Chapter Five – One Last Adventure
"She's dying, Doctor. Don't wait until it's too late to tell her that you love her, too. Don't wait until it's too late to say goodbye. Because you'll regret it until the day you die—and for you, that's a very long time."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The Doctor sat beside Rose's bed and watched over her as she slept. He found himself counting the moments in between each breath, waiting with anxious dread for her chest to rise again. Late in the evening her eyes opened and he found himself without breath. They stared at each other for a long time, before he finally found himself able to whisper, "Hello."
She smiled, and with that movement the years between them fell away and he saw that many of the lines of her face had been caused by delight, not pain.
"Where've you been?" she asked, in a faint voice.
Her hand moved toward him; he reached for it and as their fingers joined, he felt the jolt of remembrance. This is what forever feels like. This is joy. This is agony. This is my life.
"Rose," he murmured. And to his dismay, he felt tears forming in his eyes.
"Don't cry. Please, don't. I've had a fantastic life, just like you wanted."
He pressed his face against her hand, and hot tears fell down her wrist. The world spun out of control, too fast, the wrong direction. He loved her, still. How could he let go?
A soft knock at the door grounded him.
"Hey, look who's awake," Jack said, bringing in a tea tray. He sat down on the bed beside Rose and began arranging the silverware.
"I told you he'd come," she said to him.
"Never doubted him," Jack replied with a grin. "He showed up this morning. Broke into the place, matter of fact. Never did explain that, did you?" He glanced over at the Doctor with eyes that offered strength and understanding.
"Ah, no. No, I didn't, did I?" The Doctor cleared his throat. "Actually, I was tracking a couple of TARDIS keys. Did a scan for alien tech as soon as I arrived in Cardiff and caught the signal. I couldn't figure out why there would be two of them, but . . . what?"
Both Jack and Rose had started laughing, sharing a look that reminded him of the days before his regeneration, when it had been the three of them roaming the universe without a care. Now, though, he felt left out. "Did I say something funny?"
"Finally, some Spock!" And Rose began to laugh again. He loved the sound of it, but he heard the weakness of her breath and it frightened him.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
While Rose took her tea, the Doctor did as unobtrusive a scan as he could. The sonic screwdriver verified what he'd suspected—those years in the other universe had aged Rose much more than her official eighty-four years. And, as Jack had said, she was dying. Not from cancer or heart disease or anything curable, but from simple old age. Nothing to be done about it. Nothing except to keep her comfortable and happy until her body could no longer sustain itself. And it wouldn't be long, now—a day, perhaps two.
He couldn't do this. But he had to. He had to be strong, for Rose. He couldn't let her see how badly he wanted to scream and curse at the universe.
But she knew. She always knew how he felt. And not once did she ask why he'd taken so long to come for her.
That evening most of the family came over for an informal supper. The Doctor recognized John and Peter from their photographs. Now middle-aged, they looked older than their father. In public, Jack explained, they were careful not to refer to him as 'father'. Likewise, though he was still Rose's husband, to the world they were known as grandmother and grandson. They all hated it, but they had to be careful to hide Jack's immortality.
Each of the grandchildren spent a little time at Rose's bedside after eating, from Robert and his wife, to the youngest, fifteen-year-old Pete. None of them questioned the Doctor's right to sit beside Rose that evening, even though they knew it might well be the last time they spoke with her. They had all grown up hearing the legend of the Doctor. He had become such an ingrained part of their history that they automatically welcomed him as part of the family, and eagerly listened to any stories of Rose and Jack that he chose to tell.
He hadn't felt so . . . accepted in a very long time. Not even when Gallifrey existed had he been welcomed and made to feel at home. It felt strange. Strange and wonderful and sad, for he knew it would not last.
At one point, after telling a particularly interesting tale in which Rose had been extremely clever and Jack had been extremely naked, the Doctor found himself in possession of four-month-old Jacqueline. He stared at the unexpected bundle in his arms and opened his mouth to protest, but the infant stared back at him with such intelligent brown eyes that he relented. After all, this baby belonged to Rose, didn't she? Rose's great-granddaughter! How brilliant was that?
He could see traces of both Rose and Jack in little Jacqueline's face, and he wondered what sort of amazing things this tiny person would do when she grew up. Without meaning to, he took just a peek at her timeline. He saw it stretch out strong and full of life, until, to his astonishment, it began to flicker with the uneven stops and starts that indicated she would travel through time—not just once, but again and again.
"Best not tell granny, eh? This'll be our little secret," he whispered in Jacqueline's ear.
She squealed in response and kicked her chubby feet against his chest. With a grin, he glanced over at Rose. Though in bed, propped up with pillows, she had her great-grandson in her arms. As he watched, the toddler lifted his head to kiss Rose on the cheek, and the Doctor felt his hearts contract in pain. The boy would at least have these memories, fade though they would as he grew. Little Jacqueline would grow up without ever knowing her great-grandmother.
But the family knew everything about Rose: where she came from, what she had accomplished, everything. They would tell her stories to the little ones, as would Jack, for as long as he could bear to stay near his family. The children might not know her, but Rose would not be forgotten.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
When the sun had long since set, and the members of the family had gradually drifted home, the Doctor found himself alone with Rose again. He sat beside her on the double bed, impressed with the muted lavender and silver silk of the duvet. Still the same girl, just more experienced and with matured tastes.
He made sure of her comfort, then settled back against a mound of pillows. "I missed you," he said, finally able to admit it without choking on the words.
"Me too." She met his gaze with watery eyes, and he saw what-could-have-been vanish into the mists of unclaimed time. What they'd lost didn't matter—only what they had now. And so he held her hand and began to tell her about all that had happened since he'd last seen her. Of course, he left some things out, and embellished others, but so did she.
Rose told him about crossing the Void and finding Jack; about raising a family; about joining Torchwood and saving the Earth time and again. He told her about Martha and Donna, Fergus, and C'leet'c, and Sinead; about saving the universe from the Master (again), and rescuing a litter of dragon pups from a supernova. She showed him photos from a holiday where an alien invasion followed them to the Boeshane Peninsula. He described for her the museum where he'd found her newspaper advertisement. They talked for hours, until the moon set and a pink glow lit the eastern sky.
Finally the Doctor stood and stretched. Rose followed him with her eyes, smiling at the popping and cracking of his joints. "Getting old?" she teased.
"Oi! Let it slip one time that you've hit a thousand and you never hear the end of it!"
She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him in a familiar gesture. Then she sobered. "Before Jack comes back in, there's something I want to ask you."
He shrugged. "I've nothing to hide from you, Rose."
"Not that kind of question. More like . . . a request."
"Oh?"
"Will you take me away from here?"
"Rose, you're ill. I don't think—"
"I'm dying. Jack tries to pretend otherwise, but I've known it for a while. And I saw it in your eyes when you first looked at me. I haven't got long, have I?"
Without a word, he looked at her. The tightening of his jaw gave answer enough.
"I've been stuck here for so long. One planet. One time. D'you have any idea how boring that gets after a few decades?"
"I might." The years he'd spent working for UNIT came to mind, when he'd been exiled to Earth of the 1970s. He rather thought he'd go mad, matter of fact, living the same life, day after day. He could understand, and yet he had to consider her health. "Rose," he began, then paused. He shook his head. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea. You're very weak."
"I don't want to die without having seen the stars again," she said. "I want to feel the TARDIS around me, to hear her song in my head one last time. I've given my life to this world. I don't want to die here, too."
The meaning of her words sunk in and the Doctor closed his eyes against the painful twist of his hearts.
"Let me come home, Doctor," she said softly.
He gave a brief nod and then leaned over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You need to get some sleep, young lady. And when you wake up, we'll go on a little trip, just the three of us. How's that sound?"
"Perfect." She sighed and closed her eyes, asleep almost at once.
Jack stood in the doorway, waiting for him. He looked cross, but waited to speak until the Doctor had shut the door behind him. "A trip? Doctor, what are you thinking? She can't even get out of bed to use the toilet. She's not going anywhere."
"Isn't that up to Rose?" He raised his eyebrows, then set his jaw with determination. "She wants one last adventure, one last trip in the TARDIS. She wants to leave this time and this place, to die out there, where she belongs. Are you going to deny her that? Because I'm not."
(To Be Continued. . . .)