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If she was cursed, or the luckiest woman alive, Rose couldn’t tell.
Four hours after returning to Norway, and three hours into the zeppelin trip home, Rose finally hung up her phone. Perks of being a high-ranking Unit employee, she supposed. The dimension cannon project had been Unit’s pride and joy, and with it now completed, and the universe apparently saved, Rose supposed many of her coworkers had questions. Supposed was perhaps the wrong word- if the past two hours of phone calls and emails were anything to go off, she’d be a celebrity by the time she got home.
Rose was ready for a holiday.
The blonde let out a sigh as she surveyed her office for the day: a somewhat spacious bathroom with tilled white floors and walls smothered in sickly artificial pictures. The zeppelin Jackie had hailed was one of the best- so fancy, in fact, Rose had been undisturbed for the past good while. No one had bothered her as she scheduled meetings while perching on the toilet, dead eyes staring at herself in the mirror with the scrutiny of a particularly judgmental soccer mum. Had she always had such large bags under her eyes? Since when had the cut from jump six-two-eight started to look so pronounced? There had come a time, somewhere between jumps five-nine-four and three-nine-seven that she’d started to see the physical cracks of the past two years. They were a burden woven within her blonde hair and hung from her dated earrings.
Sitting wouldn’t help. If she was being entirely honest, Rose knew she probably could have left half of the past six calls until they touched ground, but the bathroom was strangely comforting. As if she had her own special world in here. But the longer she delayed the inevitable, the worse it would be, so Rose hesitantly got to her feet.
The harsh lights of the zeppelin floor greeted her as Rose tugged down her jacket and stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes briefly flicking to the arched canvas roof with it support beams like a skeleton’s ribs. Jackie had booked luxury with a capital 'L': instead of rows of matching chairs, this spacious deck of the zeppelin was lined with pods of dual seats separated by thin modesty curtains, with enough space to easily walk between them. While Rose was fairly confident the decks underneath were fitted with the standard bus-like seats, the chairs here were more like miniature beds, with plush red cushions big enough to support a small Slitheen. For a moment, Rose almost understood her mother and her newfound kleptomaniac ways.
Speaking of she- Rose spotted her mother sitting alone in the pod next to hers. Jackie had spread herself and her bags out between the two seats, leaving Rose and him alone next door. The older woman looked up as Rose approached.
“He’s been out for a few hours,” Jackie said in lieu of a greeting. “Think he’s doing the regeneration sleeping thing? Is this the regeneration thing again?”
Ah. It was time to think about the unthinkable man. Rose honestly had no clue what had decided to stay with them in the parallel world. He’d spoken like himself on the TARDIS, saved the world with his usual flare, and even sounded the way Rose had dreamed back on the beach. But that was just the thing: he’d sounded the way she’d dreamed. God forbid this was all some elaborate trick.
“Guess so.”
Jackie massaged her temples. “But there were two of them. So- so isn’t he a clone instead?”
A sour taste built in Rose’s mouth. A clone. If Rose was to make a list of the things she’d done to save the universe, to save him, she’d want to sleep for a month. And there was no way she’d live with herself if she’d done all that to be stuck with a copy.
Rose shook her head. “Don’t think it’s that simple.”
“How?”
“Regeneration,” Rose thought back to what she’d been told oh so many Christmases ago, “Regeneration s’ like changing clothes. So, his personality, his mind, his soul stays the same.”
Jackie tilted her head. “That’s what happened here, then?”
It had certainly looked like one. Before she’d been abandoned on the beach, the still-timelord Doctor had explained that this was the combination of Donna, a lobbed off hand and a messy aborted regeneration. The by-product had been a man with the Doctor traits: the guy inside the clothes with the soul and the mind, yet down one heart. So yes, in every considerable way, he was himself- the same himself she’d left behind three years ago, and as much as other one on the beach had been. But like the last regeneration she’d lived through, the logical (and frankly true) explanation felt like swallowing particularly boney fish: unpleasant, and hard to sit with.
“He’s still himself,” Rose replied. “In every way. S’ a regeneration, but less has changed. I don’t know what else to say.”
Jackie pursed her lips and hummed. Rose scowled in reply. “What?”
“You got a plan for facing him in there?”
“Yeah?” Rose said carefully. “Yes. Look, M’ not going to rush into any sort of relationship. We’re both a bit smarter than that.”
“Good,” Jackie replied, a little oddly.
Rose waited for a moment, then sighed. “What is it?”
Jackie shrugged. “I dunno. Guess I’ve just been through this with Pete, don’t want you to get hurt or anything. S’ good you wanna be friends first, we should have done that, but still…”
Rose went to purse her own lips, only to realize how much it made her look like her mum. There had been rough patches through Pete and Jackie’s relationship. Pete wanted a sophisticated partner, and Jackie wanted a scrapy entrepreneur, and even though they made it work Rose thought they’d never let the original version of each other go. No one wanted to say it, but little Tony was their way of trying to cling to each other, terrified of what would happen if they dared to stop and consider the crumbs left of their former lives.
Oh God. Was that going to happen to her?
“Just… you know it was a struggle between me and your dad, yeah? I don’t want that to happen to you to sweetheart,” Jackie sighed, looking twice as old as Rose felt.
No, Rose told herself. It wouldn’t, because she still loved him (assuming, of course, that the thing asleep next door was, in fact, the man she’d fallen in love with). But she was Rose Tyler, with calloused hands and tired eyes. Would he love that? Would they spend the next lifetime only talking about the glory days? Quietly wishing change on the other? How long could a relationship like that work?
Rose wrung her hands. “He changed before, and we handled that.”
“He changed before, but he stayed a timelord. He’s not that anymore,” Jackie tilted her head. “Look at the difference between your dad being a billionaire, and your dad being just a guy with a bunch of dodgy inventions.”
Rose gritted her teeth. The hard thing about Jackie Tyler was how often she was right. It had been Jackie who had sat with her through those empty days after they’d both become trapped in Pete’s world, who’d encouraged her to pursue the cannon, and who’d directed her to professional help when things had become difficult to bear. But Rose would be loathed if she was right here as well. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter that much. And we’re not like that. Never have been.”
Jackie opened her mouth, but Rose had just about had enough. With a vague wave, the blonde spun on her heels and firmly marched over to her seats. After a brief battle of pulling back the patrician and slamming it shut, Rose found herself face to face with him.
The droning fan outside seemed to fade away as Rose was met with dim lights and the faint smell of something buttery, a merciful spell cast in their private little pod. The seats were tilted back enough that they were practically a bed, taking up so much space Rose had to awkwardly balance to stop herself from falling over. A tiny side table had been arranged, or better wedged, in the corner of the small pod, with a glass of water and a plate with dotty breadcrumbs littering its top. Both armrests had been pulled up at some point, which, Rose realized, was to make way for the half-human hybrid sprawled over their seats.
He'd taken off his jacket at some point. Rose was hit with a fresh wave of DeJa’Vu: this was the position he’d maintained for the first few hours of his last regeneration, with his arms under his head and his mouth slightly open. His sleeves had been pulled up then, but his shirt hadn’t been so unbuttoned, and his shoes kicked off. His hair had been a tad neater as well, and he hadn’t had a hole in his sleeve. Rose supposed all that could be excused, they had just saved the world after all.
Rose considered sprinting back to her mother. Decided against it. Here, in the canopy of the zeppelin, she could ignore the horrible parallels between her mother’s life and the disaster she found herself in. At the very least, the low lights could probably hide her bags.
Slowly, as if she was approaching a dead animal, Rose tip-toed around the bed to a spot not allocated to the half-human. The mattress was warm and soft to the touch, and the cloth partitions thick enough that she could see nothing of the outside world. Only a few precious hand-widths remained between them as Rose sat, fighting a losing battle against jostling the man too much. Distance was important, Rose reminded herself as she arranged herself on her back: friends first, so she wasn’t like her mother, and their relationship didn’t dissolve. But she couldn’t help but watch him as she laid carefully on her back, like a toddler would watch a monkey in a cage.
He was still tall; about the same height she remembered him being on their first trip to Norway. Back then, the Doctor had claimed he was as tall as his Ninth self, though Rose always thought he shrunk half a foot. They’d bickered over it relentlessly, to the point that calling the Doctor short had been enough to start a five-minute rant about the ins-and-outs of the regeneration lottery. Rose had seen a few of his past bodies in a collection of old photographs, and promptly called them short too. Would this one feel the same? Rose wasn’t entirely sure, though a voice (sounding an awful lot like her mother) whispered that bringing up past regenerations with this one would be a mistake, at least for the time being.
The blonde tilted her head to better study his face. His freckles were the same, slightly splattered and a little ginger, though she’d never admit it. His hair was a little longer, and slightly more unkept, but Rose had always thought that he groomed himself less when she wasn’t there. Or maybe this new version just had longer hair. Maybe he liked longer hair. Maybe he liked many new things now, things that Rose wasn’t privy to, things that would only exasperate the crater Rose could feel cracking open between them; a little ironic really, for how close the man hovered near her.
So, he looked like himself on the outside, but what about internally? How much did losing a heart actually effect? Probably a lot, Rose realized. If he was really himself, did he still hate domestics? Carpets? Rose had a lot of carpets in her house, so would he hate that to?
Would he hate her?
Maybe. He was stirring. Rose watched him shift in his sleep, his eyes flicking open slightly.
“Rose?” Came a tiny voice.
Same inflection. Same slight sleep rasp. Same goosebumps where his mouth brushed the edges of her skin. But different Rose, for she didn’t have an answer for him.
And then, in the softest voice, he murmured, “Hello.”
And suddenly the same face, the same voice, the same bouncing around the TARDIS nine hours ago lined up- and it was him, it was the Doctor. The same Doctor who’d found her in shop basement, who’d stood with her when her father died, who’d been trapped with her under the black hole, who she’d jumped dimensions for. Not a clone, or a faded copy: he was The Doctor, as much so as the other one, and perhaps even a little more, because this time he’d stayed.
Rose could feel a slight prick in the corner of her eyes. She would not cry. She would not, but the Doctor was starting to blink his eyes open. Her Doctor, safe and sound. Finally, all the effort of the past few horrors felt worth it. He was here.
“M’ here,” Rose said quietly. She felt a pang of guilt as he yawned, exhaustion imminent in how his eyes adjusted to the light. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Rose,” The Doctor only repeated, and she could hear the smile in it. “You didn’t.”
He was himself, and was Rose was still Rose, but she was suddenly struck with the weight of the past three years, on top of her shoulders like a particularly fat bird. She could conceal the bags and scars, but there were other things no level of makeup could fix. She’d killed in the past few years. She’d done things that would make her old selves hair curl. And yes, the universe was saved, but at what cost? She knew her Doctor wouldn’t care about those regrets; he’d certainly seen worse in the time war. But, while she was still Rose Marion Tyler, she was now Rose Marion Tyler with the nightmares, and experiences, and dimension-jumping scars. Could he handle her like that? Would he want to?
“Good,” Rose said stiffly. She hesitated before adding, “Do you… do you need anything? Last regeneration was tea, right? I could try and find some of that.”
“M’ fine. Wee bit drowsy, but I suppose that’s to be expected. You- well I suppose us- humans and our funny energy levels.”
Despite it all, Rose’s lips twitched. “Sorry bout that.”
“Could be worse, I suppose,” The Doctor sighed dramatically, though his eyes were sparkling. “Slight ache in the upper shoulder- is that another human thing? Probably is. Teeth are the same though: that’s good, never really said it but it bugged me something awful last time.”
“Water? You sound like you need water.”
The Doctor paused, before gently propping himself up on his arm, the low zeppelin lights nothing in comparison to the shine in his eyes. Slowly, as if expecting some sort of rejection, he raised his free hand to gently cup her cheek, tilting her head towards him. Had the mere act of touching another always felt so monumental? Like stars colliding and breaking apart. “I’m okay. Promise.”
Rose had never needed the Doctor to save her- to some extent, she prided herself on that. And she still didn’t now. Her past was something she was getting help for (Jackie’s input, of course), and she was (slowly but surely) healing. But of course, it was a process. Rose had made her peace with how it would take time. And she knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel, but there was still a part of her, a rather irrational part but a part nonetheless, that was terrified he wouldn’t want a work-in-progress Rose Tyler.
Rose cleared her throat, “Cross your heart?”
“Cross my hearts- heart,” The Doctor’s lips twitched. “I want to start a counter for how many times that trips me up.”
Rose bit her lip, tilting her head slightly towards his palm. “I promise I won’t ask again, but that isn’t hurting you or anything, is it?”
“Nah,” The Doctor smiled warmly as he dropped his hand. Rose shifted to mimic him, laying on her own side with her arm carrying her weight. “Takes a bit more than losing a major organ to get me out of commission.”
“Guess so,” Rose murmured, going back to worrying her bottom lip.
The Doctor, as ever the expert in Roseology, must have noticed, for he gently reached for her hand. It hadn’t lost its hairs in the years they’d been separated, but it did feel a little thinner. Good lord, it was like that hand was both honey and fire in the way it lit against her own. That hadn’t changed; his hand had always given her the chills.
Pulling their hands between them, the Doctor maneuvered her fingers to gently press against his pulse point. His heartbeat was still true, and strong, and had that tell tail warmth that she’d come to know from him. The Doctor smiled at her. “See? I’m okay.”
“Okay,” Rose replied. The Doctor offered her a smile that was so gentle, so almost puppy-like, that it made her own heart do little flickers.
The Doctor squeezed her hand. “Tell you what, though, can’t wait to get to your flat.”
“Yeah?”
“Roof over my head and a bed to collapse on? Sounds great,” The Doctor winced, and glanced at her. “Course, if you want me to go stay somewhere else, that’s fine too.”
“Actually, I thought we might stay at mums for a bit. My flat is…not the best.”
“I don’t mind. Honest,” The Doctor watched her carefully.
“Good,” Rose replied. “Mum won’t mind either. Think she’s worried about you.”
“Jackie Tyler worried about me? This really must be an alternate universe.” The Doctor rubbed his eyes. “Rose?”
“Yeah?”
The Doctor’s eyes bore into her own, with the same intensity she’d known for so many years. “I’d really rather not be so far away from you right now.”
It was sensible to be platonic first, Rose reminded herself as the Doctor opened his arms to her. But it looked so warm, and she’d practically frozen for the past three years, so Rose did the unsensible thing and let herself fall into them. After all, this had always been their version of platonic.
The Doctors arms were as warm as she remembered and snaked over her waist perfectly. He generously donated his other arm to be her pillow, and Rose rewarded him by softly curling an arm over his side, his body a radiator against her own. Warm breath landed on her forehead, and Rose felt him murmur something incohesive into her hair, quiet secrets that she couldn't quite get to land in her ear. His hand flattened against her back, long fingers stretching up towards where her shirt melted away and neck began. Sunlight bloomed from where his finger gently tapped against her skin, almost absent-mindedly as they trailed up and down and up again.
“You know, I have five-hundred-and-six things I want to tell you?”
Rose felt her throat close over, because by God, this really was the Doctor. “That many?”
“At last count, yes,” The Doctor murmured, though his voice was torn with sleep. Rose felt his arm start to move before skimming up and down her back. His fingers bumped over each vertebra, slow in how they dipped up and down and up again. “Missed you. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Rose murmured to his throat.
“Are you okay?”
Rose nudged the column of his throat with her nose, her eyes flicking shut. In the most-casual voice she could muster, Rose answered, “Course.”
The Doctor paused, that tension washing over it again. Rose grimaced, the irrational idea that her own worries were infecting him flooding over her mind. “I know this is hard.”
“Doctor-”
“Rose,” The Doctor mimicked her tone warmly. The Doctor expanded his hand still moving up and down her back so that he could play with the ends of her hair. “I’m sure you’ve got questions.”
And that she did, but they all felt a bit too large for the zeppelin, so Rose could only reply, “Maybe. You answered them all the last time you did this.”
“This is a bit different, though.”
“Perhaps.”
“And if you don’t want me here-”
“Stop,” Rose pulled back to watch him. The Doctor’s eyes were somehow both as soft as butter and hard as ripe fruit, like he was both expecting a nice snuggle and to be promptly thrown out of the airlock. “I want you here. I do.”
“Even if I’ve changed?”
His words attested her in a way she could only express by nuzzling back against his neck. She hadn’t really considered that he’d be going through what she was, but of course he would be; they’d always been in sync with each other. “Even if you’ve changed.”
“Fantastic,” she could hear his smile. “Because I’m here for as long as you want me.”
“You’re not worried?” Rose bit her lip. “It’s been three years. You sure you still…”
“Still what?”
Rose squeezed her eyes shut, hating how tiny her voice felt. “Still want me?”
Silence. Rose waited, a tad mortified, as the Doctor’s arms tightened. “Oh Rose Tyler, of course I want you.”
“Because I’ve changed. You know that right? That I’ve changed?”
“If it helps at all, I have a little too.”
Suddenly, she was struck by a need to tell him everything: each battle, each death, each time she’d been faced with the possibility that she’d never see him again. But the words were too long and hard for such a sleepy moment, and perhaps deep down, there was still that part of her that didn’t quite know how to form them. So instead, Rose answered, “It’s been a really difficult few years, Doctor.”
“I know,” The Doctor’s arms tightened. “And I’m so sorry.”
“And I have changed,” Rose reiterated. “Cause I had to. It’s not all that pretty.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” The Doctor cleared his throat, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not leaving. No matter what’s happened, how much either of us have been through, we’re still Rose Tyler and the Doctor.”
“Even if I’ve got… I dunno, stuff now?” Rose winced, as if her words were painful to push out. A little awkwardly, she added, "Emotional stuff, you know? God, I'm bad at talking about it."
“Rose,” The Doctor said seriously. “Do you have to ask?”
Rose stared firmly at his collar. “Suppose not.”
“You know I’m here for you, no matter what, right?”
Rose felt her cheeks tinge red. God bless her, but Jackie’s voice still rung heavily in her ears, and Rose couldn’t help but add a quiet, “Doctor-”
“I’ll take you, stuff and all,” The Doctor replied instantly with perhaps hint of sap, but then again, he had always been one for the dramatics.
“Are you sure?”
“Always,” She could feel the Doctor pause, before purposefully adding, “We’ve got our forever, Rose. And I don’t know about you, but I’m here for the long haul. As long as you want me here.”
“I do,” Rose reiterated. The blonde paused, before gently shifting her head so she could just touch her lips to the hollow of his throat. The Doctor shivered, and Rose didn’t miss the steady exhale of breath that puffed onto her forehead.
“And if you ask me,” The Doctor added, sounding almost breathless, “Forever’s not a bad deal.”
“Forever’s a long time, Doctor.”
“I know, and I am so, so, glad it is,” Was his reply.
Rose swore she almost missed it at first, but the second kiss on her forehead resonated deep in her stomach. It was slow, and a little sloppy from sleep- Rose got the feeling that it was more about letting her know he was there than anything romantic. Rose buried her face in his throat in response, to let him know that she wasn’t going anywhere either.
“We could figure all of this out together, if you want,” The Doctor said softly, in that same casual tone he’d offered her a lifetime with back on the beach, like it was a clerk packing her bags at the mall.
“I do.”
“Good.”
And perhaps that was enough, because Rose wasn’t her mother. The Doctor knew her, he saw her, just as she was. And Rose saw him. Being with the Doctor certainly wouldn’t remove those scars, but at least he wasn’t running from them. And yes, there was the war, and the messy past, and the few unanswered questions surrounding exactually what their new normal was supposed to be, but at least they were together. Rose certainly wasn’t going anywhere.
“Forever then,” Rose decided with a yawn.
“Forever,” The Doctor murmured into her head. She could feel him growing drowsy as he placed a final kiss on her forehead, the movement rich with sleep. “Get some sleep.”
Her Doctor. Here. Safe. And whatever came, Rose realized as the Doctor cradled her closer, they’d have that. Rose whispered a gentle goodnight as she flicked her eyes shut, and let a warm sleep find her at last.