What had he done?
Before today, he'd thought his battered hearts had grown too cold to break anymore. He knew he was wrong when he felt his hearts crack, shattering into a million tiny shards. His precious girl. What had he done.
Painful as those realisations were, however, there was another that gnawed at him: why hadn't she told old him – the him she was looking for now – about the changes before he'd dumped in her Pete's world? He'd never have left her there if he'd known.
The answer when it came to him did the impossible and made him feel even more guilty.
When had there been time during that mad adventure for Rose to tell him. Their reunion had been cut short by a badly placed Dalek; then it was all him regenerating, or sort of regenerating, more Daleks, reality bombs, old friends and frenzied terror, topped off with the Doctor-Donna catastrophe.
When had there been time. Certainly not on the Dalek crucible, and then afterwards when they'd been dropping everyone off he'd been distracted by the problem the metacrisis posed and heart-wrenching fear for Donna. Rose had tried to talk to him a couple of times, he suddenly remembered, but each time he'd brushed her off. Determined to avoid a conversation he worried would make him doubt the plan his alternate self and Donna had proposed.
Fuck.
He really was a moron.
Rose had tried to tell him.
But why hadn't she said something on the beach? That had been her final chance, zero hour, why hadn't she spoken up. His fingers pulled at his hair as he ransacked his dodgy memory for any clue. Oh, the kiss. It had been part of the plan, well, Donna's plan.
He'd wanted to give her a choice, he really had: Rose had fought so hard to get back to him that she deserved to have a say in which Doctor she got to spend her life with. The other two had reluctantly agreed and that should have been the end of it. The problem was they were too much like him and they'd seen the obvious loophole: that agreeing to give Rose a choice didn't mean they couldn't stack the deck, make it so in reality there was only one choice: his clone.
Which was exactly what they'd done – and he'd known it. So long as he played his part then whatever happened his conscience would be clear, and he could toddle on his merry way with the knowledge that whatever happened it was Rose's decision.
However, it was only just occurring to him now that he hadn't exactly given Rose a choice, heavily influenced or not. Oh, he'd said the words intending to do just that, but then other him had kissed her, and he'd taken that as her decision – and instead of waiting and actually asking her, he'd cut and run like a giant space baby. Just left them on the beach; no goodbye, no 'are you sure', and no chance for Rose to tell him.
Double fuck.
Their collective selfishness really was quite astounding. Jaw dropping. Mind boggling. If there were an Olympic medal for twattery he'd take gold.
He'd seen her on the view screen, chasing after the Tardis as she started to disappear, and it had been Donna's voice which had firmed his resolution when he'd wavered; "Rose will be fine, it might hurt now, but she'll understand it's for the best." The redhead had said perkily and with apparently no empathy whatsoever for the distress visible on Rose's face. "Good thing he kissed though, thought she might have chosen you for a moment there." That was the moment he realised just how corrupting his mind was – because Donna, beautiful, compassionate, caring Donna, would never have said that. She wasn't callous or cruel or manipulative or deliberately dismissive… that was all him.
Donna before the metacrisis would have been the first to smack some sense into him and yell at him for even thinking of letting Rose go. Donna would have called him a giant space dumbo and made sure he and Rose actually talked: that he actually gave her a choice.
Before he contaminated her, that is. Because Donna had been wrong; she hadn't just got his knowledge, she'd got the rest of him as well.
Her mind had started melting soon after that realisation though, and he'd had to put Rose out of his thoughts to concentrate on Donna. By the time he'd got her stable and returned her home the walls between dimensions had closed and he was stuck with a decision he was already regretting.
His chickens really were coming home to roost now, weren't they.
He looked up, stricken, to meet Rose's concern. He didn't deserve her, didn't deserve the worry and compassion he could practically feel radiating from her.
"I'm so sorry, Rose," he pleaded, hands now covering his burning eyes. This body wasn't prone to leaking – the closest he'd got was that last night on Darillium with River – but, oh, he was crying now. "Oh, Rassilon, I'm so sorry."
Rose frowned, reaching over to touch his arm. "Doctor, what's wrong?" she questioned worriedly, once again prioritising his wellbeing over her own feelings and concerns.
"Everything," he replied, dragging a hand down his face, and then pinching the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt at regaining his scattered control.
What he should do is send her on her way before he did any more damage either to her or the timelines. What he should do is absolutely not tell her anymore about her personal future than he already had. What he should do is let her go. Their past was set, after all. He needed to let it play out.
Unbidden, he thought of River, the extraordinary woman he'd just sent to her death. He thought of Amy and Rory who had both lost so much because of his mistakes and hubris. He thought of Clara, the latest in the long line of companions he'd hurt more than helped.
He thought about where it had all gone wrong. The damage to his psyche caused by rejecting the nascent bond between him and the woman he'd imprinted on when he'd been all big ears, leather and longing for death. The bond which meant he could never love River the way she wanted or deserved. Always second best, and she'd known it at the end. Not a proper wedding, no telepathic bond sealing their love and commitment to each other, just his name - grudgingly forced out of him to preserve the paradox that had started the whole bloody mess. He'd told her his name because he'd had to. Just as he'd taken her to see the singing towers for their last trip because that's what she'd told him in The Library.
What kind of man did that? Not a good one, certainly.
The idea prodded him again, this time joined by his time sense, which was shouting at him that he was approaching a temporal tipping point. He closed his eyes and focussed on the potential timelines. Of the hundreds of tiny off shoots zipping in every direction there were three paths that stood out:
One, he leaves her at the bar determined not to muck about any further with the past. This led to only minor changes in the timeline; a colder, sadder reunion, and this him walking away with even more guilt.
Two, he takes her memories of this stolen time together. It would be the ultimate violation as he already knows Rose won't agree to it; and in doing so he will lose what's left of his battered morality, and probably his sanity (such as it was) as well.
Three, he tells her everything and gives her a choice whether to try and fix it.
His Time Lord training shouted at him that only one and two were real options, and that the latter was preferable to preserve the timeline. It was only a little betrayal, after all, and it wasn't like Rose would remember it afterwards. How much harm could it really do.
It brought back the memory of that awful scene in his bedroom, where Donna and his clone had ambushed him while he'd been getting changed out of his damaged suit.
Up until that point he'd very deliberately not thought about what his metacrisis had just done, or what would happen to him after the dust had settled. Donna and his clone had evidently been talking and planning though, and they had it all mapped out.
"We both know I can't stay here on the Tardis," the other had told him, sounding oddly resigned to a fate the Doctor himself would have rebelled against kicking and screaming. Put on the spot though, he'd just nodded in agreement, surprised relief keeping him quiet. He'd already reached the same conclusion, even if he hadn't quite worked out what to do with his twin, but he'd assumed that whatever the solution was would have to be achieved through force, as he'd certainly never willingly give up the Tardis – even for himself.
And then came the judas deal. "Leave Rose with me in Pete's World," the clone had continued, "I can give her the life we both know she deserves, and she'll have her family as well. If she stays with you she'll never see them again."
They must have seen his reluctance, as Donna had then chipped in. "Doctor, I know you don't want to, but consider what this means. He's half-human with one life - a life he could live with Rose, he could give her a normal life: marriage, kids, family. All the things humans want, all the things you could never give her."
Still he'd wavered, uncertain. The nascent bond between them screamed at him to ignore Donna's words, but louder than that was the omnipresent doubt and fear that had stopped him from acting on his feelings in that precious time before he'd lost her. Rose was still human; she'd wither and die, that hadn't changed, nor had his deep seated fear that in loving Rose he somehow harm her.
And then had come the final carefully delivered hammer blow: "There's also River Song to consider. You said she knew your name… think of the timelines."
Donna's timely reminder had done its job… just as she'd intended. Whatever protest he might have made, whatever fight he had left in him, had deserted him with her words. He'd felt trapped by a future he'd only glimpsed. Trapped and out of options. So he'd given in.
And in doing so had betrayed the love of his lives.
He growled. Bugger that. He'd let her go once to protect the timelines, he'd not make that mistake again, not when there was another way. Oh, they'd have to be clever, very clever – and sneaky – two things this incarnation fortunately seemed particularly adept at… but it was doable.
His hearts sped up in excitement. It could be done because Rose had unknowingly already given him the tools to fix this mess. Fixed points were relative to where you were in the timestream. Ha!
The server arrived with the next round of drinks. It was the same one as before, and just like earlier he was obvious in how taken with Rose he was, gushing about something or other and promising that this round – which they hadn't ordered – was on the house. It was then he spotted it, the tiny motif embroidered on the server's apron of a wolf howling with the words, The Bad Old Wolf Inn.
There was a cosmic sign of approval if he'd ever seen one.
It did make him wonder though why, if Rose had foreseen this as Bad Wolf had she not stepped in earlier and stopped him from abandoning her in the first place. The answer when it came to him was enough to make even his magnificent brain stutter and stop. Because it wouldn't have worked, he realised. They both needed time to grow up - evidently him more than her, given that it had been only a decade for Rose but over a millennia for him.
Rose had been so very young when they'd met, just starting out, and no matter how brilliant she'd been at that age her youth and inexperience had been against her – had been tools he'd been able to wield like a finely honed weapon to stop her getting too close. The sad fact was, there's no substitute for life experience, as the Rose beside him was demonstrating only too well. This Rose was more his equal – one who was used to leadership, used to making decisions and one who evidently had no qualms or hesitation about calling him on his bullshit.
Another thought occurred to him, one which sent icy shards of dread into the mangled remains of his hearts. There was another reason wasn't there, a very good reason for Bad Wolf to have let their separation play out as it had done. Bloody, buggering, fuck!
The Master.
It didn't bear thinking about what would have happened if Rose had been with him for the year that never was.
The Master been fascinated by her.
In that year he'd spent as his insane former friend's 'guest', Rose had been one of the deranged man's favourite methods to torture the Doctor. He'd spent hours lamenting over her absence, obsessing about what he'd overheard in the camp, and telling his prisoners all the 'fun' things he'd like to do to the Doctor's human girlfriend if could find her. The Master's soliloquies had been so terrifying that they achieved something the Doctor had previously considered impossible and had him thanking his lucky stars that Rose was stuck in another dimension. The silver lining to a cloud he'd long written off as having no redeeming features.
The irony was that if Rose had been anywhere other than where she was, the Master could - and most likely would – have found her.
It had been a cold comfort during the year that never was and something he'd clung to with all the desperation of a drowning man throughout that horrifyinglonelyawfulgodsforsaken year.
He grinned manically, relief and excitement rushing through him in a heady, intoxicating cocktail. Badwolf had seen this. Seen it and planned accordingly. She'd set it up to give him a choice. One last chance, should he need it, because Rose was right, fixed points could be changed. But just as she'd given him the power to choose, to fix the mistakes of his past, now he had to do the same for her.
Which meant he had to tell her – even if it risked her finally giving up on him.
As if she'd read his mind, Rose chose that moment to ask, "are you going to tell me what's going through that big brain of yours? I don't understand, what are you sorry about?"
Instead of answering, the Doctor's gaze fell on the dimension cannon. "How much longer do you have left?"
Rose glanced down, squinting at a display only she could see. "Long enough, I reckon. Why?"
He nodded, grabbed the new glass and downed half of it in one gulp. "Because, Rose Tyler, I've got quite a story to tell you, and then we're going to need to make a decision."
