Fic: A Way Back (2/4)
Title: A Way Back
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Ninth Doctor/Rose
AU from end of Parting of the Way through The Christmas Invasion.
The Doctor doesn't regenerate after taking the time vortex from Rose. It doesn't mean he okay though, far from it.
Hurt/comfort and eventual Ninth Doctor/Rose
Heat and pain throbbed through every atom of his being, but if he'd had the energy the Doctor would have laughed and shouted for joy. He was alive and conscious: it was so more than he ever thought he would be again.
Opening his eyes was an effort and the dim light hurt, but the sight that greeted him was, he decided, reward enough. Sleeping in a chair by his bed, so wonderfully alive and stubbornly, brilliantly human was Rose.
Exhausted, but relieved, he slipped back into fevered sleep.
....
Worlds were burning, the final, terrible conflagration of time and reality. A funeral pyre of all the hopes and dreams of a thousand different species. And in the centre of it he stands motionless as the fire consumes him. But he doesn't die. He feels every flame dance against his skin, until it burnt away. It's his punishment. He's screaming.
The Doctor woke choking on fear, his hearts pounding so he could hardly draw breath. He was so hot. Was he still burning, he could feel the sweat running down his face, pooling in the hollows of his collar bones. Fearful, half expecting to see burnt and blackened flesh he forced himself to open his eyes and look at his hand.
There are no flames or scorched skin, just Rose gently placing a cool cloth on his forehead. "It was just a dream," she said, voice trembling. "Just another bad dream."
Without her make up, only faint traces of smudged mascara were left around her eyes, she looked so very young. And for a moment the Doctor considered that he might be imagining her. He discounted that possibility almost immediately: his subconscious didn't give him images that stilled emptiness and rage inside, not anymore, not after what he had done. He didn't deserve it.
"Rose." His throat hurt and it occurred to him that perhaps something of the screaming hadn't only been in his fevered mind.
Rose stared at him for a moment, then without a word held him tight.
He can feel her arms, her tears too, against his bare skin. She must have stripped him in a effort to break the fever that still raged through him. He's embarrassed for her, that she should have had to do something like that for him. He grateful though, stupidly pathetically grateful, and for a moment thinks he might even admit it. He swallows hard, his dry throat constricting. Just how ill was he that he'd no memory of it? Fearful, he asked, "How long?"
"A day, maybe a bit more," Rose replied, still holding him close. Then with a shaky breath she released him and wiped her eyes. "But you're back now."
"Be back on my feet in no time," the Doctor said, knowing that she was putting a brave face on for him. "Don't you worry 'bout me."
"I do though. Now you need to drink something." Rose picked up a mug of water and turned back to him. "So no arguing."
There was a finality about it that stopped him, realisation dawning. She needed this moment, to feel like she could control something, that she what she'd was doing was helping. He couldn't bear to take that away from her, so meekly let her hold the mug to his lips so he could drink.
....
As another day passed in an uncomfortable haze the Doctor came to the inescapable conclusion that the zero room wasn't helping. It had managed to stabilise him, so at least he wasn't actively dying, despite how awful he felt, but it wasn't healing him. The problem was the fever that continued to burn through him unabated. In moments when it dipped enough for lucidity to return he was aware that this was not how Time Lords were supposed to heal. When they were sick or poisoned they went cold, their core temperature falling down to near freezing if they could. Then they'd stay there for days, weeks even, ice cold and still, barely breathing while they recovered. Finally, when the process was complete they'd wake up, hungry and thirsty, but none the worse for the experience. Physically at least.
The Doctor tried to roll over and find a more comfortable position, but gave up with a groan as the deep-seated ache in his muscles flared into something brighter and sharper. Frustrated, he glared at the ceiling, until the lights seemed too bright and he was forced to close them.
He detested being sick. He'd had quite enough of a body that had been physically unreliable with he previous regeneration. One of the few things he'd actually liked about his current form was that it rarely seemed to get ill and when it did it recovered quickly.
He wasn't recovering quickly now, he thought miserably. He wasn't even sure he was recovering at all. Nothing seemed to cool him, neither the chill air of the room or damp cloth that Rose had placed on his aching head seemed to help. He tried to console himself with the thought that it couldn't go on forever, nothing did, eventually the fever would have to break. Until then however he would have have to endure it.
That however made problems of its own, as while he was reasonably confident whatever was wrong with him wouldn't kill him or cause any lasting harm - Time Lords were as tough as old boots when it came down to it - he could hardly expect Rose to take care of him all by herself. She'd been through more than enough. She'd already been exhausted from looking into the heart of the TARDIS, and taking care of him while he raved delirious and useless hadn't done her any good either.
If Jack had been there they could have taken turns, he could have helped her, got her to rest, but Jack was gone. The Doctor tried to force the thought away. The memory of the kiss and the look in his eyes before he left for what he knew would be his death was painful. He couldn’t allow himself time think about Jack yet. Brave, incorrigible, irrepressible Jack, who’d loved them both, who’d died for them both.
They'd not spoken of him yet. The silent knowledge of what he'd done for them uniting them in grief they had yet to release. That was yet another reason he needed to Rose home. As soon as she slept, he told himself, he would get to the console room, active the emergency protocol and the TARDIS would take them back to the Powell Estate, where Jackie and Mickey would be waiting to take care of her.
In the end he only had to wait another couple of hours before Rose told him she was going to take a shower. Getting out of bed and walking anywhere was a terrible idea, and he knew he certainly shouldn't be attempting to pilot the TARDIS, despite this he didn't see that he had any choice.
"I’ll rest once Rose is home," he told the TARDIS, as he stumbled through the corridors back to the console room. "So don’t fuss, I won't let anything happen to her, or you either."
The lights flickered, the neural circuits pushing him gently, trying to aid him.
The coordinates for the Powell Estate were still set as the previous destination, although he knew he would have to fine tune the final part of the landing. Couldn't have them arriving at the same moment he'd sent Rose home before. He was feeling bad enough as it was without causing temporal paradox by carelessness.
The landing was hard, and the Doctor was relatively sure they'd hit a couple of buildings on the way in, as the impacts had been enough topple him to the floor and then smack him soundly into the side of one of the coral supports.
Sore and dizzy, he used it to pull himself upright. Then, stumbling from column to pilar, he made his way to the door.
The chill air of London in winter hit him as he opened it, and the Doctor belatedly realised that he was still clad in nothing but his underwear. This fact however paled into insignificance as he found himself face to face with Jackie Tyler.
"Where are your clothes?" Jackie asked indignantly, shock rapidly turning to distrust and anger. "And where's my Rose? What you done with her?"
"Brought her home. Promised." The Doctor closed his eyes, fingers gripping tight to the door frame as he fought to stay conscious. "Safe. She safe now."
Rose shouted something from inside the TARDIS, but he couldn't make out the words over the rushing noise in his ears. Then for the second time in almost as many days the Doctor collapsed insensible to the ground.
TBC
Aiming to post on Sunday for part 3. And yes, there will be an AU take on the Sycorax Christmas episode, mostly in part 4. I hope nobody will mind too much that the whirly Christmas trees of doom and the deadly Santas will not be putting in an appearance.