Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow. No tomorrow, no tomorrow. And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. – Gary Jules, Mad World
"And so this is the model room where we keep all the specimens we have knowledge about." The soles of his gleaming shoes were clicking louder than hers on the tile floor and Rose made a mental note to invest in some heels. The door swung shut behind her with a bang, and though she spun with a hand out, it was too late to stop the effect.
"You'll probably remember this one."
She turned at his voice and found a Dalek in front of her. Her heart leapt into her throat and she gasped audibly.
"Found four feet deep in ice in the Artic, took ages to gather all the pieces," he continued cheerfully and it was then that she noticed the cracks in the Dalek's armor, the chips missing from its head, glued back together like a sinister puzzle.
The soldier was still walking, chirping away, his voice fading quickly, so Rose tore her gaze away from the empty shell and hurried after him.
"Next," he turned to look back at her, pausing as she struggled for breath. "Next we have our weapons room. Now, you need a level orange access card to get in here. Initially, you'll just be a blue, but I'll let you take a peek anyway."
Rose peered around him into the fluorescent room, noting the cabinets of guns and ominous looking tanks. The panic that was still tightening her chest suddenly shifted to nausea. She pulled away and her tour guide grinned expectantly. She offered him a weak grimace in return.
"Next," he was off again, his stride so long and determined she found herself at a slow jog. "Is the storage area, or the graveyard as we like to call it. That's where you're stationed." He swiped a card in an electronic device near the door handle and, after a jovial beep sounded, ushered her inside. "The graveyard's where we keep all the dead and broken pieces of alien technology we uncover that have unknown origins. Each piece is categorized by date it was found and area in which it was located. The hope is that with your extensive travels with the Doctor, you'll be able to provide some insight into a great deal of the objects we have filed."
The walls of the enormous room were white, the floor shone ivory, even the containers holding the artifacts were bleached. It smelled slightly of disinfectant and offered an oppressive sense of barrenness and sterility. Rose was beginning to sweat, she realized, and focused on breathing, just breathing, not staring at the drawers and drawers and rows of alien life forms and technology that these humans had thrown aside like they meant nothing.
"There's even some stuff down there," he gestured, "about you and the Doctor! Fancy that? You've been categorized as an alien." A squawk on his walkie talkie drew his attention. "I'd better go help them out. I'll be back in a moment. Feel free to explore a little, make yourself comfortable. This will be your job now!"
Alone in the thick air, Rose pressed trembling fingers to the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. To be fair, she reasoned, lately every task had been difficult for her, every kind word a catalyst to tears. She straightened her back and took another look around. Things were different here than she was used to, and maybe that meant that she would help change some things for the better and maybe other things would require her to adapt. All she knew was that she wasn't this person who cried and moped about things happening to her, she was a woman who had control over her destiny. God, even that thought brought tears to her eyes. Resolving to take a quick look around so she wasn't in the exact same spot when the tour guide collected her, she began wandering aimlessly from aisle to aisle, brushing her fingers against jars of jellyfish and charred weaponry.
She headed toward the area designated to her travels with the Doctor, wondering how much could have been collected on them. Her file was fairly extensive, probably with the help of Mickey and her father. There were even a few snapshots of her, all of which showed her in some kind of candid pose, never noticing the camera. It was all very impressive and duplicitous.
The Doctor's file, however, was much less substantial. A few simple facts about him, that he was a Time Lord, that he traveled with a companion, and detailed reports of his actions during Canary Wharf made up the bulk of the information. Then, at the back of the manila folder was a photo, taken from a security camera. The black and white image was grainy and blurry. It took her breath away. There he was; one eyebrow arched, a smirk crinkling his eyes, ruffled hair sticking every which way. Not many details could be discerned in the simple image, but she knew them by heart: the sparkle of his brown eyes, the rich tones of his suit, even the scratch of his sideburns, she could conjure up all these memories.
She didn't have a picture of him with her, not a single one. Forced to start her entire life over, new clothes, new friends, new job, that was the one thing she longed for. Because a day would come, she knew, where his image in her mind would fade, where she could no longer hear his voice or smell his scent just by closing her eyes. And on that day, what would she do?
Sweeping her eyes around the room, noting multiple cameras, she tore the picture from the file, taking care not to rip any of the edges. She ran her finger over his smile, imagining the echo of his giggle, and then pocketed the contraband, feeling better than she had in weeks.
"Alright?"
She tucked the files back into their designated space and turned to face him.
"Yeah."
"Brilliant isn't it? All this alien life?"
Rose looked around, wondering what this man so delightedly saw, recognizing only death and heartache herself.
"I bet it was."
The soldier studied her, and for the first time he looked uncomfortable by her stoicism and sad eyes. He had expected her to be impressed.
"Well come on then," he said gruffly. "Time for lunch." She followed him, close at his heels so that she almost ran into him when he stopped and turned to her. "By the way, welcome to Torchwood."
Stepping into the Torchwood cafeteria, Rose had the bizarre sensation that she had time traveled back to high school. An awkward hush descended on the tables as she entered, carrying a soggy sandwich in a rumpled brown bag. She searched for Mickey, but when she couldn't find him she dropped into a chair at the nearest table and cast her eyes down, away from the prying eyes. She unwrapped her lump of a sandwich and took a bite, swallowing thickly against the tasteless cardboard.
"Hello there."
Rose looked up into a pair of emerald eyes. "Hi," she responded lamely.
"You're Rose Tyler?" Rose nodded. "Pete Tyler's daughter?" Another nod. "Well hello then. Nice to meet you! I'm Samantha." She plopped herself across the table and Rose straightened, 'There we go, my first new friend.'
"First days are always nerve racking, eh? Did Hank give you the tour?" At Rose's nod, Samantha rolled her eyes dramatically. "What a wanker, that one. So full of himself. We're not all like that here."
Rose laughed through her nose. "Good to know."
She had once been so good at this type of thing, at socializing. She was friendly and outgoing, taking after Jackie, and she found it easy to form connections. She was different now though, and it drove her crazy. She itched to make a joke or ask an insightful question, but instead she fiddled with her water bottle nervously. What did people talk about here? The weather: that was always a safe topic. Lame, but safe. Something on TV, that newest reality show about the married couple who turned out to be long lost siblings. God, when did this get so hard? When did she start holding back, second guessing everything that crossed her mind? Just say something. Say something.
"So you traveled with the Doctor?"
Rose froze, sandwich halfway to her mouth. "Yeah," she said briskly, putting the bread down and dusting crumbs from her fingers.
"What was that like? What was he like?"
Rose looked around, noticed that people were watching, listening. "It was alright." She didn't want to talk about it.
"That ship he travels in," a man walked up, cheeks still pink with adolescence. "Is it true it's bigger on the inside?"
"Yeah."
"But how is that possible?"
"I don't know." People were milling around now, no longer trying to be subtle. Rose's heart quickened.
"But what did he say about it?"
"I don't," she faltered, squishing a grape in her fingers, watching the juice run onto the table. "I don't remember."
"What was it like traveling with him?"
"It was…it was wonderful." God, were those tears? She blinked and forced a tight smile.
"Tell us about your adventures then!"
She let out a puff of air, propelling clinging strands away from her eyes. "I'm sorry but I don't really want to talk about that."
"C'mon! One story. Just one. Tell us about your favorite alien."
She looked around then, at all their eager faces and beaming grins, and she opened her mouth and she told them.
Rose walked briskly through the door, shoulders aching from typing at the computer for so long. She shouted hello to a couple walking out and sat at her usual table, dipping a chip in ketchup and popping it in her mouth immediately, the salt and sweet mixture feeding her energy instantaneously.
A woman walked by in combat boots with a gun holstered in her belt and Rose watched her enviously. Her job was boring and tedious, but she was sticking with it, hoping if she proved herself she'd move up in the ranks quickly, start seeing some action again. Her body yearned to run again, to feel that adrenaline coursing through her veins as something pursued her. Her mind too, felt under-stimulated, weeks spent staring at inanimate objects and plugging numbers and descriptions into databases draining her of energy in a way her travels never had.
"Hi, Rose!" She smiled in response and took another bite. At least she was settling in, only a few weeks here and she'd already made friends, she was fitting in, moving on.
"That's not the way it works though," Samantha slid into a chair and another woman, Jeanie, Rose thought her name was, sat next to her.
"Yes it is," Jeanie argued.
"No, a dog wouldn't react that way. It would be all instinct: food and territory."
"Yes but this dog was infected by the virus. It mutated, gave him human desires: power and relationships."
"What's that then?" Rose asked.
Samantha shrugged. "That carcass of the dog, we've been dissecting it, but the reports of its behaviors just don't add up."
"They do, because of the virus," Jeanie insisted.
"Infections can alter animalistic behavior," Rose said. "When the Doctor and I came across a werewolf in 1879-"
"He wanted to turn the royal family into werewolves, we know."
Rose paused. "Yes, because he wanted that power to-"
"We know, Rose," Samantha's voice was sharp and Rose froze in surprise. "We know the stories, thanks. Enough with it already."
The women continued with their debate and Rose sat in stunned silence. She had been talking about the Doctor a lot in the last few weeks, about his brilliance and the creatures they'd seen, their adventures together. But the Torchwood staff had asked to hear them, practically begged her. She hadn't even wanted to speak about him or their time together, preferring to keep that time locked within herself, safe and treasured. Once she had gotten going, however, it was like she couldn't stop, story after story pouring out of her. Anecdotes about that time he had accidently proposed to a holy priest on a planet that shone gold or about the way he could sense the TARDIS' moods and tinker with her until she was feeling better. They had all listened in rapt attention, pleading for more, requesting every last detail. And it was nice, it turned out, to remember. It was nice to share how wonderful he was, how much she cared about him. She wanted to talk about him; she didn't want to forget. How could they have grown tired of her stories already? She could regale them forever.
She opened her mouth to speak again, and caught Mickey's eye across the room. His face was drawn and serious and there was something swimming in his eyes that she couldn't quite decipher. God, he was looking at her in just the way she used to look at him when she and the Doctor were leaving for another trip. When Mickey would stand there, forlorn, hands in his pockets, and ask her to stay, and she would look at him and understand that he had no idea, not a clue, of the wonders out there, of how much she loved the Doctor, of how she would never leave him. And she would look at him and know this about him and feel so, so. Oh.
She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see anymore. Because suddenly, she knew, she realized with a pang what that look meant, what that look was. It was pity.
Her chips were a soggy heap in front of her and the women were still discussing Torchwood business. Rose turned toward them and worked to keep her face blank.
She said nothing.