Fic: A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing 1/1
Story: A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing
Author: wmr wendymr
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Trish and Chloe Webber
Rated: PG13
Spoilers: All the way to Doomsday
Disclaimer: Yeah, I own them all... Oh, sorry, you mean I'm awake?
Summary: Rose Tyler, born 1986, died 2007. So how can she be alive and well in 2012?
With huge thanks and appreciation to christn7, who tore this apart and made me put it back together again - sorry that I couldn't do what you really want, but what do you expect when you keep killing Jack? :(
A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing
They’re strangers. Perfect strangers - never seen them before in her life, and no-one else seems to know who they are - and she let them into her house. Let them talk to her Chloe.
They could be anyone. They could be trying to hurt her, or even take her away. They could be blaming Chloe for what happened to those other kids.
Okay, he said he knew what he was doing, he said he was help, he seemed to know what was wrong with Chloe, but who is he?
He touched Chloe. He had her on her bed, his hands on her head, claiming that he was getting inside her head. Like hypnosis or something. He could have been doing anything, anything at all. He could have been brainwashing her. Abusing her. God only knows what he might’ve been doing.
And the woman - she was wandering around the house, snooping into things that aren’t her business. She could’ve been casing the place for a burglary. Anything.
Why? Why didn’t she at least ask for identification? Someone she could phone to check that they’re who they say they are?
The Doctor. The Doctor and... Rose, isn’t it? Rose Taylor - no, Tyler.
She whirls and runs upstairs. Chloe’s drawing again, of course, but for once she ignores her daughter, leaves her free to do what she wants. Yes, she might be drawing more people, but right now this is more important. Instead, Trish Webber sits at the computer, calls up Google and searches.
The Doctor. Over two hundred million matches. Right. That’s not going to get her anywhere very fast.
Deleting that search, she types Rose Tyler. Five seconds later, she’s staring at the screen, slack-jawed.
Rose Tyler is dead. Killed during the Battle of Canary Wharf five years ago.
It’s not a coincidence. The third link she clicks on has a thumbnail photograph. It’s black and white, the girl in the photo’s a bit younger and the hair’s longer, but it’s still unmistakeably the woman who was in her house just minutes ago.
Rose Tyler, born 1986, died 2007. So how can she be alive and well in 2012?
***
As they approach the house, she can see Trish standing at the window of Chloe’s room, Chloe in front of her with her mum’s hands on her shoulders. Chloe’s looking furious, but Trish doesn’t seem to care.
She nudges the Doctor. “Looks like trouble.”
He nods. “Try stopping a child doing something she wants - not easy. Not even Chloe’s fault, of course. The Isolus will be pushing and pushing, wanting her to draw more pictures, find more friends to stop it getting lonely. How can a simple human child resist that?”
True, but that’s what they’re here for now. The Doctor’s got a way to help Chloe. And, knowing him, the Isolus too.
There are footsteps on the stairs even before she knocks at the door. Trish flings it open, Chloe protesting and squirming beside her, unable to get away because Trish is holding her hand tightly. Trish looks accusingly at the two of them, tension in every inch of her body.
“Something wrong?” Rose asks immediately, about to step forward, her hand extended in... well, what she hopes Trish will see as a gesture of comfort.
Trish backs away. “You. You two. Stay away from us. Stay away from my daughter!”
Right on cue, Chloe jerks away, trying to pull free. “Let me go! I want to draw!” Trish’s grip on her tightens. At least that’s something. She’s acknowledging that Chloe - Chloe in the grip of the Isolus - is a problem.
“I’m sorry?” the Doctor queries. “We’re helping you. You saw that. Right now, Trish, I’m the only person who can help Chloe.”
“You left,” Trish says, “and I realised I have no idea who you are. All I know is what you told me. You could be anyone. So I looked you up. You -” She gestures to the Doctor with one hand, trying to keep Chloe still with her other. It’s a losing battle, Rose thinks, and she watches Chloe like a hawk, ready to run after her if she gets away, even if it means battling Trish.
“The Doctor,” Trish continues, her voice growing shrill. “What sort of name is that? Couldn’t find anything about you. So I looked her up. Rose. Rose Tyler, right?”
Hearing her name, she looks back at Trish. “That’s me.” Making her voice soothing, she adds, “That’s who we are, Trish. He really is just the Doctor. But I promise you he’s here to help. You can trust him, I swear.”
“Yeah?” There’s a wild look in Trish’s eyes now. “And who are you? Why should I trust you any more than him? If you’re really Rose Tyler, you’re dead.”
Dead?
No. It’s a mistake. Trish has got it wrong. She can’t be dead. Of course she’s not.
“You’re joking,” she says instantly. “Look at me. I’m right here in front of you. Talking, breathing, everything. I’m as alive as you are.” Trish is imagining things. Mixed her up with somebody else.
“You’re dead. I looked you up. You died in 2007. You and your mother - Jackie Tyler, right? There’s a photo. It’s you. So if you died five years ago how can you be here now?”
***
Rose died five years ago? And Jackie?
Beside him, Rose is disbelieving, shocked, her hand clasped over her mouth. And he - for a moment, he felt his hearts stop, an icy, clammy hand clutching them.
This isn’t how things are supposed to happen. She’s not supposed to die so young, that’s what Rose will be thinking - even if she always knew it could happen.
But, even worse, she’s not supposed to know how or when. And nor is he.
He always knew that he’s going to lose her, though he tries not to think about it. He didn’t know when, or how. And now he does, and that’s dangerous, in too many ways. Because Rose isn’t the only one who’s stricken by this discovery. She’s not the only one who’ll want to stop it happening.
But he’s the one who knows all the reasons why they can’t.
“2007?” Rose says, her voice a shocked whisper. “That’s... that’s now!”
“Well, technically it’s not,” he points out, pretending a lightness that’s far from how he’s feeling. “We’re in 2012. I did tell you that, didn’t I? But of course you know. The Olympics, remember?”
As a distraction, it’s useless, and counterproductive, too. Because he knows exactly what Rose means, and she knows he does. 2007. That’s her current timeline. That’s when they go back to whenever she visits her mum. That’s when they will go back to next time she wants to see her mum.
And that means she’s going to die some time in the next eight months - before the end of the year. Jackie, too.
Inside, he’s recoiling at the knowledge, part of him wanting to scream and deny it could be true; another part of him wanting - needing - to promise her, and himself, that he won’t let it happen. He won’t lose her. Can’t lose her.
She’ll never know what it’s costing him to hold those parts of him back.
“What are you two going on about?” Trish demands, but he ignores her. Right now, all his attention’s on Rose. Rose, who’s probably close to falling apart in front of him.
“You know it doesn’t work like that,” he tells her quickly. “I told you, remember? Cardiff, 1869? Time isn’t a straight line. Twists and turns all over the place -”
“So I can be born in the nineteenth century and die in the eighteenth. Yeah, got that, Doctor.” Her tone’s sarcastic. “But we’re in 2012 an’ I’m being told my death - and my mum’s - is already history. You gonna tell me that’s gonna change?”
“It can,” he says; it’s quite true, of course.
He could make it true very easily - he could simply not take Rose back to her time. Avoid the rest of 2007 completely. She could phone Jackie and tell her that she won’t be back until the new year. They can come up with some excuse -
“What happened?” Rose’s voice interrupts his plotting. It takes a second for him to realise she’s not addressing him.
“What d’you mean, what happened?” Trish is angry now, and there’s a biting tone to her voice. “2007. Big thing that killed thousands of people all over the world?”
Which, of course, will be why they were there, he and Rose - because, if she was there, he must have been, too. There trying to fix whatever this big thing was that killed thousands of people.
So, if they don’t go back, the consequences could be devastating. Yes, Rose will survive, but how many others won’t?
“Yeah, well, let’s just say I’m stupid,” Rose says. “I’ve forgotten. Remind me.”
“No!” he interjects, tone emphatic. “Trish, not another word! Rose, you know you can’t know this kind of thing. It’s dangerous, you know -”
“I watched my dad die.” There’s a shake in her voice. “ ‘M not gonna watch my mum die, too - even if I’m gonna die at the same time.”
He starts to reach for her. “Rose, you know -”
She ignores his words, pulling away from him. “Trish, where’d you find this?”
Trish shrugs. “I just Googled.”
“Let me see,” Rose says immediately, and there’s a vulnerability in her voice that makes him want to sweep her up and take her away, and do whatever he can to make sure this doesn’t happen.
“Rose -”
“I printed it out.” Dropping Chloe’s hand, Trish reaches into her jeans pocket and produces a crumpled bit of paper. Rose has grabbed it before he can stop her.
“Give me that,” he orders her, but she ignores him, scanning it, her hands shaking as she absorbs the information.
And then, as he reaches out to try to grab it from her, his attention’s caught by running footsteps. Chloe’s heading upstairs, and she’s got a fistful of pencils.
***
It happens at Torchwood Tower, wherever that is - oh, wait, Canary Wharf. There’s a date - about four months after the last time she saw her mum. And there were things all over the world that the reporter doesn’t seem to want to call aliens but sound like them.
Ghost shifts - ghosts? What ghosts? Silver metal men. And cylindrical things with laser guns. Cybermen and Daleks?
Oh, god, not Daleks again. That’s gonna kill the Doctor. He thought they were finally gone, didn’t he? And if there’s Cybermen too, where did they come from? Is there a John Lumic in this universe too?
And she and her mum are on the list of the dead, in London, at Torchwood Tower. There’s CCTV footage of them being there, along with an unidentified male - the Doctor? Oh, god. Does the Doctor die there too? Or regenerate again - no, if there’re Daleks, he’ll die die.
It’s definitely them. This is from the local paper, and they’ve listed everyone from the borough who’s dead or missing. There are photos for most of them. Someone must have gone into her mum’s flat, because their pictures are from photos that her mum kept on the sideboard.
...the valiant child, who will die so soon in battle...
The Beast was right, wasn’t he? And the Doctor told her that he lied. Was he lying, then? Did he know this was coming? Did he?
She’s re-reading, trying to absorb it all, because she’s finding it hard to focus on more than just the word dead and her name, her mum’s name, when lean fingers grab the page from her. “Rose, you can’t -”
She’s still digesting the shaky anger in his voice when, abruptly, he halts. As she turns to look at him, desperately seeking reassurance, seeking any hope that this won’t happen, can’t happen, that they’ll stop it, the page flutters gently to the ground.
The Doctor’s vanished.
Where -
Oh, god. “Chloe!”
Trish whirls. “She’s gone!”
“She’s drawing again!” Rose bites out, grief mingling with fury. “She stole him away. She took the Doctor!”
She’s trying to get into the house, but Trish blocks her way. “You’re not coming in!”
“Do you want Chloe to get better or don’t you? Because she’s just taken the only person who can help her!”
And the only person who can help her, too. The only person who can make sure that she and her mum don’t die before their time.
Trish is still standing in her way. “Well, if that’s true, why should I let you in? What good can you do?”
“Don’t know till I see what she’s done, do I?” She’s having to choke back a lump in her throat now, and her eyes are starting to burn.
“You still haven’t explained how you can be standing here if you’re dead!”
Her body’s threatening to give way. She slumps against the wall next to the door, her body sagging. “You really think that’s the most important thing right now? All right. Okay, if you really need to know. We’re time-travellers, the Doctor an’ me. What you just told us about... it hasn’t happened yet, not for us. You’ve jus’ told me I’m going to die a few months from now, an’ so’s my mum.” A tear finally escapes; she brushes it away, frustrated. She’s got to find the Doctor, and she can’t as long as Trish refuses to just listen.
Trish looks like she wants to laugh, but she’s staring at Rose. “Time travellers? You really expect me to believe that?”
Rose rakes a hand raggedly through her hair. “You wanna know the truth? I couldn’t give a monkey’s whether you believe it or not. Cause right now I don’t even care about me dyin’ soon. All I care about is getting the Doctor back, cause if I can’t get him back then no-one that Chloe’s stolen is gonna be coming back, an’ she’s gonna keep on stealing people until there’s no-one left on the planet. So are you gonna help me or not?”
***
Trish helps her. And, with a little bit of luck, some inspired guessing and help from the Doctor, too, even trapped within Chloe’s drawing, she figures it out. Finds the Isolus pod. Even works out how to launch it again.
Then it’s flying free, back into space, and the Isolus leaves Chloe. One by one, everyone who disappeared comes running back.
All except one. There’s still no sign of the Doctor.
He’s got to come back. He’s just got to. She can’t lose him.
And anyway, she knows he comes back. Once again, she re-reads the printout of the newspaper story.
...seen in CCTV pictures accompanied by an unidentified man.
Who else could it be? It has to be the Doctor. So he’s got to come back.
Time isn't a straight line. It can twist into any shape.
Maybe he doesn’t come back. Maybe he’s not with them at Canary Wharf. Maybe she’s stuck here in 2012. Which means... her history changes, and she doesn’t die. Her mum doesn’t, either.
But she’s stuck here, five years in her future, without the Doctor.
No. That can’t happen. It’s not gonna happen. The universe needs the Doctor. She needs the Doctor.
She’s waiting outside the TARDIS as the day turns to dusk, because she can’t bear to go inside without him. Sitting on the ground, her back to the panelling, the printout crumpled between her fingers, the tears she tried to hold back earlier now flow freely.
The footsteps have stopped in front of her before she’s aware that she even heard them.
“I’m surprised at you, Rose Tyler, letting me get away with sneaking up on you!”
Her head jerks up so fast she bumps it against the TARDIS. And then she’s scrambling to her feet and throwing herself into his arms. They close around her, the familiar wool of his suit fabric against her cheek, the faint scents of honey and oil and him surrounding her.
He’s back. He’s safe.
And, even if this does mean she’s only got a couple of months left to live, right now she couldn’t care less. The Doctor’s alive. She has him back.
***
She’s still holding onto that stupid, dangerous bit of paper. Hasn’t he taught her anything?
She can’t know her own future. He shouldn’t even know her future. Knowing it means they’ll be tempted to change it, and she’s already seen what can happen when she tries that.
As has he, just in case part of him might have been tempted. Is tempted.
He pulls back from her, sliding his hands to her shoulders. “Rose?”
Tear-streaked, reddened eyes meet his. Oh, he shouldn’t have delayed so long at the opening ceremony. Not with all this hanging over their heads.
Not that that’s why he delayed, of course.
“Yeah, Doctor?”
“Come on. Time we talked.”
She lets him lead her inside, her body tense, the weight of the universe on her shoulders. No, just the weight of the kind of knowledge no-one should have.
No-one should know the manner of their own death, or the time. No-one should know how much or how little time they have. And no-one, ever, should have to face the kind of temptation he knows Rose is wrestling with.
She hasn’t asked him yet, but she will. He only hopes that he’ll have the strength to answer the way he has to.
“Nice cup of tea, that’s what we need,” he pronounces brightly as they cross the console room together. “Tea, an’ maybe some of those cakes with the edible ball-bearings. Do we have any of those, Rose? Oh, well, we can make do with Jaffa cakes, can’t we?” he prattles on as she doesn’t respond.
In the kitchen, though, she takes over the task of making tea, her expression calmer, almost resigned. Then, when they’re sitting next to each other, both nursing mugs, she says, “I’m not scared of dying, Doctor. Never was, really. That’s not it.”
“I know you’re not.” Abandoning the tea he doesn’t want - it was only an excuse to get Rose to focus on something other than that... that blasted, accursed bit of paper - he reaches for her hand, folding his fingers around hers. “You were the calm one when I locked you in with the Dalek, weren’t you? And you came back to me on Satellite Five knowing you could die. Could never say you’re afraid of dying, Rose Tyler.”
“No.” Her fingers clench in his. “ ‘S not the thought of it. It’s knowing when - an’ how little time we got left.”
Exactly.
He’s about to spout some platitude about how nobody knows how long they have, but he looks at her. Really looks at her. The red-rimmed eyes. The tautness to her jaw, as if she’s exerting strict control over herself. The way she’s avoiding looking directly at him, which tells him that she desperately wants something from him - some words of real comfort, maybe even what he’s been expecting her to plead for, the promise that he’ll change things, make sure she doesn’t die - but that she won’t ask.
And he’s so very proud of her for that. She knows what he has to do and what he can’t do, and she’s not going to beg him to do anything different. She’s learned so much from him - and yet this is Rose as she’s been all along. This is Rose when he locked her in with the Dalek, when she told him not to save her at the expense of freeing the Dalek.
“Me too,” he tells her. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about too.”
“Really?” Her hand tightens in his again.
“Really.” Does she think he doesn’t feel exactly the same way she does? She has to know, surely, how the thought of losing her makes him feel. He’s shown her, hasn’t he? Even if not in words, definitely in actions. The way he held her, as if she’d disappear if he let her go, after she got her face back. Their desperate hug when they were reunited after he went down the Pit.
And he’s told her in words, too. How much it hurts to lose someone he... cares about. She must have known he was talking about her as much as about Sarah-Jane, or any other companion who was dear to him.
There are too many words he just can’t say to her - can’t say to anyone, really. But he can leave her in no doubt that losing her is unthinkable, that being without her is a prospect that fills him with dread.
He swallows. “What am I going to do without you, Rose Tyler? Who’s going to laugh at my pathetic jokes, or tell me when my tie looks ridiculous, or...”
“Or hold your hand,” she says softly.
“Yes,” he agrees.
He’d say more, too, but suddenly there’s a lump in his throat that just won’t go away. He can’t swallow it, and words won’t surface past it.
Instead, he silently reaches for her and gathers her into his arms. She comes, nestling against him, her face buried in his hair. He’s not sure which of them is more in need of comfort right now.
A long time later, she pulls back a little and says, “ ‘S not just me, Doctor. It’s Mum too. What if that’s my fault? What if the only reason she’s there is me? Do I get her killed?”
“Do I get both of you killed?” he counters, a dark note in his voice. “This is why it’s dangerous, Rose. This is why we shouldn’t know what’s going to happen. I should never have taken you into the future so close to your own time. This isn’t supposed to happen.”
“What’s not?” she asks. “Me dyin’? Or jus’ finding out that I’m going to?”
***
He’s not going to do anything to change her future. She knows that without him having to say a word.
He can’t. Laws of Time and paradoxes and tearing the universe apart and all that sort of stuff. She knows it in her head, even if in her heart she doesn’t want to admit it. She’s going to die. So’s her mum. And all they can do is let events overtake them and watch it happen.
“There’s nothing I can do, Rose. Not without risking...” He sighs, bowing his head and looking away from her for a moment. Everything he’s not saying is so obvious from the rigidity of his body, the tension in his arms around her, the tautness of his jaw. She knows he won’t do anything to change what’s coming - but she knows, too, that he wants to. That, too, if she asked him to, as she asked him to take her to see her dad, he’d try. He’d do it, for her.
And that’s why she won’t ask him. Because she knows what the risks are, the ones he’s not putting into words. She’s never thought that her life is worth more than the future of this planet, of the universe.
He turns back to her, and she can see the conflict in his eyes. His breath ghosts over her face as he sighs. “I’d risk a lot for you. More than a lot. I shouldn’t tell you that, but you already know, don’t you? But I can’t risk this.”
Holding his gaze so that he knows she means it, she says, “I know, Doctor. ‘S just... I needed to let it out, yeah? I know you can’t interfere.”
He nods, his eyes saying so much that he won’t ever be able to put into words.
“But we know, Doctor. We know what’s gonna happen. It’s all in that newspaper story. So how can we - I mean, because we know, it’s gonna change things anyway, right? We won’t be able to help it.”
Slowly, he shakes his head. “We know now, but we can’t keep that knowledge. You can’t know your own future, Rose. This is exactly why.”
Shaking her head - this doesn’t make any sense - she says, “But I can’t jus’... unknown it. ‘S in my head now. An’ yours, too.”
“I can.” He’s holding her gaze, and suddenly he’s every inch the Time Lord again. “I can make you forget.”
“But I -”
“I’m not offering you an option, Rose.” His voice is very serious. “I can’t let you remember. I’d rather do it with your permission, though.”
She’s about to argue - it’s her brain, her memories, her knowledge - but then a thought occurs. Ignorance is bliss. If he takes this knowledge away, won’t she be better off?
Of course, she knows, she’s always known, that some day something’s going to happen, to her or to him, and it’ll all come crashing down. But to know exactly when, and to be counting down the days and the hours until it happens...? Isn’t it better not to know?
She swallows. “Do it.”
He moves back from her, releasing her, and sits with his body turned towards hers. He’s reaching for her again, for her face this time, when she realises something else. “What ‘bout you? If you still remember, isn’t that just as bad?”
One brief shake of his head tells her otherwise. “I’ll make myself forget, too.”
She nods, and then his fingers slide to her temples, just as she saw him do with Chloe. He takes a deep breath, his gaze focused on hers. “Just relax,” he tells her. “Relax and focus on me.”
Despite herself, despite the emotion that surrounds them like a fog, she laughs. “Focus on you when you’re lookin’ at me like that? Not very relaxin’, Doctor.”
He hesitates, an arrested expression on his face. And then a gentle, even teasing, smile curves over his lips. “You know, occurs to me that I never got around to asking you - you, as opposed to Cassandra, though that was you, really. Well, sort of. A bit - whether you think I’ve still got it.”
She frowns. “Got it?”
He grins, and then his lips are on hers, the pressure gentle yet insistent, coaxing a response from her. She draws closer, leaning into the kiss, wanting, needing, longing for this, to know that she means more to him than someone who’s just here and now, that he’ll miss her, remember her, when she’s gone.
But it’s getting hazy, fuzzy, and moments later, her eyelids droop as, somehow, she can’t manage to keep them open any longer, and she slumps in her chair.
***
It’s done. She won’t remember a thing now; at least, not about what matters. What she’s not supposed to remember. Including that kiss. It would invite too many questions.
Now, she just thinks that he was stolen from her on the way back to Trish Webber’s house, and that when he came back she was waiting for him in Dame Kelly Holmes Close, carrying a cake with an edible ball-bearing.
It’ll do.
She’s asleep now. He stands, bends, picks her up and carries her to her room. Gently, he lays her on her bed.
Then he pauses and, instead of straightening, slumps onto the bed next to her, his hand trailing over her hair. Rose, this courageous, bright, shining young woman who’s saved him in so many ways since he took her hand in Henrik’s basement; she’s going to die. He’s going to lose her, and so very soon. Too soon.
She’s twenty, still so young even in human terms. Her life’s barely begun, and it’s going to be wiped out. Such a waste of a clever, amazing young woman who could have a brilliant future. Not that she needs to be famous, or to cure cancer, or save the universe - just to have a fantastic life, the way humans can and do. A life lived to the full.
But she won’t have that. She’ll never get the chance.
The temptation’s still there. He’s got the newspaper article now; he could read it, find out exactly what happens and work out how to circumvent it. How to save both Rose and Jackie.
He could. Of course he could. As he once blithely, carelessly, told her, he can do anything. But that’s not true - or it shouldn’t be. He can do things, but those things have consequences. He could save her, save Jackie, but what would be the result?
He can see time-streams, of course: all that was, is and could ever be, as she told him while she held the Time Vortex. He can’t see her future, or his, but he can see all sorts of other possible futures. If he chooses this path, if he interferes...
For a moment, he concentrates. The time-streams turn dark, forbidding, terrifying.
A recipe for disaster, if he interferes, lets himself change what’s to come. He can’t. The Laws of Time, the immutable principles he lives by and obeys, won’t let him - and it’s not just some extinct code of honour, that, but something that’ll come back and punish him, them, in ways he doesn’t even want to contemplate if he breaks that code.
Now, he’s the only Time Lord left. If he changes history, tweaks just so that Rose and Jackie Tyler live, there’s no-one but him to deal with the consequences. Last time, he couldn’t do it. It was only Pete Tyler’s sacrifice that saved him, and the planet.
With a shaking hand, he strokes Rose’s hair back from her face. So he’s going to lose her. And there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. All he can do is hope that what he told her earlier is true: that this is only one possible future. That their future isn’t yet written, and that it can yet change. That he might not lose her.
Slowly, he lets out a breath, still gazing down at her. A moment from his last life comes back to him.
All that matters is here and now.
They have here and now. They have however many months are left to them before, inevitably, they find themselves in Torchwood Tower and he loses her and Jackie. As many months as he can conceivably delay before they return to Earth.
Well, he’d just better make the most of them, hadn’t he?
Bending, he presses his lips against hers a second time, as he did in the kitchen, the way he’s imagined doing again ever since the first time, when he kissed her to save her life. One kiss, a farewell ahead of time knowing that he’s going to lose her.
He closes the door softly behind him as he leaves her room, heading to the console room where he’ll bury this knowledge somewhere unreachable, in the dustiest, most inaccessible part of his mind. Safer that way.
***
They’re standing surrounded by rocky cliffs, ancient creatures flying around overhead, and it’s beautiful and forbidding and awe-inspiring all at the same time.
He’s holding her hand, as he always does now whenever they’re side by side. They’ve become even closer still since the Olympics, maybe because of their separation (again), maybe because he’s letting down more of his walls - he did make that sudden confession about having been a dad once, after all.
Either way, they’re closer than best mates, even if what they really are to each other is undefined.
He turns to her suddenly, an intent expression in his eyes. “How long are you gonna stay with me?”
She looks back, tightens her hand around his and smiles. Does he even need to ask? “For ever.”
He smiles back, telling her with his gaze that it’s the answer he wanted to hear. For a long moment, he seems about to lean closer, to dip his head towards hers...
...and then, abruptly, he shivers.
“Doctor? You all right?”
He takes a deep breath. “Fine. Fine. I’m always all right.”
She shakes his arm. “Don’t lie to me, Doctor.”
He looks away, staring into the distance. “There’s a storm coming, Rose.”
A chill runs through her. Somehow, she knows he’s not talking about the weather.
He looks back at her, and the darkness in his eyes makes her shiver.
***
Weeks later, he’s entering two names on the list of the dead from what’s become known as the Battle of Canary Wharf. And a memory, half-buried, emerges fully.
You’re dead. I looked you up. You died in 2007. You and your mother.
A newspaper article, recording the two of them as dead.
But they’re not. Oh, she didn’t die after all. Rose didn’t die.
She’s alive. She’s so, so alive. Living her life day after day, a wonderful, brilliant, alive life in the parallel universe. A fantastic life, as he told her to oh, so long ago.
She’s not here. She’s not with him, here to hold his hand. She never gave him the forever she promised.
But she’s alive. She’s got a chance at that fantastic life. And that’s all that matters.
If you wanna remember me, then you can do one thing. That's all. One thing. Have a good life. Do that for me, Rose. Have a fantastic life.
Maybe there’s one last thing he can still do for her - and for him. Make sure she’s having that fantastic life.
And while he’s at it, he can say the goodbye they never had time for. The goodbye she deserves and he knows he needs to say.
All he needs is the TARDIS, a supernova and one final gap between the universes. And then to send a telepathic message. Child’s play for a Time Lord.
Rose. Rose...
end
Author: wmr wendymr
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Trish and Chloe Webber
Rated: PG13
Spoilers: All the way to Doomsday
Disclaimer: Yeah, I own them all... Oh, sorry, you mean I'm awake?
Summary: Rose Tyler, born 1986, died 2007. So how can she be alive and well in 2012?
With huge thanks and appreciation to christn7, who tore this apart and made me put it back together again - sorry that I couldn't do what you really want, but what do you expect when you keep killing Jack? :(
A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing
They’re strangers. Perfect strangers - never seen them before in her life, and no-one else seems to know who they are - and she let them into her house. Let them talk to her Chloe.
They could be anyone. They could be trying to hurt her, or even take her away. They could be blaming Chloe for what happened to those other kids.
Okay, he said he knew what he was doing, he said he was help, he seemed to know what was wrong with Chloe, but who is he?
He touched Chloe. He had her on her bed, his hands on her head, claiming that he was getting inside her head. Like hypnosis or something. He could have been doing anything, anything at all. He could have been brainwashing her. Abusing her. God only knows what he might’ve been doing.
And the woman - she was wandering around the house, snooping into things that aren’t her business. She could’ve been casing the place for a burglary. Anything.
Why? Why didn’t she at least ask for identification? Someone she could phone to check that they’re who they say they are?
The Doctor. The Doctor and... Rose, isn’t it? Rose Taylor - no, Tyler.
She whirls and runs upstairs. Chloe’s drawing again, of course, but for once she ignores her daughter, leaves her free to do what she wants. Yes, she might be drawing more people, but right now this is more important. Instead, Trish Webber sits at the computer, calls up Google and searches.
The Doctor. Over two hundred million matches. Right. That’s not going to get her anywhere very fast.
Deleting that search, she types Rose Tyler. Five seconds later, she’s staring at the screen, slack-jawed.
Rose Tyler is dead. Killed during the Battle of Canary Wharf five years ago.
It’s not a coincidence. The third link she clicks on has a thumbnail photograph. It’s black and white, the girl in the photo’s a bit younger and the hair’s longer, but it’s still unmistakeably the woman who was in her house just minutes ago.
Rose Tyler, born 1986, died 2007. So how can she be alive and well in 2012?
***
As they approach the house, she can see Trish standing at the window of Chloe’s room, Chloe in front of her with her mum’s hands on her shoulders. Chloe’s looking furious, but Trish doesn’t seem to care.
She nudges the Doctor. “Looks like trouble.”
He nods. “Try stopping a child doing something she wants - not easy. Not even Chloe’s fault, of course. The Isolus will be pushing and pushing, wanting her to draw more pictures, find more friends to stop it getting lonely. How can a simple human child resist that?”
True, but that’s what they’re here for now. The Doctor’s got a way to help Chloe. And, knowing him, the Isolus too.
There are footsteps on the stairs even before she knocks at the door. Trish flings it open, Chloe protesting and squirming beside her, unable to get away because Trish is holding her hand tightly. Trish looks accusingly at the two of them, tension in every inch of her body.
“Something wrong?” Rose asks immediately, about to step forward, her hand extended in... well, what she hopes Trish will see as a gesture of comfort.
Trish backs away. “You. You two. Stay away from us. Stay away from my daughter!”
Right on cue, Chloe jerks away, trying to pull free. “Let me go! I want to draw!” Trish’s grip on her tightens. At least that’s something. She’s acknowledging that Chloe - Chloe in the grip of the Isolus - is a problem.
“I’m sorry?” the Doctor queries. “We’re helping you. You saw that. Right now, Trish, I’m the only person who can help Chloe.”
“You left,” Trish says, “and I realised I have no idea who you are. All I know is what you told me. You could be anyone. So I looked you up. You -” She gestures to the Doctor with one hand, trying to keep Chloe still with her other. It’s a losing battle, Rose thinks, and she watches Chloe like a hawk, ready to run after her if she gets away, even if it means battling Trish.
“The Doctor,” Trish continues, her voice growing shrill. “What sort of name is that? Couldn’t find anything about you. So I looked her up. Rose. Rose Tyler, right?”
Hearing her name, she looks back at Trish. “That’s me.” Making her voice soothing, she adds, “That’s who we are, Trish. He really is just the Doctor. But I promise you he’s here to help. You can trust him, I swear.”
“Yeah?” There’s a wild look in Trish’s eyes now. “And who are you? Why should I trust you any more than him? If you’re really Rose Tyler, you’re dead.”
Dead?
No. It’s a mistake. Trish has got it wrong. She can’t be dead. Of course she’s not.
“You’re joking,” she says instantly. “Look at me. I’m right here in front of you. Talking, breathing, everything. I’m as alive as you are.” Trish is imagining things. Mixed her up with somebody else.
“You’re dead. I looked you up. You died in 2007. You and your mother - Jackie Tyler, right? There’s a photo. It’s you. So if you died five years ago how can you be here now?”
***
Rose died five years ago? And Jackie?
Beside him, Rose is disbelieving, shocked, her hand clasped over her mouth. And he - for a moment, he felt his hearts stop, an icy, clammy hand clutching them.
This isn’t how things are supposed to happen. She’s not supposed to die so young, that’s what Rose will be thinking - even if she always knew it could happen.
But, even worse, she’s not supposed to know how or when. And nor is he.
He always knew that he’s going to lose her, though he tries not to think about it. He didn’t know when, or how. And now he does, and that’s dangerous, in too many ways. Because Rose isn’t the only one who’s stricken by this discovery. She’s not the only one who’ll want to stop it happening.
But he’s the one who knows all the reasons why they can’t.
“2007?” Rose says, her voice a shocked whisper. “That’s... that’s now!”
“Well, technically it’s not,” he points out, pretending a lightness that’s far from how he’s feeling. “We’re in 2012. I did tell you that, didn’t I? But of course you know. The Olympics, remember?”
As a distraction, it’s useless, and counterproductive, too. Because he knows exactly what Rose means, and she knows he does. 2007. That’s her current timeline. That’s when they go back to whenever she visits her mum. That’s when they will go back to next time she wants to see her mum.
And that means she’s going to die some time in the next eight months - before the end of the year. Jackie, too.
Inside, he’s recoiling at the knowledge, part of him wanting to scream and deny it could be true; another part of him wanting - needing - to promise her, and himself, that he won’t let it happen. He won’t lose her. Can’t lose her.
She’ll never know what it’s costing him to hold those parts of him back.
“What are you two going on about?” Trish demands, but he ignores her. Right now, all his attention’s on Rose. Rose, who’s probably close to falling apart in front of him.
“You know it doesn’t work like that,” he tells her quickly. “I told you, remember? Cardiff, 1869? Time isn’t a straight line. Twists and turns all over the place -”
“So I can be born in the nineteenth century and die in the eighteenth. Yeah, got that, Doctor.” Her tone’s sarcastic. “But we’re in 2012 an’ I’m being told my death - and my mum’s - is already history. You gonna tell me that’s gonna change?”
“It can,” he says; it’s quite true, of course.
He could make it true very easily - he could simply not take Rose back to her time. Avoid the rest of 2007 completely. She could phone Jackie and tell her that she won’t be back until the new year. They can come up with some excuse -
“What happened?” Rose’s voice interrupts his plotting. It takes a second for him to realise she’s not addressing him.
“What d’you mean, what happened?” Trish is angry now, and there’s a biting tone to her voice. “2007. Big thing that killed thousands of people all over the world?”
Which, of course, will be why they were there, he and Rose - because, if she was there, he must have been, too. There trying to fix whatever this big thing was that killed thousands of people.
So, if they don’t go back, the consequences could be devastating. Yes, Rose will survive, but how many others won’t?
“Yeah, well, let’s just say I’m stupid,” Rose says. “I’ve forgotten. Remind me.”
“No!” he interjects, tone emphatic. “Trish, not another word! Rose, you know you can’t know this kind of thing. It’s dangerous, you know -”
“I watched my dad die.” There’s a shake in her voice. “ ‘M not gonna watch my mum die, too - even if I’m gonna die at the same time.”
He starts to reach for her. “Rose, you know -”
She ignores his words, pulling away from him. “Trish, where’d you find this?”
Trish shrugs. “I just Googled.”
“Let me see,” Rose says immediately, and there’s a vulnerability in her voice that makes him want to sweep her up and take her away, and do whatever he can to make sure this doesn’t happen.
“Rose -”
“I printed it out.” Dropping Chloe’s hand, Trish reaches into her jeans pocket and produces a crumpled bit of paper. Rose has grabbed it before he can stop her.
“Give me that,” he orders her, but she ignores him, scanning it, her hands shaking as she absorbs the information.
And then, as he reaches out to try to grab it from her, his attention’s caught by running footsteps. Chloe’s heading upstairs, and she’s got a fistful of pencils.
***
It happens at Torchwood Tower, wherever that is - oh, wait, Canary Wharf. There’s a date - about four months after the last time she saw her mum. And there were things all over the world that the reporter doesn’t seem to want to call aliens but sound like them.
Ghost shifts - ghosts? What ghosts? Silver metal men. And cylindrical things with laser guns. Cybermen and Daleks?
Oh, god, not Daleks again. That’s gonna kill the Doctor. He thought they were finally gone, didn’t he? And if there’s Cybermen too, where did they come from? Is there a John Lumic in this universe too?
And she and her mum are on the list of the dead, in London, at Torchwood Tower. There’s CCTV footage of them being there, along with an unidentified male - the Doctor? Oh, god. Does the Doctor die there too? Or regenerate again - no, if there’re Daleks, he’ll die die.
It’s definitely them. This is from the local paper, and they’ve listed everyone from the borough who’s dead or missing. There are photos for most of them. Someone must have gone into her mum’s flat, because their pictures are from photos that her mum kept on the sideboard.
...the valiant child, who will die so soon in battle...
The Beast was right, wasn’t he? And the Doctor told her that he lied. Was he lying, then? Did he know this was coming? Did he?
She’s re-reading, trying to absorb it all, because she’s finding it hard to focus on more than just the word dead and her name, her mum’s name, when lean fingers grab the page from her. “Rose, you can’t -”
She’s still digesting the shaky anger in his voice when, abruptly, he halts. As she turns to look at him, desperately seeking reassurance, seeking any hope that this won’t happen, can’t happen, that they’ll stop it, the page flutters gently to the ground.
The Doctor’s vanished.
Where -
Oh, god. “Chloe!”
Trish whirls. “She’s gone!”
“She’s drawing again!” Rose bites out, grief mingling with fury. “She stole him away. She took the Doctor!”
She’s trying to get into the house, but Trish blocks her way. “You’re not coming in!”
“Do you want Chloe to get better or don’t you? Because she’s just taken the only person who can help her!”
And the only person who can help her, too. The only person who can make sure that she and her mum don’t die before their time.
Trish is still standing in her way. “Well, if that’s true, why should I let you in? What good can you do?”
“Don’t know till I see what she’s done, do I?” She’s having to choke back a lump in her throat now, and her eyes are starting to burn.
“You still haven’t explained how you can be standing here if you’re dead!”
Her body’s threatening to give way. She slumps against the wall next to the door, her body sagging. “You really think that’s the most important thing right now? All right. Okay, if you really need to know. We’re time-travellers, the Doctor an’ me. What you just told us about... it hasn’t happened yet, not for us. You’ve jus’ told me I’m going to die a few months from now, an’ so’s my mum.” A tear finally escapes; she brushes it away, frustrated. She’s got to find the Doctor, and she can’t as long as Trish refuses to just listen.
Trish looks like she wants to laugh, but she’s staring at Rose. “Time travellers? You really expect me to believe that?”
Rose rakes a hand raggedly through her hair. “You wanna know the truth? I couldn’t give a monkey’s whether you believe it or not. Cause right now I don’t even care about me dyin’ soon. All I care about is getting the Doctor back, cause if I can’t get him back then no-one that Chloe’s stolen is gonna be coming back, an’ she’s gonna keep on stealing people until there’s no-one left on the planet. So are you gonna help me or not?”
***
Trish helps her. And, with a little bit of luck, some inspired guessing and help from the Doctor, too, even trapped within Chloe’s drawing, she figures it out. Finds the Isolus pod. Even works out how to launch it again.
Then it’s flying free, back into space, and the Isolus leaves Chloe. One by one, everyone who disappeared comes running back.
All except one. There’s still no sign of the Doctor.
He’s got to come back. He’s just got to. She can’t lose him.
And anyway, she knows he comes back. Once again, she re-reads the printout of the newspaper story.
...seen in CCTV pictures accompanied by an unidentified man.
Who else could it be? It has to be the Doctor. So he’s got to come back.
Time isn't a straight line. It can twist into any shape.
Maybe he doesn’t come back. Maybe he’s not with them at Canary Wharf. Maybe she’s stuck here in 2012. Which means... her history changes, and she doesn’t die. Her mum doesn’t, either.
But she’s stuck here, five years in her future, without the Doctor.
No. That can’t happen. It’s not gonna happen. The universe needs the Doctor. She needs the Doctor.
She’s waiting outside the TARDIS as the day turns to dusk, because she can’t bear to go inside without him. Sitting on the ground, her back to the panelling, the printout crumpled between her fingers, the tears she tried to hold back earlier now flow freely.
The footsteps have stopped in front of her before she’s aware that she even heard them.
“I’m surprised at you, Rose Tyler, letting me get away with sneaking up on you!”
Her head jerks up so fast she bumps it against the TARDIS. And then she’s scrambling to her feet and throwing herself into his arms. They close around her, the familiar wool of his suit fabric against her cheek, the faint scents of honey and oil and him surrounding her.
He’s back. He’s safe.
And, even if this does mean she’s only got a couple of months left to live, right now she couldn’t care less. The Doctor’s alive. She has him back.
***
She’s still holding onto that stupid, dangerous bit of paper. Hasn’t he taught her anything?
She can’t know her own future. He shouldn’t even know her future. Knowing it means they’ll be tempted to change it, and she’s already seen what can happen when she tries that.
As has he, just in case part of him might have been tempted. Is tempted.
He pulls back from her, sliding his hands to her shoulders. “Rose?”
Tear-streaked, reddened eyes meet his. Oh, he shouldn’t have delayed so long at the opening ceremony. Not with all this hanging over their heads.
Not that that’s why he delayed, of course.
“Yeah, Doctor?”
“Come on. Time we talked.”
She lets him lead her inside, her body tense, the weight of the universe on her shoulders. No, just the weight of the kind of knowledge no-one should have.
No-one should know the manner of their own death, or the time. No-one should know how much or how little time they have. And no-one, ever, should have to face the kind of temptation he knows Rose is wrestling with.
She hasn’t asked him yet, but she will. He only hopes that he’ll have the strength to answer the way he has to.
“Nice cup of tea, that’s what we need,” he pronounces brightly as they cross the console room together. “Tea, an’ maybe some of those cakes with the edible ball-bearings. Do we have any of those, Rose? Oh, well, we can make do with Jaffa cakes, can’t we?” he prattles on as she doesn’t respond.
In the kitchen, though, she takes over the task of making tea, her expression calmer, almost resigned. Then, when they’re sitting next to each other, both nursing mugs, she says, “I’m not scared of dying, Doctor. Never was, really. That’s not it.”
“I know you’re not.” Abandoning the tea he doesn’t want - it was only an excuse to get Rose to focus on something other than that... that blasted, accursed bit of paper - he reaches for her hand, folding his fingers around hers. “You were the calm one when I locked you in with the Dalek, weren’t you? And you came back to me on Satellite Five knowing you could die. Could never say you’re afraid of dying, Rose Tyler.”
“No.” Her fingers clench in his. “ ‘S not the thought of it. It’s knowing when - an’ how little time we got left.”
Exactly.
He’s about to spout some platitude about how nobody knows how long they have, but he looks at her. Really looks at her. The red-rimmed eyes. The tautness to her jaw, as if she’s exerting strict control over herself. The way she’s avoiding looking directly at him, which tells him that she desperately wants something from him - some words of real comfort, maybe even what he’s been expecting her to plead for, the promise that he’ll change things, make sure she doesn’t die - but that she won’t ask.
And he’s so very proud of her for that. She knows what he has to do and what he can’t do, and she’s not going to beg him to do anything different. She’s learned so much from him - and yet this is Rose as she’s been all along. This is Rose when he locked her in with the Dalek, when she told him not to save her at the expense of freeing the Dalek.
“Me too,” he tells her. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about too.”
“Really?” Her hand tightens in his again.
“Really.” Does she think he doesn’t feel exactly the same way she does? She has to know, surely, how the thought of losing her makes him feel. He’s shown her, hasn’t he? Even if not in words, definitely in actions. The way he held her, as if she’d disappear if he let her go, after she got her face back. Their desperate hug when they were reunited after he went down the Pit.
And he’s told her in words, too. How much it hurts to lose someone he... cares about. She must have known he was talking about her as much as about Sarah-Jane, or any other companion who was dear to him.
There are too many words he just can’t say to her - can’t say to anyone, really. But he can leave her in no doubt that losing her is unthinkable, that being without her is a prospect that fills him with dread.
He swallows. “What am I going to do without you, Rose Tyler? Who’s going to laugh at my pathetic jokes, or tell me when my tie looks ridiculous, or...”
“Or hold your hand,” she says softly.
“Yes,” he agrees.
He’d say more, too, but suddenly there’s a lump in his throat that just won’t go away. He can’t swallow it, and words won’t surface past it.
Instead, he silently reaches for her and gathers her into his arms. She comes, nestling against him, her face buried in his hair. He’s not sure which of them is more in need of comfort right now.
A long time later, she pulls back a little and says, “ ‘S not just me, Doctor. It’s Mum too. What if that’s my fault? What if the only reason she’s there is me? Do I get her killed?”
“Do I get both of you killed?” he counters, a dark note in his voice. “This is why it’s dangerous, Rose. This is why we shouldn’t know what’s going to happen. I should never have taken you into the future so close to your own time. This isn’t supposed to happen.”
“What’s not?” she asks. “Me dyin’? Or jus’ finding out that I’m going to?”
***
He’s not going to do anything to change her future. She knows that without him having to say a word.
He can’t. Laws of Time and paradoxes and tearing the universe apart and all that sort of stuff. She knows it in her head, even if in her heart she doesn’t want to admit it. She’s going to die. So’s her mum. And all they can do is let events overtake them and watch it happen.
“There’s nothing I can do, Rose. Not without risking...” He sighs, bowing his head and looking away from her for a moment. Everything he’s not saying is so obvious from the rigidity of his body, the tension in his arms around her, the tautness of his jaw. She knows he won’t do anything to change what’s coming - but she knows, too, that he wants to. That, too, if she asked him to, as she asked him to take her to see her dad, he’d try. He’d do it, for her.
And that’s why she won’t ask him. Because she knows what the risks are, the ones he’s not putting into words. She’s never thought that her life is worth more than the future of this planet, of the universe.
He turns back to her, and she can see the conflict in his eyes. His breath ghosts over her face as he sighs. “I’d risk a lot for you. More than a lot. I shouldn’t tell you that, but you already know, don’t you? But I can’t risk this.”
Holding his gaze so that he knows she means it, she says, “I know, Doctor. ‘S just... I needed to let it out, yeah? I know you can’t interfere.”
He nods, his eyes saying so much that he won’t ever be able to put into words.
“But we know, Doctor. We know what’s gonna happen. It’s all in that newspaper story. So how can we - I mean, because we know, it’s gonna change things anyway, right? We won’t be able to help it.”
Slowly, he shakes his head. “We know now, but we can’t keep that knowledge. You can’t know your own future, Rose. This is exactly why.”
Shaking her head - this doesn’t make any sense - she says, “But I can’t jus’... unknown it. ‘S in my head now. An’ yours, too.”
“I can.” He’s holding her gaze, and suddenly he’s every inch the Time Lord again. “I can make you forget.”
“But I -”
“I’m not offering you an option, Rose.” His voice is very serious. “I can’t let you remember. I’d rather do it with your permission, though.”
She’s about to argue - it’s her brain, her memories, her knowledge - but then a thought occurs. Ignorance is bliss. If he takes this knowledge away, won’t she be better off?
Of course, she knows, she’s always known, that some day something’s going to happen, to her or to him, and it’ll all come crashing down. But to know exactly when, and to be counting down the days and the hours until it happens...? Isn’t it better not to know?
She swallows. “Do it.”
He moves back from her, releasing her, and sits with his body turned towards hers. He’s reaching for her again, for her face this time, when she realises something else. “What ‘bout you? If you still remember, isn’t that just as bad?”
One brief shake of his head tells her otherwise. “I’ll make myself forget, too.”
She nods, and then his fingers slide to her temples, just as she saw him do with Chloe. He takes a deep breath, his gaze focused on hers. “Just relax,” he tells her. “Relax and focus on me.”
Despite herself, despite the emotion that surrounds them like a fog, she laughs. “Focus on you when you’re lookin’ at me like that? Not very relaxin’, Doctor.”
He hesitates, an arrested expression on his face. And then a gentle, even teasing, smile curves over his lips. “You know, occurs to me that I never got around to asking you - you, as opposed to Cassandra, though that was you, really. Well, sort of. A bit - whether you think I’ve still got it.”
She frowns. “Got it?”
He grins, and then his lips are on hers, the pressure gentle yet insistent, coaxing a response from her. She draws closer, leaning into the kiss, wanting, needing, longing for this, to know that she means more to him than someone who’s just here and now, that he’ll miss her, remember her, when she’s gone.
But it’s getting hazy, fuzzy, and moments later, her eyelids droop as, somehow, she can’t manage to keep them open any longer, and she slumps in her chair.
***
It’s done. She won’t remember a thing now; at least, not about what matters. What she’s not supposed to remember. Including that kiss. It would invite too many questions.
Now, she just thinks that he was stolen from her on the way back to Trish Webber’s house, and that when he came back she was waiting for him in Dame Kelly Holmes Close, carrying a cake with an edible ball-bearing.
It’ll do.
She’s asleep now. He stands, bends, picks her up and carries her to her room. Gently, he lays her on her bed.
Then he pauses and, instead of straightening, slumps onto the bed next to her, his hand trailing over her hair. Rose, this courageous, bright, shining young woman who’s saved him in so many ways since he took her hand in Henrik’s basement; she’s going to die. He’s going to lose her, and so very soon. Too soon.
She’s twenty, still so young even in human terms. Her life’s barely begun, and it’s going to be wiped out. Such a waste of a clever, amazing young woman who could have a brilliant future. Not that she needs to be famous, or to cure cancer, or save the universe - just to have a fantastic life, the way humans can and do. A life lived to the full.
But she won’t have that. She’ll never get the chance.
The temptation’s still there. He’s got the newspaper article now; he could read it, find out exactly what happens and work out how to circumvent it. How to save both Rose and Jackie.
He could. Of course he could. As he once blithely, carelessly, told her, he can do anything. But that’s not true - or it shouldn’t be. He can do things, but those things have consequences. He could save her, save Jackie, but what would be the result?
He can see time-streams, of course: all that was, is and could ever be, as she told him while she held the Time Vortex. He can’t see her future, or his, but he can see all sorts of other possible futures. If he chooses this path, if he interferes...
For a moment, he concentrates. The time-streams turn dark, forbidding, terrifying.
A recipe for disaster, if he interferes, lets himself change what’s to come. He can’t. The Laws of Time, the immutable principles he lives by and obeys, won’t let him - and it’s not just some extinct code of honour, that, but something that’ll come back and punish him, them, in ways he doesn’t even want to contemplate if he breaks that code.
Now, he’s the only Time Lord left. If he changes history, tweaks just so that Rose and Jackie Tyler live, there’s no-one but him to deal with the consequences. Last time, he couldn’t do it. It was only Pete Tyler’s sacrifice that saved him, and the planet.
With a shaking hand, he strokes Rose’s hair back from her face. So he’s going to lose her. And there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. All he can do is hope that what he told her earlier is true: that this is only one possible future. That their future isn’t yet written, and that it can yet change. That he might not lose her.
Slowly, he lets out a breath, still gazing down at her. A moment from his last life comes back to him.
All that matters is here and now.
They have here and now. They have however many months are left to them before, inevitably, they find themselves in Torchwood Tower and he loses her and Jackie. As many months as he can conceivably delay before they return to Earth.
Well, he’d just better make the most of them, hadn’t he?
Bending, he presses his lips against hers a second time, as he did in the kitchen, the way he’s imagined doing again ever since the first time, when he kissed her to save her life. One kiss, a farewell ahead of time knowing that he’s going to lose her.
He closes the door softly behind him as he leaves her room, heading to the console room where he’ll bury this knowledge somewhere unreachable, in the dustiest, most inaccessible part of his mind. Safer that way.
***
They’re standing surrounded by rocky cliffs, ancient creatures flying around overhead, and it’s beautiful and forbidding and awe-inspiring all at the same time.
He’s holding her hand, as he always does now whenever they’re side by side. They’ve become even closer still since the Olympics, maybe because of their separation (again), maybe because he’s letting down more of his walls - he did make that sudden confession about having been a dad once, after all.
Either way, they’re closer than best mates, even if what they really are to each other is undefined.
He turns to her suddenly, an intent expression in his eyes. “How long are you gonna stay with me?”
She looks back, tightens her hand around his and smiles. Does he even need to ask? “For ever.”
He smiles back, telling her with his gaze that it’s the answer he wanted to hear. For a long moment, he seems about to lean closer, to dip his head towards hers...
...and then, abruptly, he shivers.
“Doctor? You all right?”
He takes a deep breath. “Fine. Fine. I’m always all right.”
She shakes his arm. “Don’t lie to me, Doctor.”
He looks away, staring into the distance. “There’s a storm coming, Rose.”
A chill runs through her. Somehow, she knows he’s not talking about the weather.
He looks back at her, and the darkness in his eyes makes her shiver.
***
Weeks later, he’s entering two names on the list of the dead from what’s become known as the Battle of Canary Wharf. And a memory, half-buried, emerges fully.
You’re dead. I looked you up. You died in 2007. You and your mother.
A newspaper article, recording the two of them as dead.
But they’re not. Oh, she didn’t die after all. Rose didn’t die.
She’s alive. She’s so, so alive. Living her life day after day, a wonderful, brilliant, alive life in the parallel universe. A fantastic life, as he told her to oh, so long ago.
She’s not here. She’s not with him, here to hold his hand. She never gave him the forever she promised.
But she’s alive. She’s got a chance at that fantastic life. And that’s all that matters.
If you wanna remember me, then you can do one thing. That's all. One thing. Have a good life. Do that for me, Rose. Have a fantastic life.
Maybe there’s one last thing he can still do for her - and for him. Make sure she’s having that fantastic life.
And while he’s at it, he can say the goodbye they never had time for. The goodbye she deserves and he knows he needs to say.
All he needs is the TARDIS, a supernova and one final gap between the universes. And then to send a telepathic message. Child’s play for a Time Lord.
Rose. Rose...
end