Chapter Text
“Right, you two, that's enough lying about. Time we got the rest of the ship turned off.”
Rose stared in shock and confusion as her restraints were removed, the disabled droids still frozen above her, blades out. Heart still pounding in terror, she bit back her disbelieving questions and demands for an explanation and forced herself to shift slowly off the table, gently working her burning muscles.
Mickey wasn’t anywhere near as subtle, groaning and grumbling as he worked out the aches and pains. The Doctor didn’t seem to notice, though, dashing around and chattering about thick robots and milometers and thirty-seven years. And her- Madame de Pompadour.
She inhaled quietly, trying to keep a firm hand on her roiling emotions.
So far, the Doctor didn’t seem at all bothered to find them strapped to a table with killer robots intent on hacking them to pieces. When he’d first arrived, seemingly drunk and uncaring, she’d thought that his indifference was a ruse, that he was trying to catch the robots off-guard before destroying them with the anti-oil. Only, now that it was over, he hadn’t even bothered to check them over. He hadn’t even asked if they were alright, if they’d been hurt, or anything. He always asked, he always cared. Or at least he had, and now he was acting as if they’d just had tea in the TARDIS and there was nothing to bother about at all.
He hadn’t even looked her in the eye.
When she thought of how different it had been before he’d changed, her throat closed with pain and looming dread. Before, he’d been frantic after every close call and determined to ensure she hadn’t come to any harm, blaming himself if she got so much as a scratch (and disguising it in a lengthy lecture on the evils of fragile humans wandering off).
And now...
She exhaled, forcibly pushing the thoughts away. So he didn’t have time to bother about her just now- they were in a bit of a tight spot, she told herself. There wasn’t time. That was all.
She swallowed.
Trouble was, that was hard to believe when he’d still found time to insult her for being angry about being strapped to a table while he’d been off partying with the king’s bit on the side. He’d had time to insult the robots and swish about being smug. He’d had time to make snarky comments about lazing about. He’d had time to rush about being pleased with his own cleverness and ignoring her as best he could.
He just hadn’t had any time to bother about her.
She pushed back the thought that Mickey might have been right with his earlier jabs about Sarah-Jane and Reinette and Cleopatra. She’d snapped right back, refusing to let on that she was worried in the face of his smug self-satisfaction but now, faced with the Doctor’s determined distance, his chatter a low buzzing in her ears, she couldn’t help but wonder.
Inhaling, she forced her thoughts back to their situation. They weren’t out of this yet, not by a longshot and she needed to stop dwelling on feelings and lifespans and the most accomplished woman in history and focus on what needed to be done. There was plenty of time to worry about things later.
And anyway, she told herself firmly, they’d be alright. They were the Doctor and Rose. They were always alright.
Weren’t they?
Determinedly, she pushed the painful rejection and confusion firmly to the back of her mind and tried to act as normally as possible, to play her part. She parried the Doctor’s comments, pretending that this was just another adventure and she was just fine and they were fine and everything was fine.
She swallowed her dread and her anger and played messenger to Madame de Pompadour, nails digging into her hands at the woman’s condescension and obvious dismissal of her. She buried the self-loathing at her own fumbling, disjointed, stupid speech to the other woman, for embarrassing herself in front of one of the cleverest (and, as she later learned, most snobbish, classist and selfish) women in history. Why couldn’t she manage to sound just a little bit clever? A little more coherent, instead of like an estate chav who’d barely learned to read and was just the dumb messenger, nothing more? And the worst part was that the other woman had seen it, and treated her as exactly that. A nobody.
In spite of all that, she dutifully tried to stop her from stepping through the time window in search of the Doctor. She even tried, in spite of her own worry and growing anger, to comfort her when confronted with the reality that her whole life was playing out in the blink of an eye for them, and that in spite of their best efforts (well, the Doctor’s best efforts, since apparently she wasn’t much use for anything except messages now), the crazy robots were coming for her and no one could do a thing to stop them.
She stood stoically by as the Doctor fumed in agonised impotence, firmly suppressing the roiling in her gut, telling herself again and again that she was making a mountain out of a molehill as the robots teleported to France to cut off Madame de Pompadour's head. She tried and failed to think of something, anything, to get them there in time to save the other woman.
And then she stood and watched in fury and disbelief as the Doctor rode a horse through a one-way mirror to rescue her, and left both her and Mickey (and the TARDIS ) to die on an abandoned ship, sometime, somewhere, in the future.
The gnawing in her gut became a gaping wound, and every feeling she had seemed to be seething in it because now, she couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.
The Doctor had abandoned her. After promising he wouldn’t. And he’d abandoned her for someone who’d barely been in his life a day, after all his talk of lifespans and living on alone, and curses and lonely Time Lords.
When what he’d really meant was that he just didn’t want to take the slow path with Rose.
He’d chosen to walk the slow path with Reinette, though, had thought she was worth it, worth the withering and dying and decay and he wasn’t coming back. Even if he somehow managed, by some miracle, to find his way back to her and Mickey, he wasn’t coming back.
Because he didn’t want her anymore, didn’t care for her anymore. Not the way he had before, he’d made that very clear.
New new Doctor, new new feelings.
The Doctor, her Doctor, was gone.
And everything they’d built together, everything she’d thought she could trust, every foundation she’d thought they stood on, was gone.
It was all crumbling, the confidence and sense of worth that her time with the Doctor had built and the waves of doubt and fear and despair they’d kept at bay were rising with every breath, higher and higher until she thought she’d suffocate.
It was all gone.
And maybe it had never been at all.
*************************************************************
“Right, this is you. Night, Mickey.”
“What, this it? Thought you was gonna give me the grand tour.”
“I showed you the galley and the infirmary.” Rose shrugged, not much caring how he took it. Not after how he’d behaved earlier, and how gleeful he’d been to tell her how out of the Doctor’s league she was. She was hurting and angry and heartsick and so bone-weary that she could barely stay upright. “No point showin’ you anything else, really. Things aren’t always in the same spot ‘cause she likes to move things ‘round. If you need something, you’ll find it. An’ you have a telly in your room.”
“Wait, what, the rooms move?” Mickey was baffled. “For real?”
“Yeah.”
“How?” he demanded.
“The TARDIS just...rearranges things.”
“What, the ship just does it?” He demanded incredulously. “Why?”
“‘Cause she wants to.” Rose shrugged.
“Wants to? You’re tellin’ me it’s alive?” Mickey squeaked. “You’re havin’ me on.”
“Think what you want.” She shrugged again. “You’ll see for yourself. And you better be nice to her or you might just find yourself missing things. Or miles away from everythin’ you need.”
Mickey swallowed. “For real?”
“For real.” Opening the door, she ushered him in. “Right, this is you. I’m off to bed. Night.”
“Night,” Mickey echoed faintly.
As she made her way to her own room, she heard him squeak “Nice TARDIS!”
Normally, she’d have laughed.
But nothing was normal now.
As she slipped inside her room, she closed and locked the door behind her for the first time since she’d come on board. Because for the first time since she’d come on board, she didn’t want to be found. She wanted to be alone.
“Please,” she said softly to the TARDIS. “Can you take it away?”
With a disapproving chime, the door disappeared.
“Thanks.” She kissed the nearest wall on the way to the bathroom and slipped inside, closing and locking that too.
Perhaps it was foolish, but she needed to be absolutely sure that she was alone. She felt so raw, so stripped to the bone that she couldn’t bear to see anyone- or have them see her. Not like this. Tomorrow, she’d have to deal with the others, would have to pretend, but for now, she just wanted to be, without having to put on a show to save face or pretend that she didn’t know that her time on the TARDIS was almost over. That the Doctor didn’t want her anymore.
She stood numbly, staring at her reflection, leaning heavily on the sink.
It had really happened.
He’d left her.
Oh, he’d come back to the ship, right enough, but he’d left her after promising he wouldn’t. After promising that he cared for her, after she’d almost thought he’d been going to say that he loved her.
“Imagine that happening to someone you-” he’d said, and she’d guessed, she’d hoped that he’d meant to say “someone you loved” before being interrupted by the Krillitane. He’d gone on about withering and dying, letting her think that he cared too much, that that was why he wouldn’t take the final step, why he wouldn’t let himself love her, be with her.
The worst part was, she was fairly certain he had loved her once. Angry and wounded, her first, war-torn Doctor had loved her in his own way, even if it wasn’t the way she’d wanted, the way she’d so desperately loved him. He’d cared for her, though and wasn’t shy about showing it, and treated her as though she mattered, as though she could do great things, as if she were someone special.
“I only take the best,” he’d said. “An’ I’ve got Rose.”
“I could save the world but lose you.”
“I’m so glad I met you.”
And then he’d changed. But he, that him, had loved her.
She’d questioned it, after he changed. Of course she had. She’d wondered if he’d really cared for her so much, because why hadn’t he told her about regeneration? Why hadn’t he trusted her with it?
But the new new Doctor had sworn that wasn’t it at all, that he’d thought she’d never have to deal with it in her lifetime and was afraid to tell her in case it was too much and he lost her, that he was so so sorry and he wanted her with him and didn’t she believe that he was the same man?
And she’d believed him, had believed that he loved her, that he was the same man, in spite of her own fears. Had continued to even after things had started to change.
And at first, he had seemed to care. He’d been even more touchy-feely than her first Doctor, had sought her out just as often for their usual time together, had seemed to revel in it...until New Earth and then suddenly things weren't the same at all. He hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t behind him, or that she’d been held prisoner in her own mind by a lunatic skin flap. He hadn’t gone looking for her when she’d been missing for hour s in Scotland, trapped with a werewolf and he’d had great fun telling all those people that she was a wild child he’d bought for sixpence. He’d been so cruel to both her and Sarah-Jane, acting as though she was selfish for being angry, for questioning him, when she’d realised that she wouldn’t even be a blip on his radar once she was gone, that he’d abandoned Sarah-Jane and left her stranded in Aberdeen without a second thought. When she confronted him, he’d given her a self-pitying spiel about withering and dying and promised that he’d never leave her.
As if she were somehow special, different.
She gripped the sink tightly, her rage entwined with shame.
Maybe, when things had started to change, she’d held on because she just hadn’t been able to face the fact her Doctor was gone. Maybe she was seeing something that wasn’t there anymore.
Maybe she’d held on because she’d wanted to keep believing that she was special, that she could do great things. That she really was worth something and her first Doctor hadn’t been seeing things that weren’t really there. And wasn’t that ironic? When, after Jimmy, she’d been so sure that she’d never let anyone trick her into thinking she was more than she was again, that if her feet were firmly rooted in reality no one could hurt her again?
She’d never told her Doctor about how Jimmy had treated her as if she was special, how he’d made her believe it, how he’d built her up and then, when he had her, had torn her down. He’d taken all that confidence and deliberately crushed it, mocking her when she tearfully questioned him, laughing that she’d ever believed otherwise, that she’d ever thought she was worth anything. He’d flung every desperate question and plea back into her face with cruelty and venom, taking immense pleasure in telling her each and every way in which she was nothing; her looks (“Haven’t you looked in a mirror Rose? Face that would make a dog howl!”), her body (“God you’re fat. Blooming heifer! Stop crying! You should be glad I want you at all!”), her mind (“Stop talkin’! God you’re stupid. Just shut up and let me do the thinkin’.”), her personality (“How the hell are you so boring? Why can’t you be more like Mandy Philips?”) and her dreams (“Course you won’t travel, you daft bint! You’ll stay here and work and look after the flat and that’s all you’re good for! Don’t you forget it!”).
No, the Doctor hadn’t known any of it, but he’d guessed enough, had spent so long building her up, telling her and showing her that she was special, teaching her and showing her things she never thought she’d see. He’d thought she was clever, had believed that she could do things, that she could make a difference. He’d even come looking for comfort from her, that night after Van Statten’s museum.
She’d fought him at first, had kept telling herself that it hurt less to stay on the ground than it did to have someone push you off the edge, that she was just an Estate girl, nothing special, hadn’t even finished school, a nobody by anyone’s standards. But slowly her first Doctor had worn away at that defensive armour, had slowly and patiently shown her how brilliant she was, how fantastic she was, and how highly he thought of her. When he’d burned and the new doctor had come, that terror, the thought of being rejected, of being found wanting had reared its head again but he’d sworn nothing had changed, that he still wanted her. And she’d believed him.
But today, he’d left her.
And now, for the hundredth time, she wondered if she hadn’t got it all wrong, hadn’t read too much into their time together. She wondered if the new new Doctor didn’t care about her the same way the first one had, and if maybe the first one hadn’t cared about her the way she’d thought at all. She wondered if the spiel about lifespans and everyone leaving him had been his way of gently putting her off without hurting her feelings (and ha! Wasn’t that the biggest joke, because now her entire being hurt) because he simply didn’t want her that way?
What if he made her leave? Was she going to lose her home now, too? Now that he didn’t want her? Would he just drop her off at her mum’s one day on a visit and then disappear forever, taking away the only thing she’d done that mattered, the only life she’d mattered, if only for a little?
Staring blankly at her reflection, she inhaled, knuckles white with tension as the seething rage and betrayal and disappointment and rejection brought up old hurts and memories still fresh. It brought back words that wounded and fists that bruised and warring, conflicting feelings of rage and wanting to confront him, to tell him that she deserved better than this, that she was worth something, and the urge to hide, to stay still, knowing that if she didn’t draw attention to herself, she might avoid that pain that followed.
She recognised the numbness that was fighting to drown out the other feelings, and she welcomed it. The numbness had always been her friend, had helped her get through, so she didn’t have to face the surging emotions that wore at her, the memories that hurt, both old and new, and the loss of love and self all over again.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, letting the blessed relief of numbness envelop her, remembering lessons hard-learned that some things, some feelings were too hard to feel and were better left alone, pushed into a corner of her mind and forgotten. It was so easy, too easy to embrace the emptiness, and push it all away.
Later, she’d deal with it all later. Now, just needed...quiet. Peace.
Opening her eyes, she mechanically stripped and tossed her clothes on the floor. She never wanted to see them again.
As she stepped into the shower, she clung to the numbness as she forced herself to face facts. The Doctor didn’t want her, her time was over and soon, she’d be left behind. He’d made that crystal clear today. If she wanted to stay (and in spite of everything, she did, because the TARDIS was her home, now, this life had become her life and she couldn’t imagine any other) then she had to act as though everything was normal. The Doctor didn’t want to deal with her emotions, didn’t care what she felt and if she made too much of a nuisance, if she told him off the way she’d wanted to, he might drop her off sooner rather than later and she couldn’t have that. She’d already lost her Doctor, her self-worth and the man she loved- twice. She couldn’t bear to think about losing the TARDIS, losing this life, too. If she wanted to keep it for as long as possible, she had to stay still, to blend in with the scenery and act as if everything were fine. She had to keep her distance from the Doctor, the way he wanted- friendly and distant. Not to get too close, not to ask for anything, not to be demanding,...that was the plan.
Stay still.
Flashes of what happened when she dared to move, to need, to stand up for herself, flashed into her mind and she pushed them ruthlessly back.
Stay still.
Don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
Blend into the background.
Switching off the water, she stepped numbly out of the cubicle and towelled herself dry. As she wrapped her hair, she stared blankly ahead for a moment before shaking herself out of it, and stepping into her sleep shorts and camisole. As she rubbed her hair dry, she noticed a small scratch on her collarbone. It looked fresh, and considering all the robot blades swirling around her, she was amazed that she’d come away with just the one small scratch.
It wasn’t worth bothering with now, and all she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and rest, safe from prying eyes.
Tomorrow...tomorrow she’d do what she had to stay on the TARDIS and keep her home.
Stay still.
She could do that. She had to do that.
Everything depended on it.