The Death of Madrid (1/1)
Title - The Death of Madrid (1/1)
Author - earlgreytea68
Rating - General
Characters - Rose, Ten, OCs
Spoilers - None
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on. (Except for the kids. They're all mine.)
Summary - Pretty much what it says on the tin.
Author's Notes - In response to this meme, catyuy requested the death of Madrid. So there's a major warning on this for the fact that a beloved pet dies here. It's a sad fic.
Thank you tojlrpuckfor the beta, even thought I pestered her for it while she was busy writing smut. Also thanks to Kristin for soothing me when I thought the story might be rubbish.
The gorgeous icon was created byswankkatfor me, commissioned byjlrpuckfor my birthday.
The lifespan of Barcelonan dogs was not something the Doctor was an expert in--he was far more worried about the lifespan of certain other beings in the universe--and so he wasn't sure whether the age of eight was a particularly short life for a Barcelonan dog or just an average one or maybe even an amazingly long one. He wasn't sure, and he thought he ought to look into it, because maybe it had been all that traveling in the Vortex that had caused all the cancer currently ravaging through Madrid's body. He should have figured it out earlier, if Barcelonan dogs had adverse effects to time travel. And he should have figured out much earlier than this that Madrid was sick.
The Doctor turned back from the results of the scan and looked at Madrid, who was laying on her side on the bed the Doctor always used to examine patients, and normally those patients were children who had scraped a knee and were being a bit overly dramatic about it, not dying dogs. Madrid lifted her head and thumped her tail at him, and he mustered a smile and rubbed a hand over the top of her head. "Come on," he said, and scooped her up off the bed and down onto the floor.
He'd thought she was just getting old. He'd thought it had been arthritis, a bit of lethargy, a no-longer-puppy-ness.
Whenever he was wrong, he was always so very spectacularly wrong.
He found Rose with the children by the swimming pool. The kids were in the middle of some kind of complicated game that Brem had probably come up with, because Brem was a game-organizer. Rose was in a bikini, sprawled on a chair and watching the kids and soaking up the artificial sunlight the TARDIS was providing her. She grinned at him when he walked over to her, tongue caught between her teeth.
"Going swimming?" she teased, because he so seldom did. Rose loved swimming laps, and the kids clearly adored the water, but the Doctor, while he didn't mind swimming, seldom went in search of it.
"No," he replied, and sat on the chair next to hers, watching the kids.
"You okay?" Rose asked him after a second.
"No," he answered, and looked at her. "We need to talk. But not here." He looked back at the kids.
Rose sat up. "Kids?" she called. "Come on, out of the pool!"
They paused briefly in whatever raucous competition they had going on, looking toward their mother and raining down a barrage of protests.
Rose shook her head firmly. "Everybody out of the pool. We have to get ready for dinner, yeah?"
The kids were still groaning, and making complicated arguments against the arbitrariness of dinnertime, and whether the TARDIS wasn't capable of landing them at dinnertime whenever they decided dinnertime was, and dinnertime could be after pooltime--
"You can finish the game later," Rose told them, handing out towels. "In the meantime, it is time for showers for everybody. Hair-washing, to get the chlorine out. Let's go."
Amidst continued grumbling, Rose herded the children out of the swimming pool room and into their respective bedrooms, and then turned to the Doctor.
"You're much better at that than me," he said, admiringly.
"I know," she answered, simply.
"It's just...They would have negotiated another twenty minutes of swimming out of me."
"That's because you're all about logical reasoning."
"And what are you all about?"
"I'm always right."
"Ah. Of course."
Rose looked at him for a moment. "Tell me what's wrong."
The Doctor reached for her, pulling her up and into a hug.
She returned it, trying not to be terrified.
"Madrid is dying," he said, finally, against her shoulder.
She stroked the hair on the nape of his neck and said, softly, "Let me make you a cuppa."
He followed her to the kitchen and sat, fiddling with the fruit in the bowl on the table, while she filled the
kettle with water and then sat opposite him, grabbing one of his fidgeting hands and kissing his knuckles. "Tell me," she said. "Are you sure?"
He nodded and sighed and used his free hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "I should have noticed she was sick, long before this. It's cancer, and it's spread, and it...Maybe if she were a human, I could reverse it, but she's a Barcelonan dog and Rose, it's so far along. I can't believe it took me this long to catch it."
"She couldn't tell you how she was feeling. How were you supposed to know?"
"I don't know." He sighed again and dropped his hand. "I don't know."
The kettle clicked in the silence, and Rose stood and shut it off but did not pour out any cups of tea. She sat back down at the table. "Will we have to put her down?" she asked, finally.
"I...I think so. I mean, I wouldn't want her to...I can help with the pain, I can help any way I can, but eventually..."
Rose nodded and was silent for a moment. "We need to tell the kids."
"Can you tell them?" the Doctor rushed out.
She looked at him, surprised. "I think we should do it together."
"I really don't want to. I really don't want to."
"Okay, but...I think they need it to come from both of us," she said, slowly.
He did not look at her. He stared at the fruit bowl. "Can we not do it today, then?"
Rose watched him. "Yeah. But tomorrow. We have to tell them tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, fine." He nodded. "Just not today. They were so happy today."
Rose sat for a moment longer, then said, "I should go check on them. I need to get them to set the table for dinner." She had instilled in the kids a chores regime that she considered vital in a house that took care of them as much as the TARDIS did.
The Doctor startled her by catching her hand as she went to walk past his chair and pulled her down onto his lap, crushing her into a hug. "I hate death," he mumbled, sounding like a belligerent little boy, and she wanted to ask him if he thought there was anybody who didn’t.
But she also knew that the Doctor probably did hate death more than the average person, because he encountered it a lot more than the average person. "Do you want to scan me, make sure I'm okay?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered immediately, and she knew he'd wanted to do just that and had been terrified to ask her. "Please."
"Fine." She rested her lips in his hair. "After dinner, okay?"
He nodded against her.
********
The Doctor would have put off telling the kids indefinitely, which he knew was why Rose was so vitally good for him. She refused to let him. She indulged him, letting him reassure himself that she had a clean bill of health, letting him put it off for a day, but she forced the big announcement the next day, in the library. Madrid and Seville were both dozing in front of the fire, Brem was working his way through a book of theoretical mathematics, Athena was reading about the history of the sport of steeplechasing, and Fortuna was halfway through her reading of Dickens's complete works, and they were all so very content and quiet that when Rose said, "Your father and I have to talk to you," the Doctor couldn't resist replying, "Welllllll, I mean, we don't have to now if--"
"Yes," Rose cut him off. "We do."
The kids looked warily from one to the other of them, closing their books and shifting to be closer to their mother where she sat on the couch. The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck and wished to be anywhere else.
Rose took a deep breath, looking at each of their children in turn. "Madrid is sick," she said.
The kids reflexively looked at Madrid.
"What's wrong with her?" asked Fortuna.
"She has cancer," said Rose.
"Oh," said Brem. "Then that's not bad. Cancer's curable. We just need to take her to the 23rd century, on Earth's Moon."
Rose looked at the Doctor.
The Doctor sighed. "We can't. It's not curable in Barcelonan dogs, not this far advanced." He knew this for certain. He'd researched it all night the night before.
"Is she going to regenerate, then?" asked Fortuna. "Do you think she'll regenerate with a nose?"
Rose paused awkwardly, and the Doctor could tell that she had not foreseen this difficulty. He wished it had occurred to him to prepare her for this, but he had assumed she would realize it would be a question the children would have. "No," she said, gently. "She won't regenerate. That's a Time Lord trick, and she's a Barcelonan dog."
"She's going to die," said Brem, flatly, which caused Fortuna to look alarmed at the bluntness.
"Well," said Rose. "Yes."
"But that..." Fortuna looked back at the slumbering Madrid. "But that's sad. And she's Seville's mum. What will be Seville do without her mum?"
"Can't you do anything?" Athena asked her father, all beseeching brown eyes.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and he just shook his head helplessly.
"What we are going to do," said Rose, putting an arm around each of her daughters and snuggling each of them in turn, "is make Madrid as happy as possible for the next few days, yeah?"
The rest of his family was looking at Madrid. But the Doctor was looking at Rose.
********
The Doctor was hiding, and he knew it, and he knew the TARDIS knew it, and so he was annoyed that the TARDIS wasn't helping him hide. The TARDIS was clearly in league with Rose. This was proven by the fact that there was a knock on his study door. The Doctor seldom used his study, much preferring to be near one of the other members of the family; but, when he used it, it was because he felt like he needed to be alone. The TARDIS seldom seemed to indulge this impulse in him, and he didn't analyze why this was, but the study was nearly always locatable by the rest of the family.
"Come in," he called, resigned to the fact that there would be a visit. At any rate, it wasn't as if he'd been doing much of anything other than sprawling out in the oversized chair, feet up on the ottoman, brooding.
The door opened on Fortuna, which surprised him a bit. He would have thought Rose the more likely visitor, come to scold him for not being much help with the kids; or Brem, who seldom let him have a minute's rest from being constantly on his toes.
"Fort," he said.
She stood by the door, looking shy, and he knew it was because help of the TARDIS or not, his children knew that when Dad was in the study and not the library, he was possibly not in the most sociable mood. "Are you busy?" she asked.
He was very busy being a self-indulgent, wallowing prat instead of a parent, he thought. If he was terrified, how much more terrified must his eight-year-old be, who actually was not on first-name terms with Death the way he was. And wasn't this his job, after all? Making life as happy as he could for his children, even when he couldn't fix it entirely? "Absolutely not," he smiled at her. "I was just wondering when someone might come visit me."
She smiled happily at the invitation and walked further into the study.
"Did you want some hot cocoa, maybe?" he asked, sitting up a bit straighter.
She shook her head. "Can I sit with you?"
"Oh," he replied. "Yes." He made room for her, and she snuggled against him.
"Can I ask you something?" she asked, finally, after a moment of silence.
"Anything, you know that. Always."
"What happens after you die?"
"Oh, I don't know that one, Fort. I've never done it."
"Then nobody knows," pronounced Fortuna.
"What makes you say that?"
"Because if somebody knew, then you would know. You know everything."
"Oh, love," he sighed. "I only wish I did."
She fell silent again, then, "What do you think happens?"
He didn't think anything happened. He thought there was nothing. He thought it might be like falling into the Void. It was so difficult to think of something happening after, after all the death and destruction he'd caused, all of that being some sort of prologue. "I...don't know," he hedged. "What do you think?"
She was trembling a bit, against him, and, concerned, he rubbed her shoulder.
"Fortuna--" he began.
"Do you think there's no color?" she blurted out, in a whisper.
He blinked. "Do I think what?"
"Do you think there's no color? Do you think there's..." She turned suddenly, into him, her face against his chest. "That's how it was," she said, muffled against him. "There was no color, and no warmth, and it was so silent, and so still, and so empty, and so lonely. There was no one and there was nothing, even though there was, but there was...I can't go back there, Daddy. And I don't want Madrid to go there, either. You have to do something to stop it, you stopped it before."
She was crying, and he suddenly thought he was going to cry, too, and how much would that alarm Fortuna? He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, flooding into her. Her consciousness was panicked, to an extent he'd really only felt once before, the first time he had held her, on a beach in the wrong universe. He closed his eyes and focused on her, on soothing her. "That wasn't death, Fortuna," he told her, his voice low. "Death isn't like that." Which for all he knew was a huge lie, but he couldn't think what else to tell her. His golden little girl was not going to worry that everyone she loved who died was going to some vast, empty, terrible place like that.
"What was it?" she asked.
"It was my fault," he whispered, resting his cheek atop her head. "It was my fault, and I'm sorry. I wasn't there. We weren't there. And I'm so sorry. It will never happen again."
She lifted her head, dislodging his cheek, and she was red and splotchy and stained with tears that still glistened in her eyelashes. "Why--" She hiccupped. "Why weren't you there? What did I do?"
"Oh, Fortuna. Nothing. You were perfect. You are my perfect, beautiful, little girl. It wasn't you. It was nothing you did. It was a mistake, and not one that will never happen again. Do you understand me? Never again. You will never have to go back there, Fortuna. Not ever."
Fortuna sniffled and nodded.
"I don't want you to worry about this ever again. I am here now, and I will keep you safe, right? There are some things I can't do, like save Madrid. And then there are some things that no power in this universe could keep me from doing, and keeping you safe and happy is one of those."
She smiled a bit tremulously. "You have to make me laugh once a day."
"That's right. I do. And have I made you laugh yet today? I don't think I have. Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Repeat."
"Repeat who?"
"Who, who, who, who--"
"That's terrible, Dad," Fortuna told him, but she was giggling.
"Tough crowd," he said, mildly.
Fortuna settled back against him, and was silent for so long that the Doctor thought maybe she'd even fallen asleep. And then she said, suddenly, "Maybe death is, like, a big garden party, and everybody drinks those drinks named after that Earth movie star, with the cherries, and tells knock-knock jokes."
The Doctor closed his eyes, letting himself feel the slight spin of his ship as she orbited, and the two other Time Lords in his head, and the warmth of his daughter beside him. "Maybe it is, Fort," he agreed.
********
The days that followed were amazingly calm, in the Doctor's opinion. Rose was so very good with the children. In all his centuries of living, the Doctor had never learned even ten percent of Rose's natural ability with them. They made lists of Madrid's favorite foods that they could feed her. They took her to the planets they remembered as being her favorite, and even if she couldn't really walk around much anymore, they loaded her into a wagon and pulled her. They spent a lot of time sitting on the floor together with Madrid and Seville, petting both of them and reminiscing about better times with the dogs.
The Doctor would never have done things this way. He had an instinctive desire to shy away from the whole situation, to force a distance between Madrid and himself. But his family wouldn't let him, and he was glad they wouldn't. He found himself on the floor with them, laughing while Brem told the story of how Madrid had ruined Sarah Jane's dinner party by knocking over the table that had been holding the food, or while Athena remembered the time Madrid had chased Owen because Owen had made a crack about her noselessness, and even the Doctor found himself commenting about how Madrid had served as ring bearer at the wedding.
One night, while the kids were safely ensconced in their rooms, the Doctor retreated to his bedroom, thinking maybe he'd catch a bit of sleep, and found Rose still awake, propped up on an elbow and stroking her hand over Madrid, who was snoring on the bed next to her. She glanced at him as he walked in, and flickered a smile at her. "Hey," she said.
"Hi," he responded, and collapsed onto the bed on the other side of Madrid, who opened her eyes and thumped her tail against the mattress in greeting. He scratched behind her ears.
"You didn't want to get her," Rose reminded him.
"I know," he said, as Madrid tipped her head to be scratched as optimally as possible.
"She's been a good dog. Haven't you, girl? Such a good girl." Rose leaned forward and kissed her fur. "I'm going to miss her."
Madrid licked his hand. "Yes," he said. He looked over at Rose. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"This. I wouldn't have handled this nearly so well without you. I would have mucked everything up with the children."
"You wouldn't have. You're an excellent father, you don't trust yourself enough."
"That's why I have you. You trust me when I don't."
She smiled at him. "Yes. Did you come in here for sex?"
"Wellllllll. I came in here to sleep, but if you're offering sex..."
Rose laughed. Which he always thought was the best sound in the universe.
Madrid's condition continued to deteriorate. The Doctor spent a lot of time worrying about how he would know when he was being selfish, how he would know when he'd waited too long. He came upon Athena one day, on her knees next to Madrid, rubbing at the dog's belly, and when he walked in his daughter looked up at him with such accusation in her eyes that he stopped short.
"You told me once that death doesn't hurt," she said. "I don't believe you."
He tried to think what to say. "Athena--"
"I think it does hurt. It hurts us to see her like this, it must hurt her."
He stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to where Athena was, thinking. He crouched down and scratched Madrid's head. And then he said, "It won't hurt her. I'll make sure it won't."
"How?" Athena demanded.
He looked at her, thought, made the decision. "I'm going to...put her to sleep. When it's time. Before it gets to hurt her. I'll put her to sleep, and she'll die in her sleep, and it'll be peaceful."
She was suspicious, he saw that immediately. "Really?"
"You can sit with her, if you like. While I do it," he offered, and then wondered what he was doing.
Athena looked down at Madrid, considering, then back up at her father. "You'd let me."
"You wouldn't have to, Theenie. But if you wanted to."
Athena gazed at him, inscrutable for a moment. "I want to. I think one of us should be with her. Not that you
don't count, but one of us who's not...Who's just petting her."
He nodded once. "I won't do it without you, then. I'll find you, and you can sit with her."
"You swear on your sonic screwdriver?"
It was a ridiculous thing she did with Brem but he rested his hand solemnly over the jacket pocket that held his screwdriver. "I do," he promised.
And then he immediately went in search of Rose. "I've done something ridiculous," he told her.
"Like what now?" she asked, looking unconcerned. She was in the middle of painting her toenails.
"I told Athena she could sit with Madrid while I..."
Rose looked up at him. "Really?"
"She...I don't know, it seemed like she might want to, and I thought...It's mad, right? I shouldn't let her."
"No." Rose was thoughtful.
"I think it's too much for her. It's going to be traumatic."
"Doctor, two years ago she watched a friend get eaten by a giant slug. That was traumatic. I think it will be good for Athena, to see that death isn't always like that. I think maybe she needs that. See? These are your good parenting instincts. You should trust them. We should ask the other kids if they want to sit with Madrid, too, when it happens."
And so they put the offer to the other kids. Fortuna considered but said she really didn't want to, especially if Athena didn't mind, and since Athena didn't mind, that settled it. Brem took several days to think it over, before finally deciding against.
"Brem is actually who I'm most worried about," Rose commented one night, abruptly, when he was tinkering next to the bed and she was supposed to be sleeping.
"Why?" he asked, distracted, but her answer stilled him.
"Because he's the one who's the most like you."
********
The Doctor was sitting in the chair he usually sat in, in the library, his eyes fastened on Madrid, who was lying on her side in front of the fireplace, breathing a bit shallowly. She was not sleeping. Her eyes were open and seemed to be fastened onto his. Seville was curled up close next to her, and the Doctor was waiting for Seville to move.
Because it was time.
Which was what Rose said when she walked in to discover them sitting like that. "It's time, isn't it?"
The Doctor didn't answer. He exhaled.
"I should get the kids," said Rose, where she was still standing by the door.
He didn't say anything, and she returned in a few moments with all three of them. She must have told them it was time, and that they ought to say good-bye, because Fortuna immediately went over to Madrid, knelt down, and whispered something in her ear.
Then she stood up and looked at her mother. "I don't..."
"Let's make tea, you and I," Rose suggested, holding her hand out, and Fortuna took it and they both departed.
The Doctor looked at Brem and Athena. Brem was staring at Madrid. Athena was watching the Doctor, looking, he thought, for guidance.
The Doctor's eyes flickered back over to Brem, and he made a sudden decision. "Let's give Brem a bit of time," he told Athena. "Go get that cuppa with your sister and your mum."
Athena obediently followed him out of the library, casting one backward glance toward Brem before the TARDIS clicked the door closed behind them.
Rose and Fortuna looked surprised to see them in the kitchen, but neither said anything, as they set out two more teacups and set about making the tea.
"Let it steep," Rose told the girls. "I've got to talk to your father for a bit."
The Doctor trailed after her, into the control room.
"What happened?" she asked, keeping her voice low in case kids might be eavesdropping.
"I dunno." The Doctor swiped a nervous hand through his hair. "I thought...Madrid was his dog, originally. He was the one who wanted her, and, much as she was our dog, she was also...kind of...his. I thought he might want..."
"Yeah," Rose agreed, softly, and nodded. "Yeah. I'll check on him."
She left the Doctor to have tea with Athena and Fortuna and went back to the library, where Brem was rubbing at Madrid's ears and murmuring to her, words Rose couldn't catch. The door had opened easily for her, but she knocked now lightly, and Brem looked up.
"Hey," she said, with a gentle smile, as she walked over to him. "How are you doing?"
"Fine," said Brem, and ruffled his hair.
"Yeah," Rose agreed, because that was how you dealt with Brem and the Doctor. You agreed they were fine while underneath you were both tacitly admitting they were disasters.
Brem took a deep breath, looking back at Madrid, and then leaning over and burying his face briefly in the fur of her neck. Madrid whined, and, as he drew back, lifted her head and licked his nose. He said something to the dog in Gallifreyan, then stood up hastily. "Good. I'm fine." He walked out of the room, as quickly as he could without looking like he was running, and Rose decided against going after him. Brem was at an awkward age, and Rose wasn't entirely sure what he needed from her at the moment.
Rose went back to the kitchen. Fortuna was telling the Doctor something about Ceylon versus Darjeeling, and Rose said, "Brem's ready," when Fortuna came to a break in her story.
The Doctor looked across at Athena. "Ready?"
Athena took a long sip of her tea, then nodded firmly. "Ready."
They left Rose and Fortuna in the kitchen, walking solemnly to the library, where the Doctor carefully picked up Madrid, jostling her as gently as possible. Seville, still hovering nearby, looked at him with what the Doctor imagined were accusing eyes, and the Doctor tried to ignore the gaze, carrying Madrid to the infirmary and setting her on the bed. Athena climbed up onto the bed with her, putting Madrid's head in her lap and cooing to her about chasing mydozz and things of that nature. The Doctor, readying his syringe, listened with half an ear, trying to focus and not fall to pieces in front of his daughter.
The syringe ready, he turned toward Athena and Madrid. Athena looked up at him, focusing on the needle.
"You don't have to--" he began.
Her eyes shifted to meet his, very stubborn. "I'm staying," she told him.
He nodded and turned his attention to Madrid, smiled gamely for the dog's sake. "Okay, girl," he said, and gave her one last scratch behind her ears. Madrid wagged her tail, and for a moment the Doctor wished he wasn't doing this himself, that they'd brought her somewhere where someone else could have put her down. And then he thought how much better it must be for Madrid, surrounded by people she loved and trusted, rather than terrified with some stranger next to her.
He took a deep breath and inserted the syringe. "So," he said, clinically, as he applied pressure, "she's just going to fall asleep and then..."
"Die," Athena finished for him, simply.
He did not look at her. "Yes."
"And it won't hurt her."
He withdrew the syringe. "Not a bit." He turned to dispose of it, then turned back to Athena.
Athena was stroking Madrid's head. She kept stroking her head, even as Madrid's eyes closed, as her breathing evened, slowed, and stopped. The Doctor stood for a few more minutes, watching Athena pet Madrid's head, then he went to sit behind her on the bed, and Athena leaned back, against him, still not relinquishing Madrid entirely.
"You were right, Daddy," she said, after a few moments. "It didn't hurt her." And then she turned her head against him and cried.
********
In the end, after some discussion, they buried Madrid in a cemetery in the town on Barcelona where they had gotten her. They came to a consensus that she would like being home, and they could visit the grave easily.
The kids didn't want to spend any more time on Barcelona than necessary, though, and, after burying Madrid, the Doctor relented and took them to Thhhhhhhhmyr for sweets. They sat and had the best ice cream in the universe on the porch of a little ice cream parlor, except for Brem, who took his ice cream and wandered away, off toward the bank of the small river the ice cream parlor was situated on.
Rose frowned after him. "I know he's upset, but the rule is no wandering off--"
"A rule nobody in the history of the TARDIS has ever obeyed." The Doctor glanced at his daughters, who studiously avoided his gaze and did not dispute the point. "Anyway." The Doctor popped the last of his ice cream cone into his mouth. "I'm going to go talk to him."
He could tell that Rose was uncertain whether or not this was the best idea. Rose was still trying to figure out if maybe Brem didn't need some alone time, didn't feel smothered by the constant closeness of his family around him. The Doctor, who could feel Brem in his head, had the great advantage of knowing that Brem felt smothered and lonely all at the same time. Also, because the Doctor had the great advantage of keenly understanding Brem's thought processes, he knew exactly what the issue was.
Brem was sitting on the bank by the time the Doctor reached him, sauntering slowly, and he looked up at him briefly. He, too, had finished his ice cream cone. He was simply sitting.
The Doctor sat without being invited, leaning back onto his elbows and squinting at the light on the water in front of them. The planet was remarkably like Earth, only with much better sweets.
"So," said the Doctor, finally, after a great deal of silence.
"That's what's going to happen to Mum," said Brem.
The Doctor had known, of course, that that was the issue, because it was the issue for him as well. He stared at the water for a long time. "Yes," he replied.
He felt Brem turn to look at him. "And that's okay with you?" he demanded.
"It's..." He met his gaze. "It won't be like that, Brem. It's not like I'm going to--"
"It's going to be exactly like that, because she's going to die. Exactly like that."
The Doctor opened and closed his mouth. "It'll be--"
"What? You think it will be better somehow? Like, maybe we'll be ready or something? Is that what you think?"
The Doctor didn't really know what to say. "I--"
"You haven't thought about it at all, really. You won't let yourself." Brem looked out over the water. "You'll leave it for me to deal with."
The words hit the Doctor with the effect of a physical blow, winding him for a moment. He stared at Brem's profile, remembering the four-year-old he'd forced into saving Rose the first time around, and he wondered suddenly if his son was absolutely right. "No, I won't," he protested, sitting up, but his mouth was abruptly dry with panic that this had been his plan all along: Ignore it, and eventually somebody else might clean up the mess it left behind.
"You will," Brem sighed, in resignation. "It's fine. You will. I just...It's going to be exactly like this, only worse. Only so much worse. And I don't know how..."
"Brem. I'm not going to...We'll get through it together, right? Isn't that how we do things? Together?"
Brem looked at him evenly, those secret-of-the-universe eyes unreadable. "Yeah. Together."
The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck and tried to figure out if he thought he believed Brem. Or, more importantly, that Brem believed him.
Author - earlgreytea68
Rating - General
Characters - Rose, Ten, OCs
Spoilers - None
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on. (Except for the kids. They're all mine.)
Summary - Pretty much what it says on the tin.
Author's Notes - In response to this meme, catyuy requested the death of Madrid. So there's a major warning on this for the fact that a beloved pet dies here. It's a sad fic.
Thank you tojlrpuckfor the beta, even thought I pestered her for it while she was busy writing smut. Also thanks to Kristin for soothing me when I thought the story might be rubbish.
The gorgeous icon was created byswankkatfor me, commissioned byjlrpuckfor my birthday.
The lifespan of Barcelonan dogs was not something the Doctor was an expert in--he was far more worried about the lifespan of certain other beings in the universe--and so he wasn't sure whether the age of eight was a particularly short life for a Barcelonan dog or just an average one or maybe even an amazingly long one. He wasn't sure, and he thought he ought to look into it, because maybe it had been all that traveling in the Vortex that had caused all the cancer currently ravaging through Madrid's body. He should have figured it out earlier, if Barcelonan dogs had adverse effects to time travel. And he should have figured out much earlier than this that Madrid was sick.
The Doctor turned back from the results of the scan and looked at Madrid, who was laying on her side on the bed the Doctor always used to examine patients, and normally those patients were children who had scraped a knee and were being a bit overly dramatic about it, not dying dogs. Madrid lifted her head and thumped her tail at him, and he mustered a smile and rubbed a hand over the top of her head. "Come on," he said, and scooped her up off the bed and down onto the floor.
He'd thought she was just getting old. He'd thought it had been arthritis, a bit of lethargy, a no-longer-puppy-ness.
Whenever he was wrong, he was always so very spectacularly wrong.
He found Rose with the children by the swimming pool. The kids were in the middle of some kind of complicated game that Brem had probably come up with, because Brem was a game-organizer. Rose was in a bikini, sprawled on a chair and watching the kids and soaking up the artificial sunlight the TARDIS was providing her. She grinned at him when he walked over to her, tongue caught between her teeth.
"Going swimming?" she teased, because he so seldom did. Rose loved swimming laps, and the kids clearly adored the water, but the Doctor, while he didn't mind swimming, seldom went in search of it.
"No," he replied, and sat on the chair next to hers, watching the kids.
"You okay?" Rose asked him after a second.
"No," he answered, and looked at her. "We need to talk. But not here." He looked back at the kids.
Rose sat up. "Kids?" she called. "Come on, out of the pool!"
They paused briefly in whatever raucous competition they had going on, looking toward their mother and raining down a barrage of protests.
Rose shook her head firmly. "Everybody out of the pool. We have to get ready for dinner, yeah?"
The kids were still groaning, and making complicated arguments against the arbitrariness of dinnertime, and whether the TARDIS wasn't capable of landing them at dinnertime whenever they decided dinnertime was, and dinnertime could be after pooltime--
"You can finish the game later," Rose told them, handing out towels. "In the meantime, it is time for showers for everybody. Hair-washing, to get the chlorine out. Let's go."
Amidst continued grumbling, Rose herded the children out of the swimming pool room and into their respective bedrooms, and then turned to the Doctor.
"You're much better at that than me," he said, admiringly.
"I know," she answered, simply.
"It's just...They would have negotiated another twenty minutes of swimming out of me."
"That's because you're all about logical reasoning."
"And what are you all about?"
"I'm always right."
"Ah. Of course."
Rose looked at him for a moment. "Tell me what's wrong."
The Doctor reached for her, pulling her up and into a hug.
She returned it, trying not to be terrified.
"Madrid is dying," he said, finally, against her shoulder.
She stroked the hair on the nape of his neck and said, softly, "Let me make you a cuppa."
He followed her to the kitchen and sat, fiddling with the fruit in the bowl on the table, while she filled the
kettle with water and then sat opposite him, grabbing one of his fidgeting hands and kissing his knuckles. "Tell me," she said. "Are you sure?"
He nodded and sighed and used his free hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "I should have noticed she was sick, long before this. It's cancer, and it's spread, and it...Maybe if she were a human, I could reverse it, but she's a Barcelonan dog and Rose, it's so far along. I can't believe it took me this long to catch it."
"She couldn't tell you how she was feeling. How were you supposed to know?"
"I don't know." He sighed again and dropped his hand. "I don't know."
The kettle clicked in the silence, and Rose stood and shut it off but did not pour out any cups of tea. She sat back down at the table. "Will we have to put her down?" she asked, finally.
"I...I think so. I mean, I wouldn't want her to...I can help with the pain, I can help any way I can, but eventually..."
Rose nodded and was silent for a moment. "We need to tell the kids."
"Can you tell them?" the Doctor rushed out.
She looked at him, surprised. "I think we should do it together."
"I really don't want to. I really don't want to."
"Okay, but...I think they need it to come from both of us," she said, slowly.
He did not look at her. He stared at the fruit bowl. "Can we not do it today, then?"
Rose watched him. "Yeah. But tomorrow. We have to tell them tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, fine." He nodded. "Just not today. They were so happy today."
Rose sat for a moment longer, then said, "I should go check on them. I need to get them to set the table for dinner." She had instilled in the kids a chores regime that she considered vital in a house that took care of them as much as the TARDIS did.
The Doctor startled her by catching her hand as she went to walk past his chair and pulled her down onto his lap, crushing her into a hug. "I hate death," he mumbled, sounding like a belligerent little boy, and she wanted to ask him if he thought there was anybody who didn’t.
But she also knew that the Doctor probably did hate death more than the average person, because he encountered it a lot more than the average person. "Do you want to scan me, make sure I'm okay?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered immediately, and she knew he'd wanted to do just that and had been terrified to ask her. "Please."
"Fine." She rested her lips in his hair. "After dinner, okay?"
He nodded against her.
********
The Doctor would have put off telling the kids indefinitely, which he knew was why Rose was so vitally good for him. She refused to let him. She indulged him, letting him reassure himself that she had a clean bill of health, letting him put it off for a day, but she forced the big announcement the next day, in the library. Madrid and Seville were both dozing in front of the fire, Brem was working his way through a book of theoretical mathematics, Athena was reading about the history of the sport of steeplechasing, and Fortuna was halfway through her reading of Dickens's complete works, and they were all so very content and quiet that when Rose said, "Your father and I have to talk to you," the Doctor couldn't resist replying, "Welllllll, I mean, we don't have to now if--"
"Yes," Rose cut him off. "We do."
The kids looked warily from one to the other of them, closing their books and shifting to be closer to their mother where she sat on the couch. The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck and wished to be anywhere else.
Rose took a deep breath, looking at each of their children in turn. "Madrid is sick," she said.
The kids reflexively looked at Madrid.
"What's wrong with her?" asked Fortuna.
"She has cancer," said Rose.
"Oh," said Brem. "Then that's not bad. Cancer's curable. We just need to take her to the 23rd century, on Earth's Moon."
Rose looked at the Doctor.
The Doctor sighed. "We can't. It's not curable in Barcelonan dogs, not this far advanced." He knew this for certain. He'd researched it all night the night before.
"Is she going to regenerate, then?" asked Fortuna. "Do you think she'll regenerate with a nose?"
Rose paused awkwardly, and the Doctor could tell that she had not foreseen this difficulty. He wished it had occurred to him to prepare her for this, but he had assumed she would realize it would be a question the children would have. "No," she said, gently. "She won't regenerate. That's a Time Lord trick, and she's a Barcelonan dog."
"She's going to die," said Brem, flatly, which caused Fortuna to look alarmed at the bluntness.
"Well," said Rose. "Yes."
"But that..." Fortuna looked back at the slumbering Madrid. "But that's sad. And she's Seville's mum. What will be Seville do without her mum?"
"Can't you do anything?" Athena asked her father, all beseeching brown eyes.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and he just shook his head helplessly.
"What we are going to do," said Rose, putting an arm around each of her daughters and snuggling each of them in turn, "is make Madrid as happy as possible for the next few days, yeah?"
The rest of his family was looking at Madrid. But the Doctor was looking at Rose.
********
The Doctor was hiding, and he knew it, and he knew the TARDIS knew it, and so he was annoyed that the TARDIS wasn't helping him hide. The TARDIS was clearly in league with Rose. This was proven by the fact that there was a knock on his study door. The Doctor seldom used his study, much preferring to be near one of the other members of the family; but, when he used it, it was because he felt like he needed to be alone. The TARDIS seldom seemed to indulge this impulse in him, and he didn't analyze why this was, but the study was nearly always locatable by the rest of the family.
"Come in," he called, resigned to the fact that there would be a visit. At any rate, it wasn't as if he'd been doing much of anything other than sprawling out in the oversized chair, feet up on the ottoman, brooding.
The door opened on Fortuna, which surprised him a bit. He would have thought Rose the more likely visitor, come to scold him for not being much help with the kids; or Brem, who seldom let him have a minute's rest from being constantly on his toes.
"Fort," he said.
She stood by the door, looking shy, and he knew it was because help of the TARDIS or not, his children knew that when Dad was in the study and not the library, he was possibly not in the most sociable mood. "Are you busy?" she asked.
He was very busy being a self-indulgent, wallowing prat instead of a parent, he thought. If he was terrified, how much more terrified must his eight-year-old be, who actually was not on first-name terms with Death the way he was. And wasn't this his job, after all? Making life as happy as he could for his children, even when he couldn't fix it entirely? "Absolutely not," he smiled at her. "I was just wondering when someone might come visit me."
She smiled happily at the invitation and walked further into the study.
"Did you want some hot cocoa, maybe?" he asked, sitting up a bit straighter.
She shook her head. "Can I sit with you?"
"Oh," he replied. "Yes." He made room for her, and she snuggled against him.
"Can I ask you something?" she asked, finally, after a moment of silence.
"Anything, you know that. Always."
"What happens after you die?"
"Oh, I don't know that one, Fort. I've never done it."
"Then nobody knows," pronounced Fortuna.
"What makes you say that?"
"Because if somebody knew, then you would know. You know everything."
"Oh, love," he sighed. "I only wish I did."
She fell silent again, then, "What do you think happens?"
He didn't think anything happened. He thought there was nothing. He thought it might be like falling into the Void. It was so difficult to think of something happening after, after all the death and destruction he'd caused, all of that being some sort of prologue. "I...don't know," he hedged. "What do you think?"
She was trembling a bit, against him, and, concerned, he rubbed her shoulder.
"Fortuna--" he began.
"Do you think there's no color?" she blurted out, in a whisper.
He blinked. "Do I think what?"
"Do you think there's no color? Do you think there's..." She turned suddenly, into him, her face against his chest. "That's how it was," she said, muffled against him. "There was no color, and no warmth, and it was so silent, and so still, and so empty, and so lonely. There was no one and there was nothing, even though there was, but there was...I can't go back there, Daddy. And I don't want Madrid to go there, either. You have to do something to stop it, you stopped it before."
She was crying, and he suddenly thought he was going to cry, too, and how much would that alarm Fortuna? He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, flooding into her. Her consciousness was panicked, to an extent he'd really only felt once before, the first time he had held her, on a beach in the wrong universe. He closed his eyes and focused on her, on soothing her. "That wasn't death, Fortuna," he told her, his voice low. "Death isn't like that." Which for all he knew was a huge lie, but he couldn't think what else to tell her. His golden little girl was not going to worry that everyone she loved who died was going to some vast, empty, terrible place like that.
"What was it?" she asked.
"It was my fault," he whispered, resting his cheek atop her head. "It was my fault, and I'm sorry. I wasn't there. We weren't there. And I'm so sorry. It will never happen again."
She lifted her head, dislodging his cheek, and she was red and splotchy and stained with tears that still glistened in her eyelashes. "Why--" She hiccupped. "Why weren't you there? What did I do?"
"Oh, Fortuna. Nothing. You were perfect. You are my perfect, beautiful, little girl. It wasn't you. It was nothing you did. It was a mistake, and not one that will never happen again. Do you understand me? Never again. You will never have to go back there, Fortuna. Not ever."
Fortuna sniffled and nodded.
"I don't want you to worry about this ever again. I am here now, and I will keep you safe, right? There are some things I can't do, like save Madrid. And then there are some things that no power in this universe could keep me from doing, and keeping you safe and happy is one of those."
She smiled a bit tremulously. "You have to make me laugh once a day."
"That's right. I do. And have I made you laugh yet today? I don't think I have. Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Repeat."
"Repeat who?"
"Who, who, who, who--"
"That's terrible, Dad," Fortuna told him, but she was giggling.
"Tough crowd," he said, mildly.
Fortuna settled back against him, and was silent for so long that the Doctor thought maybe she'd even fallen asleep. And then she said, suddenly, "Maybe death is, like, a big garden party, and everybody drinks those drinks named after that Earth movie star, with the cherries, and tells knock-knock jokes."
The Doctor closed his eyes, letting himself feel the slight spin of his ship as she orbited, and the two other Time Lords in his head, and the warmth of his daughter beside him. "Maybe it is, Fort," he agreed.
********
The days that followed were amazingly calm, in the Doctor's opinion. Rose was so very good with the children. In all his centuries of living, the Doctor had never learned even ten percent of Rose's natural ability with them. They made lists of Madrid's favorite foods that they could feed her. They took her to the planets they remembered as being her favorite, and even if she couldn't really walk around much anymore, they loaded her into a wagon and pulled her. They spent a lot of time sitting on the floor together with Madrid and Seville, petting both of them and reminiscing about better times with the dogs.
The Doctor would never have done things this way. He had an instinctive desire to shy away from the whole situation, to force a distance between Madrid and himself. But his family wouldn't let him, and he was glad they wouldn't. He found himself on the floor with them, laughing while Brem told the story of how Madrid had ruined Sarah Jane's dinner party by knocking over the table that had been holding the food, or while Athena remembered the time Madrid had chased Owen because Owen had made a crack about her noselessness, and even the Doctor found himself commenting about how Madrid had served as ring bearer at the wedding.
One night, while the kids were safely ensconced in their rooms, the Doctor retreated to his bedroom, thinking maybe he'd catch a bit of sleep, and found Rose still awake, propped up on an elbow and stroking her hand over Madrid, who was snoring on the bed next to her. She glanced at him as he walked in, and flickered a smile at her. "Hey," she said.
"Hi," he responded, and collapsed onto the bed on the other side of Madrid, who opened her eyes and thumped her tail against the mattress in greeting. He scratched behind her ears.
"You didn't want to get her," Rose reminded him.
"I know," he said, as Madrid tipped her head to be scratched as optimally as possible.
"She's been a good dog. Haven't you, girl? Such a good girl." Rose leaned forward and kissed her fur. "I'm going to miss her."
Madrid licked his hand. "Yes," he said. He looked over at Rose. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"This. I wouldn't have handled this nearly so well without you. I would have mucked everything up with the children."
"You wouldn't have. You're an excellent father, you don't trust yourself enough."
"That's why I have you. You trust me when I don't."
She smiled at him. "Yes. Did you come in here for sex?"
"Wellllllll. I came in here to sleep, but if you're offering sex..."
Rose laughed. Which he always thought was the best sound in the universe.
Madrid's condition continued to deteriorate. The Doctor spent a lot of time worrying about how he would know when he was being selfish, how he would know when he'd waited too long. He came upon Athena one day, on her knees next to Madrid, rubbing at the dog's belly, and when he walked in his daughter looked up at him with such accusation in her eyes that he stopped short.
"You told me once that death doesn't hurt," she said. "I don't believe you."
He tried to think what to say. "Athena--"
"I think it does hurt. It hurts us to see her like this, it must hurt her."
He stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to where Athena was, thinking. He crouched down and scratched Madrid's head. And then he said, "It won't hurt her. I'll make sure it won't."
"How?" Athena demanded.
He looked at her, thought, made the decision. "I'm going to...put her to sleep. When it's time. Before it gets to hurt her. I'll put her to sleep, and she'll die in her sleep, and it'll be peaceful."
She was suspicious, he saw that immediately. "Really?"
"You can sit with her, if you like. While I do it," he offered, and then wondered what he was doing.
Athena looked down at Madrid, considering, then back up at her father. "You'd let me."
"You wouldn't have to, Theenie. But if you wanted to."
Athena gazed at him, inscrutable for a moment. "I want to. I think one of us should be with her. Not that you
don't count, but one of us who's not...Who's just petting her."
He nodded once. "I won't do it without you, then. I'll find you, and you can sit with her."
"You swear on your sonic screwdriver?"
It was a ridiculous thing she did with Brem but he rested his hand solemnly over the jacket pocket that held his screwdriver. "I do," he promised.
And then he immediately went in search of Rose. "I've done something ridiculous," he told her.
"Like what now?" she asked, looking unconcerned. She was in the middle of painting her toenails.
"I told Athena she could sit with Madrid while I..."
Rose looked up at him. "Really?"
"She...I don't know, it seemed like she might want to, and I thought...It's mad, right? I shouldn't let her."
"No." Rose was thoughtful.
"I think it's too much for her. It's going to be traumatic."
"Doctor, two years ago she watched a friend get eaten by a giant slug. That was traumatic. I think it will be good for Athena, to see that death isn't always like that. I think maybe she needs that. See? These are your good parenting instincts. You should trust them. We should ask the other kids if they want to sit with Madrid, too, when it happens."
And so they put the offer to the other kids. Fortuna considered but said she really didn't want to, especially if Athena didn't mind, and since Athena didn't mind, that settled it. Brem took several days to think it over, before finally deciding against.
"Brem is actually who I'm most worried about," Rose commented one night, abruptly, when he was tinkering next to the bed and she was supposed to be sleeping.
"Why?" he asked, distracted, but her answer stilled him.
"Because he's the one who's the most like you."
********
The Doctor was sitting in the chair he usually sat in, in the library, his eyes fastened on Madrid, who was lying on her side in front of the fireplace, breathing a bit shallowly. She was not sleeping. Her eyes were open and seemed to be fastened onto his. Seville was curled up close next to her, and the Doctor was waiting for Seville to move.
Because it was time.
Which was what Rose said when she walked in to discover them sitting like that. "It's time, isn't it?"
The Doctor didn't answer. He exhaled.
"I should get the kids," said Rose, where she was still standing by the door.
He didn't say anything, and she returned in a few moments with all three of them. She must have told them it was time, and that they ought to say good-bye, because Fortuna immediately went over to Madrid, knelt down, and whispered something in her ear.
Then she stood up and looked at her mother. "I don't..."
"Let's make tea, you and I," Rose suggested, holding her hand out, and Fortuna took it and they both departed.
The Doctor looked at Brem and Athena. Brem was staring at Madrid. Athena was watching the Doctor, looking, he thought, for guidance.
The Doctor's eyes flickered back over to Brem, and he made a sudden decision. "Let's give Brem a bit of time," he told Athena. "Go get that cuppa with your sister and your mum."
Athena obediently followed him out of the library, casting one backward glance toward Brem before the TARDIS clicked the door closed behind them.
Rose and Fortuna looked surprised to see them in the kitchen, but neither said anything, as they set out two more teacups and set about making the tea.
"Let it steep," Rose told the girls. "I've got to talk to your father for a bit."
The Doctor trailed after her, into the control room.
"What happened?" she asked, keeping her voice low in case kids might be eavesdropping.
"I dunno." The Doctor swiped a nervous hand through his hair. "I thought...Madrid was his dog, originally. He was the one who wanted her, and, much as she was our dog, she was also...kind of...his. I thought he might want..."
"Yeah," Rose agreed, softly, and nodded. "Yeah. I'll check on him."
She left the Doctor to have tea with Athena and Fortuna and went back to the library, where Brem was rubbing at Madrid's ears and murmuring to her, words Rose couldn't catch. The door had opened easily for her, but she knocked now lightly, and Brem looked up.
"Hey," she said, with a gentle smile, as she walked over to him. "How are you doing?"
"Fine," said Brem, and ruffled his hair.
"Yeah," Rose agreed, because that was how you dealt with Brem and the Doctor. You agreed they were fine while underneath you were both tacitly admitting they were disasters.
Brem took a deep breath, looking back at Madrid, and then leaning over and burying his face briefly in the fur of her neck. Madrid whined, and, as he drew back, lifted her head and licked his nose. He said something to the dog in Gallifreyan, then stood up hastily. "Good. I'm fine." He walked out of the room, as quickly as he could without looking like he was running, and Rose decided against going after him. Brem was at an awkward age, and Rose wasn't entirely sure what he needed from her at the moment.
Rose went back to the kitchen. Fortuna was telling the Doctor something about Ceylon versus Darjeeling, and Rose said, "Brem's ready," when Fortuna came to a break in her story.
The Doctor looked across at Athena. "Ready?"
Athena took a long sip of her tea, then nodded firmly. "Ready."
They left Rose and Fortuna in the kitchen, walking solemnly to the library, where the Doctor carefully picked up Madrid, jostling her as gently as possible. Seville, still hovering nearby, looked at him with what the Doctor imagined were accusing eyes, and the Doctor tried to ignore the gaze, carrying Madrid to the infirmary and setting her on the bed. Athena climbed up onto the bed with her, putting Madrid's head in her lap and cooing to her about chasing mydozz and things of that nature. The Doctor, readying his syringe, listened with half an ear, trying to focus and not fall to pieces in front of his daughter.
The syringe ready, he turned toward Athena and Madrid. Athena looked up at him, focusing on the needle.
"You don't have to--" he began.
Her eyes shifted to meet his, very stubborn. "I'm staying," she told him.
He nodded and turned his attention to Madrid, smiled gamely for the dog's sake. "Okay, girl," he said, and gave her one last scratch behind her ears. Madrid wagged her tail, and for a moment the Doctor wished he wasn't doing this himself, that they'd brought her somewhere where someone else could have put her down. And then he thought how much better it must be for Madrid, surrounded by people she loved and trusted, rather than terrified with some stranger next to her.
He took a deep breath and inserted the syringe. "So," he said, clinically, as he applied pressure, "she's just going to fall asleep and then..."
"Die," Athena finished for him, simply.
He did not look at her. "Yes."
"And it won't hurt her."
He withdrew the syringe. "Not a bit." He turned to dispose of it, then turned back to Athena.
Athena was stroking Madrid's head. She kept stroking her head, even as Madrid's eyes closed, as her breathing evened, slowed, and stopped. The Doctor stood for a few more minutes, watching Athena pet Madrid's head, then he went to sit behind her on the bed, and Athena leaned back, against him, still not relinquishing Madrid entirely.
"You were right, Daddy," she said, after a few moments. "It didn't hurt her." And then she turned her head against him and cried.
********
In the end, after some discussion, they buried Madrid in a cemetery in the town on Barcelona where they had gotten her. They came to a consensus that she would like being home, and they could visit the grave easily.
The kids didn't want to spend any more time on Barcelona than necessary, though, and, after burying Madrid, the Doctor relented and took them to Thhhhhhhhmyr for sweets. They sat and had the best ice cream in the universe on the porch of a little ice cream parlor, except for Brem, who took his ice cream and wandered away, off toward the bank of the small river the ice cream parlor was situated on.
Rose frowned after him. "I know he's upset, but the rule is no wandering off--"
"A rule nobody in the history of the TARDIS has ever obeyed." The Doctor glanced at his daughters, who studiously avoided his gaze and did not dispute the point. "Anyway." The Doctor popped the last of his ice cream cone into his mouth. "I'm going to go talk to him."
He could tell that Rose was uncertain whether or not this was the best idea. Rose was still trying to figure out if maybe Brem didn't need some alone time, didn't feel smothered by the constant closeness of his family around him. The Doctor, who could feel Brem in his head, had the great advantage of knowing that Brem felt smothered and lonely all at the same time. Also, because the Doctor had the great advantage of keenly understanding Brem's thought processes, he knew exactly what the issue was.
Brem was sitting on the bank by the time the Doctor reached him, sauntering slowly, and he looked up at him briefly. He, too, had finished his ice cream cone. He was simply sitting.
The Doctor sat without being invited, leaning back onto his elbows and squinting at the light on the water in front of them. The planet was remarkably like Earth, only with much better sweets.
"So," said the Doctor, finally, after a great deal of silence.
"That's what's going to happen to Mum," said Brem.
The Doctor had known, of course, that that was the issue, because it was the issue for him as well. He stared at the water for a long time. "Yes," he replied.
He felt Brem turn to look at him. "And that's okay with you?" he demanded.
"It's..." He met his gaze. "It won't be like that, Brem. It's not like I'm going to--"
"It's going to be exactly like that, because she's going to die. Exactly like that."
The Doctor opened and closed his mouth. "It'll be--"
"What? You think it will be better somehow? Like, maybe we'll be ready or something? Is that what you think?"
The Doctor didn't really know what to say. "I--"
"You haven't thought about it at all, really. You won't let yourself." Brem looked out over the water. "You'll leave it for me to deal with."
The words hit the Doctor with the effect of a physical blow, winding him for a moment. He stared at Brem's profile, remembering the four-year-old he'd forced into saving Rose the first time around, and he wondered suddenly if his son was absolutely right. "No, I won't," he protested, sitting up, but his mouth was abruptly dry with panic that this had been his plan all along: Ignore it, and eventually somebody else might clean up the mess it left behind.
"You will," Brem sighed, in resignation. "It's fine. You will. I just...It's going to be exactly like this, only worse. Only so much worse. And I don't know how..."
"Brem. I'm not going to...We'll get through it together, right? Isn't that how we do things? Together?"
Brem looked at him evenly, those secret-of-the-universe eyes unreadable. "Yeah. Together."
The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck and tried to figure out if he thought he believed Brem. Or, more importantly, that Brem believed him.