Chapter Text
The first time it happened they were on a visit to the Powell estate. Rose was with Mickey and the pair had retreated farther into the flat to lounge in her room, leaving the Doctor to fend for himself in a conversation against her mum.
In the face of Jackie’s relentless chatter and suspiciously in-depth gossip, the Doctor could actually feel himself physically deteriorating. His time sense was ridiculously revved-up, making every second that passed especially grating. He quietly mourned the loss of trillions of cells in his body, celebrated the birth of new ones, and contemplated how much more time it would take until the sheer domesticity of it all would force him into his next regeneration.
He was reaching the fragile, frayed edge of his patience when Jackie traded the inane chatter for something even worse: questions. Increasingly personal questions. Not insightful, curious questions about relevant and engaging things like the kind Rose usually provided during their adventures, but useless, baseless questions that weren’t really questions at all. Such as: “You wanna tell me what you get up to in that blue box of yours?” and “How alien are you really?” and “I know how you feel about my daughter, Doctor, I’m not blind—do you honestly think you can hide something like that from me?”
They were all questions that gave the Doctor embarrassingly red ears and a horrific need to run, and if he held on for any longer, he would just end up sprinting out of the flat at full speed. So, without answering a single question, he got up, striding from the living room at an impressive pace. Upon his disruption Jackie leapt from her perch on the couch and shot him one last inquiry—”Where are you going?!”—sounding very, very offended.
That one he had to answer. He could feel it in the ghost of a handprint on his cheek.
Antsy, the Doctor just flashed her a grin and spit out an excuse about how he suddenly remembered having left the TARDIS oven on. He was leaving to get Rose because, for some odd reason, she was the only one able to turn it back off. And, oh, such a shame—TARDIS oven ordeals usually last a few days or so at the least. Imagine that!
“How convenient,” Jackie said, narrowing her eyes.
“You think?” the Doctor replied, feigning innocence. “Figured ‘inconvenient’ would’ve been the word.”
Jackie sighed, but she didn’t protest when he turned around for the second time. As he traveled the short distance over to Rose’s room, he could hear Jackie behind him, muttering something about rudeness and Martians from outer space. He didn’t comment because he knew she couldn’t possibly be talking about him.
The Doctor reached Rose’s room in no time and promptly burst through the door. It wasn’t locked, so he assumed he didn’t have anything to worry about.
He was wrong.
Laying on the bed, knees dangling off the edge, was Mickey, looking at the Doctor with a particularly harried and adequately startled expression. On top of him, straddling his sides with her hands wedged deep underneath his shirt, was Rose. She looked gorgeously flushed and her hair was slightly tousled, as if fresh from a physically demanding activity. Upon seeing the Doctor, the teasing smile that graced her lips slowly fell away.
He clearly caught them in the middle of something.
Distantly, the Doctor registered the odd sensation of his jaw dropping. Then his eyes locked on Rose’s and the atmosphere became super-charged, creating a catalyst that broke through their frozen states. The shock on Rose’s face rapidly dissolved into mortification.
“Doctor!” she cried, and her voice was panting, breathless. “We—me an’ Mickey, we were—”
The Doctor’s eyes fell from hers and rather obviously landed on her hands, still tucked underneath Mickey’s shirt and clutching at his bare skin. Rose followed the motion and blushed hotly, ripping her hands away before scooting back. Mickey, all of a sudden rather dazed, sat up, watching Rose and the Doctor with weary interest.
“It was just—” Rose began again, but the Doctor interrupted. This encounter was going places he really didn’t want it to.
“No, don’t. I… can… piece things together,” he said.
Her face went a shade almost as violently pink as her room. “It’s probably not what you think it is!”
“Never said anything, me. Sorry for, uh, interrupting.” The Doctor moved to close the door but Rose shot up from the bed and stopped him with a hand on the opposite doorknob and a very hard look.
“Really, Doctor. Not what you think, ” Rose swore.
Behind her, Mickey piped up, a smirk on his face. “Yeah, it might be worse.”
“No, don’t listen to him—”
“What? S’nothin’ to be ashamed of. And,” he added, biting his cheek to keep from laughing, “you looked like you were enjoyin’ it earlier.”
“Mickey!” she snapped. “Oh my god! Shut. It.”
He bristled. “Why? What do you care if he knows?”
“I don’t! I just—I just don’t like misunderstandings—”
“But why does this misunderstanding even matter?”
Rose’s grip on the doorknob tightened and she tore her eyes from Mickey to quickly glance at the Doctor. She opened her mouth to say something, but she hesitated for a second too long.
“Y’know what? Don’t answer that,” Mickey said, scowling. He flopped backwards onto the bed and stuck his arms behind his head, eyes fixed resolutely to the ceiling.
Rose deflated. “Mickey...” she sighed, trailing off.
The Doctor shifted in place. When he opened the door to Rose’s room, he had no intention of becoming the key to their little lover’s spat. It left him feeling itchy, with pinpricks of discomfort poking through his skin like little goosebumps. He placed a hand on Rose’s shoulder and leant in.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” he said. Rose reacted quickly, and, just as he was pulling away, she grabbed a fistfull of his leather jacket.
“Come off it. You’re not leaving until you tell me what you came in here for.”
“Not important, sorry. Just pretend I was never here.”
“Too late for that,” Rose sighed. “You ever hear of knocking?”
The Doctor spared a glance in Mickey’s direction. “Didn’t think it would be necessary.”
“A young couple shut up all cozy in a bedroom, Doctor?” Mickey asked, piping up again. He was still staring at the ceiling. “Thought you were some sorta genius.”
Rose let out a groan and buried her face in her hands. The Doctor opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly instead. Sensing the bitter undercurrent in Mickey’s tone, something equally bitter sparked up inside him. He decided he really didn’t want to hear any more of this.
“Think I’ll leave you two alone,” he said. Rose quickly lifted her head. She moved to stop him from leaving again, but the Doctor spoke before she could protest. “Just… Get back to whatever it was you two were doing. I’ll wait in the TARDIS.”
Concern creased her brow, concern that the Doctor immediately misinterpreted. He told her not to worry. He could wait. “Take your time,” he said. Then he paused, glancing at Mickey for the slightest second. “Though, with a bloke like him… Might not need it,” he added, under his breath.
Rose must have heard him. Her eyes widened and, just for a second, her grip on the door fell slack.
Later, the Doctor ignored Jackie’s questioning look when he stalked out of the flat without Rose in tow and ignored, much less successfully, his own churning thoughts. To keep from thinking about Rose, her idiot boyfriend, and why he, for some reason, loathed the thought of them in her bedroom alone, he settled in to tinker with the TARDIS.
He only had to wait a little over seven minutes before she met him in the console room, looking not the slightest bit pleased.
“Finished already?” he asked, weak against that childish part of him. She rolled her eyes.
“Oh, stuff it,” she sighed, plopping onto the jump seat.
Guess he was right.
The second time it happened they were fresh from Van Statten’s bunker and accompanied by a new, rather pretty, guest. Adam was what the Doctor would consider the presumptuous child prodigy type: steeped in supposedly above average intelligence and unaware of his own limited scope of the universe. He was cocksure, convinced in his own judgement. He wasn’t someone the Doctor would’ve personally chosen to serve as a companion, but he relented because Rose took an interest in him.
Oh, an interest… There was definitely some sort of subtext in that. The Doctor could see it in the way they drifted coyly around each other, smiling, voices low. He knew it. But everyone was tired and the adventure was over, so he decided to ignore it. It wasn’t his business and he really wasn’t in the mood to antagonize Rose’s new boyfriend. Yet.
The Doctor was more concerned about the Dalek; about what it did to him and what he almost did in return. Something in him shifted during and after the war. It changed him and while he, at least, acknowledged that, he didn’t notice how much he’d changed or precisely what he changed into until the Dalek escaped. He became rather hopeless—almost akin to a monster—in his loneliness and grief… Broken by the loss of his people, he was wrathful and unforgiving. Vengeful. Militaristic, in a way. He loathed guns and what they represented in every life he led, yet there he had been: ready to fire even as his precious companion defiantly stood her ground.
Rose saved him. She did the impossible: she showed a Dalek compassion, commanded it, and lived.
He risked the entire universe for her.
Back in the TARDIS, the Doctor figured that the best, and soonest, way to start shocking Adam off of his high horse was to let Rose give him a tour. With a dimensionally transcendental, absolutely beautiful, thoroughly marvellous time ship like his? Surely, Adam stood no chance. The boy was about to have his horizons broadened.
Rose disappeared down the corridors with Adam following dazedly behind, and once the Doctor could no longer hear their voices, he made his way to his own quarters. He hadn’t slept in weeks, really, and despite his best efforts his fatigue was finally catching up with him. He was overdue for a rest.
The Doctor managed to shed his leather jacket and remove his jumper before he heard conversation floating through the hallway and seeping into his room. Confused, he briefly consulted his knowledge of the TARDIS’s current layout. It didn’t make sense; his room was nowhere near any of the areas Rose had in mind for the tour. He should have been spared from their flirting for at least a few more hours.
That meant Rose either deviated from her plans or… or the TARDIS did some remodeling.
The voices in the hallway suddenly shifted in tone. They sounded lower, as if spoken in greater proximity to each other, and more… urgent. The Doctor felt himself tense. Adam’s voice was a murmur, placating, unintelligible yet insistent. Rose’s voice was harried, almost strained, bordering on breathless.
Were they really…? Outside the Doctor’s own room?
Yeah, no.
The Doctor quickly slipped his jumper back on and opened his door.
“Oi, you two, shouldn’t you be—“ he began, stepping out, but then his voice died as he took in the sight before him.
Rose stood braced against one of the coral pillars lining the halls of the TARDIS, a fresh, pink blush tinting her cheeks. In front of her, torso inches from her own, stood Adam, one hand on her hip and the other beside her head, bearing his weight upon the coral. Her own hands were against his chest, the position undeniably intimate.
Adam hadn’t noticed the Doctor’s entrance, even as intrusive as it was, so the Time Lord got to witness the young man’s hand snake higher up her torso, watch as he leaned in to whisper in Rose’s ear. His whisper made her shiver, his lips ghosting over her skin. The Doctor’s hearts grew cold.
Oblivious Adam. Foolish, arrogant, oblivious Adam.
It was Rose who noticed him first. As soon as she caught sight of the Doctor, surprise colored her cheeks a deeper red and she reflexively pushed Adam away, causing him to stumble off her with a comical oof and a confused look. Adam turned to follow Rose’s eyes and paled.
“D-Doctor, what’re—wasn’t your room…“ Rose stammered.
“No, ‘fraid not. It’s right here, apparently. Huh, fancy that,” he said, punctuating the statement with an obviously faked intrigued perusal of his surroundings. “And you two were… canoodling right in front of it. Great choice. Nothin’ short of amazing, that,” the Doctor frowned. “I could hear you right through the door. Wasn’t gonna say anything, me, but I was gettin’ ready for bed.”
“I—I’m sorry—“ Adam piped up, genuinely remorseful, but the Doctor waved him away.
The Doctor’s words were casual and reassuring, but his face looked… How would one describe it? Like the subdued sky before a rainstorm. A countenance as confounding and contradictory as the man himself.
“Oh, don’t worry! What am I, her keeper? Don’t let this daft old fool stop you. Do whatever you two want, but do it somewhere else,” he said. He intoned the last line with only an ounce more gravity than his usual amiable lilt, but Rose, clever and perceptive as always, caught it regardless. She bristled.
It must’ve been the fatigue, the Doctor thought. It must’ve been the ordeal with the Dalek, because he was having a harder time than usual accepting her galavanting off with some pretty boy tonight. It must’ve been her bravery, glistening golden in her eyes when she stood up to him earlier. It must’ve been the lingering memory of her arms around him, deep down in that bunker, soothing the bitter pain of the entire encounter, that kept him from maintaining that breezy indifference of his.
Did Rose see it? That blossoming, unwarranted jealousy of his? Could she see that careful shade of green in his eyes?
It must’ve been ugly.
Noticing Rose’s tense stance, the Doctor rapidly slapped a smile on his face and upped the ante on his façade.
“Well, sorry for ruining the mood. Selfish, me. How about you two get on your way—“ he gently nudged both of them forward with one hand each on either of their backs—“and I can get a couple hours rest. Sound good?”
Rose found her voice. “Doctor, wait, listen! I wasn’t gonna let Adam—“
Adam shot her a hurt look, and Rose faltered, the words dying upon her lips. The Doctor witnessed her momentary lapse and interpreted it as embarrassment.
“No need to be shy, Rose. You, Aiden, what’re you looking so down for? Don’t need explainin’ to, me, so go jaunting off all you like,” he beamed.
He’d gotten the guy’s name wrong on purpose.
Adam’s frown deepened and protests lay dogpiled upon Rose’s lips, but the Doctor pulled away, having shooed them far enough. He was quick to get rid of them, quick to hide, but he paused beside his bedroom door, one hand on the door knob.
When Rose turned around, perhaps to stop him once more, the Doctor flashed her a small smile. Exhaustion muted the blue of his eyes.
“Good night, Rose,” he said.
Her love life was none of his business, after all.
The third time it happened, Jack had been aboard for more than a few days.
Jack. Now, Jack was certainly something.
He managed to charm Rose, which wouldn’t be too terribly strange since he was most definitely her type, but then he managed to charm the Doctor too, and he definitely wasn’t his type. Jack Harkness, although very unconventional and by all means someone the Doctor would’ve gladly initially brushed off, proved himself to be a good man, a strong ally, and downright clever as well. Irritatingly flirtatious habits aside, he was a fantastic companion and a good friend.
He was the kind of man the Doctor knew would make Rose perfectly happy, and protect her, too. Give her that bit of adventure her free spirit craved while still keeping her safe. He was someone who suited her more than some barmy nine hundred year old alien, at least.
So it shouldn’t have hit him as hard as it did when he walked into them one rare, lazy Earth-hour afternoon, lounging in the media room.
It wasn’t like all the other times he’d walked in on Rose with one of her little human boyfriends. Those instances were dripping with hints of sexual frustration and dipped in improper quantities of proximity; they were clear indications of youth, textbook examples of what the Time Lords would’ve considered an aspect of their primitive, human natures. No, this… It was sweet. Singular in its intimacy, almost. Special.
Rose was sitting on the sofa, adorned only in fuzzy, animal-print pajama bottoms and a comfy old t-shirt. Her hair was clipped up carelessly in a low bun, and, right along with her, stretched leisurely across the expanse of their seat, was Jack, dressed down in his own borrowed jimjams. His head was cushioned in her lap and he smiled up at her, grinning salaciously. Undoubtedly, he was enticing her with another crude joke or compliment, and it must’ve been working because she was laughing her usual beautiful, brilliant laughter. She ran her hands through his hair with one hand as she jokingly, lightly, smacked his arm with the other. In front of them, on the TARDIS’s telly, some cheesy alien romcom from the seventy-sixth century tried its best to put on a show, only to be met with deaf ears. Caught up in each other, they hardly paid attention to it.
They only managed to snap out of it when the Doctor plopped himself on the armchair next to them.
They both greeted him warmly, smiles on their faces. The Doctor’s chest ached at their happiness, equal parts affection and melancholy, and he greeted them back. They looked like a pretty picture he shouldn’t have disturbed. Walking in the room, he was tempted to turn around, to pretend he didn’t see a thing, but at the same time, he wanted to stick himself right in. Wanted the image to shatter as much as he wanted it framed.
“Having fun, then?” he teased.
“You’re finally here,” Rose enthused. “Jack, tell the Doctor what you just told me. The story! C’mon!” she poked his cheek imploringly, and Jack chuckled, sitting up.
“Anything for you, Rosie,” Jack winked, before turning to face the Doctor and motioning him to lean closer. “This one’s a wild one, Doc, you sure you can take it?”
The Doctor sniffed, humorously feigning indignance. “You’re asking me?”
“Hey, playing it safe, y’know? Wouldn’t wanna arouse your fragile sensibilities,” Jack grinned.
Rose cut in. “You? Playin’ it safe? Jack, you’re almost as bad as the Doctor,” she chuckled. “Playin’ it safe!”
“Oi! What d’you mean as bad as me?”
Rose offered the slighted Time Lord a saucy grin as his only answer before she nudged Jack with her elbow. “Just do like you always do and dive right into it, Jack.”
“My, oh my, Doc, if I didn’t know any better I’d say our Rose is feeling pretty cheeky today.”
She dropped her head on Jack’s shoulder, chuckling. “‘M just happy, that’s all. Still laughin’ from when you told me,” Rose said. She peeked out, her cheek resting on the fabric of Jack’s shirt. “An’ excited,” she smiled, “to spend the time in together like normal mates for once.”
“We spend every day together,” the Doctor said, puzzled. He envied Jack for a moment, having Rose cling to him so casually, so comfortably. In his armchair, the Doctor was too far to effortlessly reach.
Rose lifted her head from Jack’s shoulder and shook it. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Doctor, runnin’ from near-death experiences every waking hour and collapsing on the grating when we’re back in the TARDIS is fun and all, but… Like, yeah, it’s gorgeous, the running, keeps me fit—“
“Very fit,” Jack nodded sagely, and Rose smacked him.
“—but sometimes I just wanna sit with you in front of the telly, yeah? Talkin’ and just… Enjoyin’ each others’ presence and all.”
The Doctor didn’t know what to say, so he defaulted to a more automatic response. “Sounds awfully domestic to me,” he said.
Rose scoffed, waving him away. “Oh, I just knew you’d say that,” she sighed. She didn’t seem all that upset, but it was clear that she bore just a hint of disappointment. “You get what I’m sayin’ though, don’t you, Jack?”
“Crystal clear, sweetheart,” Jack said. “Some R&R: rest and recuperation.”
“Yep,” Rose nodded.
“Humans,” the Doctor snorted, starting to feel a bit rejected. “Don’t you lot get plenty of ‘R&R’ every night? Sleepin’ half of your lives away, you are.”
“Rest and recreation, rather,” Jack amended.
“You never had a weekend in, Doctor?” Rose asked. “Where you just muck about in the TARDIS for a day or two?”
The Doctor frowned. Was this some sort of roundabout method of telling him they were tired? That they wanted to go back home? But, no, that couldn’t have been it. They enjoyed themselves on his ship, he knew that much.
“Why stay in when there’s an entire universe out there?”
“Well…” Rose trailed off, unsure of how to phrase her argument.
The Doctor sighed. “How’s this, then? I know a few resort planets. Popular hotspots in each of their galaxies, perfect for a vacation, and I can get us reservations. No problem. If you want to be layabouts, might as well lounge in a place worth remembering.”
Jack looked intrigued at the prospect, and one look told the Doctor that he’d won the man over. However, while Rose looked tempted, she bit her lip, still appearing uncertain.
“The TARDIS is a place worth rememberin’, Doctor,” she said.
The Doctor paused, eyes widening. “That’s—That’s not… She is. You’re right; unforgettable, my TARDIS, but… Oh, you know what I mean, Rose.”
Accidentally insulting his own precious timeship was the last thing he was trying to do. Give it to Rose Tyler, always seeing and hearing what he couldn’t. Even when it came out of his own mouth.
Still, Rose wasn’t satisfied. “Yeah, I get what you mean, but you don’t get what I mean. Time alone. Does that sound familiar?” She sighed again, leaning into Jack’s side. In response, however unconsciously, Jack draped a lazy arm over Rose’s shoulder. “Quality time together? Without all those distracting disasters the universe likes to throw at us for some reason?”
The Doctor eyed their intimate positions and felt something rotten rise within him once again. An unsightly sensation, growing increasingly familiar as the days grew by, cut into his skin from the inside out like small, prickly thorns. The Doctor never dared to let that weed of an emotion grow, never let it encompass the burnt, barren garden of his hearts, but it came close every time. Grown from the tiniest, most inconsequential seeds, the Doctor could only feel shame in their propensity to take root. Jack’s arm, draped so casually over Rose’s shoulder, almost like it belonged, and Rose, leaning into him with such picturesque comfort, provided the perfect nutrients for an ugly, bitter fruit.
It struck the Doctor then, that perhaps Rose was arguing for all of this as a means of requesting, as politely and discreetly as she could, the Doctor’s aid. Some alone time with the Time Agent. Some quality time with the man she loved, hidden away within the TARDIS’s winding corridors. Away from uncomfortable alien eyes.
The thought sharpened the thorns to a fine tapered point. It cut. It bled.
Yet it had no right to.
The Doctor nodded as if he finally understood and gently smiled. An idea came to light in his mind. “Of course it sounds familiar, Rose.”
Rose straightened, hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely! In fact—” the Doctor’s tone shifted, like he was a stereotypical salesman offering an irresistible deal—”why don’t we spend the next forty-eight hours right here? A weekend in. I’ll keep the TARDIS parked in the Vortex for just a little while longer,” he said.
“That’s great!” Rose beamed, bright and blinding.
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about, Doc!” Jack laughed. “I knew you’d get it.”
Rose scooted back, patting the unoccupied side of the sofa, free of Jack’s sprawled form. “C’mon, sit here,” she said, “let’s watch some trashy intergalactic telly.” Her grin was teasing and inviting, with a bit of her tongue poking through her teeth, and the Doctor almost wavered from his newfound resolution.
Ah, but Jack’s arm was still around her. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm upon her shoulder, following the upbeat pomp of the ignored romcom’s ending theme song. A nice reminder. The Doctor knew better than to deprive his golden girl of her desires.
“‘Fraid not, Rose. Maybe next time,” he said.
Her smile faltered. “Oh?”
“Yep, but don’t you worry. Just remembered I had a couple errands to run ‘round here for the ol’ girl.”
“Really?” Jack asked, sounding… skeptical. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“Well, the opportunity just never presented itself,” the Doctor said. “Now, I’ll just be on my way…“ He got up from his armchair to start making his way to the doors, but paused when he saw Rose and Jack rising too. He admonished them with a few stern tut’s. “Oh, sit down. I can handle them myself.”
“If they’re repairs, I can help—” Jack offered, but the Doctor shut him down.
“Been doing repairs myself for centuries, thanks. More than capable, me.”
“But—”
“Just keep cuddlin’ on the couch,” the Doctor chuckled, pushing them both back down with a hand on their shoulders. “I won’t be long. I’ll plonk this old bum down right next to you soon as I’m done.”
Rose hesitated. The Doctor could practically feel her suspicion himself, hear the uncertainty flickering through her mind. Luckily, it subsided.
“Alright…” she acquiesced. “Finish up soon, ‘kay? If you take too long, I’m makin’ you watch one of mum’s soaps.”
The Doctor shuddered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With one last word of parting, the Doctor waved good-naturedly and disappeared from the media room. He left the two newfound lovebirds perched on the couch, twin looks of unease plastered on their faces, but now… with plenty of time alone.
The Doctor lied through his teeth.
He had no plans of joining them on the sofa that twenty-four hours, or the next. He set an internal alarm, and for almost two full Earth days he was nowhere to be seen.