you have to tell me what happened to you."
She is confused.
"Nothing," she says and he shakes his head.
"Look, Rose, I saw you a year ago – you were on the ship, with the Tardis. And yeah, there was something between your mum and Mickey, don't know what, but you were- well, not this. Coherent, for one. Could talk. Knew the Doctor, the Tardis and me. So, what happened?"
She pauses for a moment but in the end, her words explained everything.
"Nothing," she repeats and he sighs.
"Not buying it," he tells her sternly and when she is silent long enough he continues. "Explain it to me. Use your words. I want to help you, Rose, you know I do – or you would, if you were, you know, all there. So please what happened. Where is the Doctor?"
She feels… frustrated, she thinks, is the word.
"Nothing," she reiterates for the third time.
"I was in the nothing, space between dimensions and I knew I needed the Doctor to fix me, so I followed the cracks in the walls of the universe and came here." She doesn't understand why he is being so complicated about it.
"The space between dimensions?" Jack's brows furrow, tension in his shoulders.
"Rose, this is important, how long were you there for?"
She shrugs.
"Time is not consistent. Maybe days. Maybe years. Time is irrelevant. There is no time." Her lips pull upward automatically, even if she is bemused as to why. "Unlike here," she continues, and her prod into the air around Jack produces gold sparkles.
"I like it better here," she tells him, eyes wide, a small smile on her lips. He smiles back automatically, helplessly.
"Yeah," he says softly, eyes glistening with moisture. "I like it better when you're here too."
He sighs heavily. "Gods, Rose, what did you to yourself? Why didn't you just stay there in the other universe?"
Well, that at least is easy to answer. She doesn't know what past her did or why, but there is only one logical explanation given that her huon particles are active.
"I belong in this one," she tells him.
"Of course, you do," he says, voice softer, making an aborted motion to reach for her again which she watches with both suspicion and curiosity.
She doesn't think he understands and as per his earlier bid, she clarifies without prompting this time.
"Every other dimension would erase me. I don't belong. It's not nice," there's an echo, deep inside her, welling with pain and memories. She reburies it; that's not something she wants to recall.
"Hold on," he says, voice urgent, "erase?"
She tilts her head, thinks on her word choice and finally nods. It was the right word.
"Body and memories. I don't belong. I belong here."
"What- what about other people traversing dimensions? What happens to them in that other world?"
She shrugs.
"Same as here. They're people. Don't matter. I'm the many parts as one. Part of Tardis is inside me. I belong here."
"Yes," he finally says, "yes, you do." His voice catches. "Fuck, I wish I could hug you."
There's tension in his body, fist balled.
"Don't touch," she says firmly, and he nods acquiescently.
"I know, I know. Sorry, Rosie, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I hope you know that – you used to know that. Used to be good at that – seeing right through the bluster and see the heart of people. The best version of themselves."
He's sitting on the floor now, opposite her, leaning against the wall.
"I'm sorry this happened to you, Rose. I'd like to help you if you'd let me."
"Help?" She repeats, tilting her head. She understands his words, but he doesn't make sense. "Need Doctor," she says again, more firmly this time.
"Yeah, I know. We all do. Still, give me a moment and I'll try and get in touch with him."
The man-in-leatherjacket pulls a laptop down and starts doing stuff. A moment later it connects and different faces pop up on screen.
"Hey Jack! Is the world ending – again?"
"Close enough to it," Jack says, no hint of humour in his face and the smile drops off the other three people in seconds.
"What happened?"
"What do you need?"
"How can we help?"
"Look," Jack sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not exactly sure, but I need the Doctor. Can you-"
"Rose?"
"Hold on, is that-"
Curious, Rose had tilted her head to get a better look at the people on screen. One held a pretty, young woman, also in leather jacket and a young man beside her. The other had an older woman and a metal dog.
"Yes- No- Sort of." Jack sighs again. "Look, it's complicated."
"Alright, let's see if K-9 can find a contact method."
"Calculating, Mistress."
Help, Rose identifies and makes the same wheezing sound and appears next to the metal dog, staring at him expectantly.
"Help," she asks the dog, hoping it will find her the right Doctor, whoever that is.
"WHAT?" She hears from the screen behind her but ignores the other voices and people.
"If you can move around like that," the male not-Jack voice starts on the screen behind her, "couldn't you just go to the Doctor?"
And oh. She could, couldn't she? Just keep trying (fighting, a voice in her head corrects) until the Tardis tells her it's the right one.
"Great going, Mickey," is the last thing she hears before she disappears into the time stream, trying to find him.
And she does.
She finds him.
Over and over again.
Sometimes with question marks.
Or a vegetable.
Sometimes with a scarf three times her size.
Sometimes with grey hair.
Sometimes brown.
Sometimes blonde.
Sometimes with the most beautiful curls, other times straight and short.
Sometimes his face is old and wise, marked with lines and age.
Sometimes it's young and vibrant.
Sometimes he's bouncy, exuberant, happy, running on a virtually endless supply of energy.
Other times he's sour, stoic, bitter. Tired.
She often times finds him running.
Saving people.
Helping.
And sometimes, she finds him in the quiet moments in between, the exhale between one adventure and the next. Finds him lying, looking at stars. Reading. Chatting. Laughing. Inventing. Fixing.
Sometimes, rarely, he sees her.
She redirects him when he's about to run down the wrong hallway, into the enemies he's trying to sneak past, her obvious shadow scaring him down a side path.
She aids his companions.
She still doesn't know who she is, what she is.
She knows all the words, every word, across time – but she struggles, often, to put the image in her head into words, to use the right words, the right meaning, to make sense of what she is thinking and feeling inside. Her mind is so jumbled.
But she tries to help, keep him alive until he can find her and help her.
But then she-of-many makes a mistake.
There's a bubble, a weird place where her Doctor went to, often enough, where he stayed for a time and where he was when he was young.
And there's not just Doctor-Tardis but many Tardis'. So, she follows.
But she doesn't know war, doesn't understand or expect the lengths people will go to, to end it. Not one spanning entire galaxies and deciding the fate of the universe.
She doesn't expect the pain, the forceful mental invasion, shoving her and pushing until she's caught inside a box – a box with a bright, red button.
A button to detonate the time stream – to destroy the world, the universe, maybe.
It's just her, in that empty, hollow box, pressing herself against the edges (again), trying desperately to find a way out, into the wider world (again), having lost her physical form (again).
She's alone for over a century.
She's cobbled herself together more, but also lost more of herself. Not the memories, this time. But the feeling, the thoughts, the clarity, the essence of who she is. But she knows Jack now. Remembers. And Mickey. And the Doctor.
She doesn't have all the memories, not even half. But she has some.
And she remembers being on a beach, a universe away, with her Doctor, dressed in blue, promising that he believes in her.
Rose doesn't remember enough of herself, isn't enough of a being, a person, to remember who she is, why he believes in her, whether she believes in herself – but she has faith in that man. In her Doctor.
And so she keeps living, struggling and fighting. Keeps going.
With time, she becomes less frantic about finding the right Doctor, loses all sense of urgency and finds contentedness in just waiting for the right time.
There's others who try to use her. Who try and force her to their will, to obey.
She doesn't.
Rassilon is the last one to try before her Doctor comes in and frees her – she's still in that box, still caught, but she feels free.
"I am your past," she tells him, then pauses, staring at the man, frown forming on her brow and amends her statement, "possibly your future." Then, only slightly quieter and with a little chagrin she adds, "I always get those two mixed up."
Her Doctor asks for her name. Future then.
"My name is Rose Tyler- No wait," she corrects. Rose Tyler was the girl from the estate. This her, she is more – not a weapon, not the way the Time Lords wanted or intended, but still more. "In this form, Bad Wolf."
Yes, that feels right. Tardis-Rose is Bad Wolf. She feels her body humming with barely contained artron energy; Gallifrey is positively brimming in the stuff and she's been reaching out past her box for the last century, saturated in it. Her body couldn't leave, but the energy was always there, was everywhere – every time – and allowed her to soak in it.
It's not the right Doctor, she can tell, because this one needs her. She needs a Doctor who helps her, not the other way around. So she reminds of the sound of hope in the universe, and sees another two Doctors join.
One she remembers, clad in blue, rather than brown, saying goodbye to her.
But the other one? He is lanky, with floppy hair, large limbs and soft eyes.
That's the one, she thinks. He's just as angry, just as vicious, just as loving and happy and willing to lend a helping hand.
But what's different is that he's calmer. More settled. More … at peace, she thinks, with who he is, who he was, everything he's done and hasn't.
He can't see her, but that's okay.
For now.
She knows what – who – she is looking for, now. She'll find him again.
Rose – Bad Wolf – will keep fighting until she finds him, and ask him for help. Her blue Doctor had promised he would, like there was no doubt that him, any version of him, would move mountains to do anything she needed them to. Help her in any way that they could.
And looking at them, here, collaborating, fighting – she could believe it.
Author's Endnotes: Hi! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, sorry for the long wait and please review & share your thoughts. Hope it was worth the wait *sweatdrop*