lostwolf | Acquainted with the Night

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Chapter 11. Life's Dark Cloud*

The Doctor stood in the middle of the lounge, his eyes squeezed shut, his whole body shaking with the force of his shock, his horror at the intrusion into his nightmares of Rose Tyler. She’d seen him, he knew, seen what he really was, the Destroyer of all things. He’d dreamt of the final stages of the Time War, of the burning and bloodied bodies of Gallifreyians’ ripped from time at Arcadia, of the final, hopeless act that had cast him into hell. In the midst of his torment, of the dream he had had so many times before, he had felt her caress, yielded to it unknowingly, mistaking it for the soothing solicitude of his TARDIS. Finding himself in her arms, cradled against her chest as he awoke, calmed by the steady beat of her single fragile heart, had been both wonderful and terrible. He’d clung to the hope, though, that she had seen nothing. And then she had spoken and he had known.

She’d seen everything, felt it, experienced it through his senses. It was laced within the tonal qualities of her voice, within the softness of her touch; knowledge, like spice, infiltrating everything, making her impure where once she had been untouched. He’d wanted her to stop, as soon as she spoke, because then maybe he could pretend, pretend that it hadn’t happened, strengthen his barriers, recreate the illusory façade he was normally encased within, but she’d pursued him, pushing, prodding at the angry sore of his memory until he had been forced to defend himself. He’d screamed, cried out, pushing, until finally she was gone. He was alone inside once more; his head echoed with it, just him and the vague tendrils of the TARDIS. No Rose. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes, finally able to deal with her, to explain to her, to apologise. The room was empty.

He blinked, ‘Rose?’ Silence, utter and complete, greeted him. ‘Rose?’ He stumbled to the bedroom, finding it empty. Panic was unfurling now, where was she? ‘Rose?’ A slight sound caught his attention and he turned, rushing back into the lounge area. ‘Rose?’ The sound came again and his fuddled brain finally identified it. It was a whimper. It was Sniff, his nose pressed tight against the crack at the edge of the hotel room door, one paw scraping against the heavy wood. And in a rush he realised, he’d shouted and it had not just been in his head. He’d shouted, sending out barbs in defence, trying to force her from him, force back the lingering redolence of her presence in his mind. He had shouted at her, screaming at the external in lieu of the battle within. He could only vaguely recall his words, but he knew that they had hurt; if he concentrated the air still sang with her pain. He’d told her to go and she had. She’d left him. His eyes flew to the window. Dusk. Curfew. Terrified, he almost ripped the door from its hinges in his haste to reach the hall. Sniff trailed after him as he sprinted for the lift, the little dog whimpering his distress as the lift descended to the foyer.

As the lift doors parted his mind was already stretching out, using the senses only Time Lord’s were gifted with, seeking the distinct presence of her within the time and space of the hotel, finding echoes of her path to the bar. She was no longer there, however. He looked back towards the exit from the hotel. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t have gone out there, not with curfew so close, not his Rose. It was dangerous, she knew that. But she wasn’t here so she must have gone outside. His mind ping ponged back and forward in futile repetition; she wouldn’t, but she was absent, but she wouldn’t. In desperation, his synapses fired, trying to find some purchase, some foothold against the icy precipice he seemed suddenly to be struggling to navigate. Surveillance. There would be a record of the last minutes, hours. How long had he stood in their room, insensible, locked in his skull? Not long, surely? He still had time to find her, before the curfew fell. Legs barely working, he forced himself to the comm point, swiftly hacking into the hotel’s security records.

His first frantic efforts yielded nothing and, to his chagrin, he had to go back further than he’d expected. The records slipped back nearly forty minutes before he saw her, his hearts calming at the sight of her, even if it was only her remembered image. She was emerging from the lift, scrubbing at her tears, seeking sanctuary in the bar. He watched her forlorn passage across the foyer, the pain writ in her skin, in the perceptible shake of her limbs, in the hand pressed against her chest. He watched as she stepped up to the bar, was given a bottle of wine and a glass, as she retreated into the depths of the darkened space. Then, to his alarm, she disappeared, finding a spot outside the monitored range. She was absent only for a few minutes, though, before she reappeared, securely supported within the embrace of a man. The Doctor felt ice settle in her chest as he watched the screen. The face of the man holding Rose was obscured, as was Rose’s, but it was clear from the way she clung to him, the way he held her, what their intentions were. Fingers biting into the metal of the comm housing, the Doctor watched them leave the bar, watched the arm tighten its grip round Rose’s waist, pulling her more tightly against him, watched Rose’s hand slip down the man’s back. He wanted to close his eyes but he forced himself to watch, to watch what his negligence he led to; only they did not do what he had anticipated, they did not leave for another room in the hotel. His back stiffened as they left the hotel.   Jealousy rose within him like bile, but so too did concern. She’d gone outside, where soon the Judoon would be hunting.

The Doctor rapidly scanned the rest of the security records, confirming that the couple had not returned. Which meant that Rose was out there somewhere. He swallowed down the bitter rage and sour self-pity that clamoured for attention, forcing himself to regain his parental role; he was her guide, her guardian, she was his responsibility. Even if she had been stupid enough to go off with a man she didn’t know he would save her because that was his job, even if that job meant he had to save her from herself.

The Doctor, Sniff at his heels, hurried to the hotel exit. The security guards were already in position but he did not even acknowledge the possibility of being stopped. Without slowing his pace, he grinned at them broadly.

‘Just popping out for some fresh air,’ he informed them, not waiting for an answer as he shouldered past them, knowing that they had no just cause to prevent his departure until the curfew began. They watched him though, as he strode to the fountain at the centre of the square. They were suspicious and ready to detain him if it looked like he was planning on skipping curfew. He lingered at the fountain for a moment, bending to pet Sniff, a study of nonchalance, not ostensibly watching them watch him, waiting for them to relax and drop their guard. He waited for less than a minute, feeling with his time sense the exact second that the guards looked away from him, that the possible time lines in which he escaped their pursuit multiplied into the infinite. In that moment he sprinted from the square, hurtling towards the nearest alleyway, needing to get lost as quickly as possible. Sniff scampered beside him, happy to run now that the heat of the day had past. Only as the Doctor drew to a halt just beyond the security guards’ line of sight did it occur to him he had no idea where to begin his search.

The Doctor had been walking for over an hour, systematically working through the streets of Babel, Sniff at his heels. The curfew had been in force for over forty minutes but he had yet to encounter the Judoon. They were in the outermost circle of the quarantined area and had not yet begun to infiltrate the ring he was searching. He’d found no sign of Rose, though if he was honest with himself he was not altogether sure what he was expecting to find. If the man she had left with had taken her to his bed they would hardly hang a hat on a door to alert him to their location. Not searching, however, implied defeat, acceptance of her conquest by another alien, and he had no intention of letting such thoughts have dominion in his head, so he stalked the streets, scanning with his screwdriver for human DNA.

He was entering the fifth circle when he heard it, the distinctive and terrifying sound of gunfire, both the primitive concussion of gunpowder driven projectiles and the fizz of energy weapons. The Judoon had forsaken their usual disintegrator guns; the bounty on the fugitives’ heads required bodies for public exhibition, as a warning against robbing prosperous planets. Their foes might not simply erupt into dust but they would be killed just as ruthlessly. And Rose was a potential target. Hearts pounding, lending strength to his legs, he pounded the streets, roaring towards the source of the sounds of battle. And then he saw her, her dress billowing behind her like a toreador’s cape as she ran, her hair a wild tangle around her head.   Sniff jerked forwards, only to stutter backwards, growling. The Doctor looked beyond her, the Judoon guard was gaining on her.

‘Rose!’ The cry escaped unbidden from his lips, even as it flew into the air he knew it was a mistake, wished that he could grab back the sound, but it was too late. Sniff growled once more as Rose turned her head, her eyes catching those of the Doctor for a spilt second. For that second he thought perhaps everything would be alright, and then the Judoon fired.

He saw the impact of the blast in the movement of her form. She arrested in mid step, arching forwards, her face twisting with surprised pain even as the energy bolt erupted through her chest, burning a hole where her heart should be. For a moment, a moment that burned itself onto his retina like a scar, she seemed to hover in mid air, a beautiful arrested leap of perfect grace, and then she fell. Like a puppet cut from its strings, she collapsed in upon herself. As the thud of flesh against ground reached his ears, he was already deaf to it; his world had ceased to have all sensation the moment the light had left her eyes, in the moment, as the blaster fire scythed through her chest, that her heart had been destroyed, in the moment that Rose Marion Tyler, gymnastic bronze medal winner, companion to the Doctor, sometime girlfriend of Mickey Smith, had died.

Chapter 12

* Title a quote from:
ROBERT G. INGERSOLL.

Love is the only bow on life's dark cloud.
It is the Morning and the Evening Star.
It shines upon the cradle of the babe,
and sheds its radiance upon the quiet tomb.
It is the mother of Art,
inspirer of poet, patriot, and philosopher.
It is the air and light of every heart, builder of every home,
kindler of every fire on every hearth.
It was the first to dream of immortality.
It fills the world with melody,
for Music is the voice of Love.
Love is the magician, the enchanter,
that changes worthless things to joy,
and makes right royal kings and queens of common clay.
It is the perfume of the wondrous flower -- the heart
and without that sacred passion, that divine swoon,
we are less than beasts;
but with it, earth is heaven
and we are gods.

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Date: 2008-03-06 10:04 pm (UTC)

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