Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC. I am just borrowing…
Note: This takes place immediately after Rise of the Cybermen.
He'd always had a special fondness for the human heart. He rather liked its simplicity of design. It was functional, relatively easy to repair, and, with a bit of care, could maintain itself for nearly one hundred years. It paled in comparison, of course, to his hearts; they were infinitely more complex than a human's and much sturdier. They seemed much less affected by emotion, too. Perhaps that was because he usually managed to suppress his deeper feelings, relying upon superficial expression of momentary whims rather than permitting himself to experience trenchant sentiment. Humans could be ridiculously emotional at times, and often he did not possess the patience to tolerate such behaviour. With Rose, though, it was different.
The Doctor knew that Mickey's decision to remain in the parallel universe had affected her deeply. She had lost a longtime friend and sometime lover, and his departure was probably only slightly less traumatic for her than his actual death would have been. The Doctor understood that Mickey would flourish in his new home, and his own feelings for the young man centered primarily upon happiness. But Rose felt only the loss.
The moment she had stepped inside the TARDIS, leaving Mickey outside in the wan London sun, he had known that she was already in mourning. When he'd wrapped his arms around her, he'd felt her human heart pounding against his own chest, emotion fueling the organ's function to a fierce degree. And there had been nothing he could do for her, no simple way for him to assuage her pain. The decision to take her to see her mother had been instantaneous, and he did not regret it.
Rose had spent that first night in Jackie's flat, and he'd told her that she could remain in London as long as she liked. She could call him when she was ready to leave. But this suggestion had been countered with a firm statement that she only needed the one night; she would be fine. Indeed, she'd seemed eager to be off on the next escapade.
So he'd taken her into the vortex while he considered which planet and time would please her the most. He hadn't anticipated the strain the journey to and from the parallel universe had put on his ship. Oh, she'd groaned a bit more than usual when they'd materialized near the Powell Estates, but he'd thought it was just a touch of fatigue. After all, the old girl had very nearly died. Coming back from something like that was bound to put a strain on anyone.
But once in the vortex, he'd realized that materialization would need to wait. The TARDIS was exhausted and required time to rest and recuperate. Spinning gently outside of space and time what just what she needed.
Rose understood, of course. She offered to help, but he told her that all the ship really needed was a respite. Truth be told, the Doctor felt that his human companion would benefit from the same. When they'd left Jackie's flat, Rose had looked tired; he had a strong suspicion that she had slept little that night. But she tried to smile and laugh at his jokes, and he forgot to think about her heart.
Sometimes Rose was able to forget about it, too. When the Doctor told her a wild tale about escaping pursuit from giant, stalking dandelion puffs by managing to scatter them all into the wind with a great exhalation of air, she giggled at the image that popped into her mind. When he taught her how to play Nruvean checkers, she put most of her mental efforts into beating him three rounds in a row, which, in retrospect was probably much too easy. When he showed her a book with pictures of his home planet, she was enthralled until she remembered that his home was gone, irrevocably and completely. Then her heart ached again.
For several days, she managed to be good company for the Time Lord during a large portion of her waking hours. She listened to his stories, played his games, drank tea and nibbled popcorn. But when she went to her room after many hours of wakefulness, she found that sleep eluded her.
The first night, she'd given up trying to sleep and had wandered back to the Console Room. But the Doctor had seemed worried by her presence, telling her that she needed rest as all humans did and shooing her back to bed. She didn't want to cause him any anxiety or give him any reason to think that she should be elsewhere, so she returned to her room to lie open-eyed upon the bed for much of the night.
The second night she'd had high hopes for slumber. When she'd left the Doctor, she'd barely been able to keep her eyes open. But once she lay down, she thought of Mickey, and when she closed her eyes all she saw was a severed cord dangling helplessly into a bottomless pit, and she knew that he was gone.
The ache in her heart crept up to reside behind her eyes, and it remained there, nudging her with dull pain for the rest of the night. Perhaps she slept for an hour, perhaps for two, or perhaps she really was awake the entire time replaying fuzzy images of Mickey in her mind. But each time she remembered a pleasant few minutes with him, a hollow-voiced, gleaming metal man would thrust its malicious silver hand into the tableau and snatch him away.
Rose made herself stay in her room until her clock showed that eight hours had passed. Less time than that and the Doctor might think she hadn't slept well. If he felt that she couldn't handle the recent events, he might decide to leave her, just as he had Sarah Jane. And she was not prepared to lose another friend.
Rose entered the console room with a smile on her face. The Doctor glanced up from the screen he was studying.
"Morning," she said in a cheerful voice.
"Morning, Rose. Sleep well?" The question was perfunctory; his attention was focused upon the screen.
He was sure that she responded in the affirmative, and he muttered something akin to "good, good," but his eyes were on the little figures flashing before him.
Rose walked up the ramp to stand beside him. "What's that tell you?"
"Basic power readings," he replied. "They're still fluctuating."
"So we still have t'stay here in the vortex?"
He nodded, only vaguely aware of the tinge of disappointment in her voice. She hovered next to him for several minutes as he tapped at keys and twisted dials. A movement of her hand caught his attention, and he lifted his head to look at her. She was rubbing at her forehead, but her hand dropped quickly once she saw his eyes.
"You okay?" he asked, suddenly realizing that she looked tired. Her eyes were dull, and there was a slackness to her mouth that he'd rarely seen before.
She smiled a bit too broadly. "Yeah, 'course I am. But I could use some coffee. How 'bout you?"
"Little bit of a caffeine addiction, hmm?"
She shrugged. "S'pose so."
"Then go get your fix. You can bring me a cup later, if you want."
"Sure, be glad to."
He returned his attention to the screens, barely aware of her slightly shuffling steps as Rose walked away.
The coffee did nothing to alleviate her headache. The niggling pain remained, even after two cups. Rose rubbed at her forehead again then set her mug in the sink. There was still some coffee in the pot, so she poured a cup for the Doctor, stirring in one spoonful of raw sugar, just as he liked.
She returned to the console room and set the cup next to him. He was sitting in the jump seat, lost in thought. He had that faraway expression on his face, and she debated for an instant whether or not to disturb him. However, when she reached his side, he looked up at her with a distant smile.
"Here's your coffee," she said. "Didn't mean to interrupt—"
He reached for the mug. "Sorry to keep you stuck here."
"I don't mind." She wanted to say more, to tell him that she was just glad to be with him, to know that he wasn't going to leave her, at least not here and now. Hell, maybe they'd be stuck in the vortex for a long time, and really that would be just fine with her.
Rose yawned.
"Not the most exciting couple of days we've spent, is it?" He grinned apologetically.
"No, it's not that—I'm not bored, really."
His smile vanished. "Tired then? Really, didn't you sleep well last night?"
"Fine, really." Rose didn't like the turn the conversation was taking so she took a step back. "Just need somethin' to do, an' that wardrobe room of yours could use some organization. D'you mind if I have a turn at it?"
"No, go ahead. I need to do some calculations anyway."
She walked down the ramp, purposely infusing her steps with an energy she didn't have. She waited until she'd stepped out into the corridor to rub at her forehead again.
He didn't see Rose again for several hours. She appeared in the doorway some time later bearing sandwiches.
"Thanks," he said as she handed him a hefty tuna salad on rye.
"Thought you could use it," she replied, sitting down next to him.
"Aren't you having one?" he asked between bites.
"Already did."
He nodded and took another bite.
"So what'd the calculations tell you?"
The Doctor swallowed. "Not much more than I already knew. But at least I was able to calculate her recovery rate. We should be able to land somewhere in…" He glanced at the bank of clocks beneath the console, "about thirty-five hours."
She nodded, and he thought her expression brightened a bit. Still, her eyes seemed to lack their usual lustre, and her smile was a bit tight.
"So," he continued, "you get a good night's sleep tonight, and by tomorrow evening we should be on…oh, I don't know… fancy a cup of Xochotal chocolate? The Xochotals brought the cacao plant to Earth in something like two hundred B.C., your time, when they visited South America."
"You're sayin' aliens are responsible for chocolate?"
"Yep. An' that's not all, not by a long shot…"
As he rattled on about the countless extraterrestrial sojourners who'd spent more or less time on Earth, he was only peripherally aware that she rubbed at her forehead whenever he looked away.
Rose dragged herself out of bed after another very fitful night. Her head still ached, and her eyes were terribly scratchy, but a good, long shower revived her enough to put on a chipper front when she greeted the Doctor an hour later.
He was studying the screens again, but this time he seemed much cheerier.
"Power's coming up," he told her. "It'll still be at least fifteen hours 'til we can materialize, but she's recovering nicely." He gave the console an affectionate pat.
"So, chocolate for supper?"
"Sure, whatever you want."
He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Now that could be a dangerous statement."
She smiled. "Danger's your middle name, isn't it?"
"Beats Marion."
She gave his arm a very light slap. "At least I have a name," she retorted.
He gave a mock humph then said, "Oh, I have a perfectly nice name, but believe me, if I told you it'd just make your head hurt—doesn't work too well on human ears."
Unconsciously, Rose rubbed at her forehead again. "Wouldn't want that," she said.
Suddenly his expression had grown serious, and he was looking at her pointedly. "Are you having trouble sleeping?"
She blinked at him. "No," she stammered, "I'm fine. I'm jus' gonna make some coffee."
She hurried down the ramp and out the door, hoping she'd managed to deflect any concerns he might have about her travelling with him.
He watched her go, suddenly very aware of how fatigued she looked. He hadn't really noticed until her hand had risen to her head to rub at her brow. She'd done that yesterday, too; he remembered in retrospect the little movements she'd made when she thought he wasn't looking.
The Doctor placed his hand against the console. He could feel the gentle vibration of the ship, a reminder of the life contained within her. She'd nearly died, nearly given up her entire essence, but somehow she'd managed to hang on. He'd coaxed her back from one tiny, tenacious circuit. But such a close brush with death was bound to leave some scars. No living thing could experience something so harrowing and fail to feel some lasting effects.
For the TARDIS, is was a loss of power, but she was strong enough to gather it back. All she needed was a little time and a little patience from him.
Humans, though, were a different story. Their fragile hearts and brittle minds could only endure so much. Sometimes the effects were more than transitory. Sometimes patience and time simply were not enough.
The Doctor sank down onto the jump seat and waited for Rose to return, his own hearts heavy as he understood what he had done.