Dangling Conversations
Summary: There's a strange man staring at Rose, and the Doctor thinks he seems awfully familiar…spoilers for Doomsday.
Disclaimer: The absolutely incredible Doctor and all associated companion, TARDISes (TARDISi? TARDISese? How in Gallifrey does that go plural?), and situations belong to, er, whoever owns them. Not me, in other words. Bugger.
The man was still staring at her.
He'd been at it for over an hour now—sitting on the side of the fountain in the middle of the Agranthian square with his brown eyes fixed firmly on her as she walked with the Doctor, perusing the stalls around the square's border. She might have been flattered to have his attentions—had been at first, because he wasn't at all bad looking with his eyes and his fair, freckled skin, and the whip-thin frame and brown hair all over the place—but then it had just gotten a little unnerving. She had almost told the Doctor about him—he couldn't half get protective—but something about the stranger had stopped her. The look he had, maybe—like his whole life had just been torn to shreds, like he was floating directionless. Lost. Lost and alone. She didn't really think she had it in her to give him another trouble, even if his eyes did need to go back in his face.
"You all right?" the Doctor asked, his voice coming from somewhere unnervingly close to her ear, and she jumped and turned. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
He looked singularly unconvinced, eyebrows raised skeptically. "Really."
"Yes!" she protested, not even fooling herself, and the Doctor looked about to see what could be troubling her. "It's fine, really—" Rose said as his gaze fixed on the man—dressed in a suit and a long brown coat, she noticed suddenly, that was odd—but the Doctor didn't go all protective on her. Didn't even glare—just gave the stranger a long, considering look.
"Go over there, Rose," he said suddenly, gesturing towards a group of booths with brightly colored clothes spilling out. "Entertain yourself. Try stuff on."
"No!" she protested, because whenever the Doctor wanted her out of the way it was no bet at all that he was about to do something she wanted to see—and then he turned and gave her a grave, serious look, and she bit her lip, then nodded. "Yeah, all right. Don't get into any trouble, though, you hear?"
"When have I ever?" he asked, giving her his best innocent grin, and Rose couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, right," she muttered, shaking her head as she walked away, her back turned so that she didn't see the Doctor's—her Doctor's—smile slip away as he walked over to where the man sat.
"What are you doing here?" he asked straight up, perching himself on the fountain next to the man but being careful not to touch him. The stranger took the same precaution, tugging his coat out of the way.
"Just…watching," he said, his smile heart-breakingly bittersweet. "Is that alright?"
The Doctor didn't say anything, just looking across the square to where Rose was grabbing clothes off the racks to try on. "How far away are you?"
"Next, actually," his companion said with a snort that was utterly devoid of all humor. "Bit of a shock, isn't it?"
"A bit," the Doctor agreed. "Why…" Why did you have to come here to see her? he asked silently. Where is she? What happens in just one regeneration?
"You know I can't tell you that," the next Doctor said. "Time—"
"I don't care about time," the 9th Doctor almost spat, rounding on his next incarnation with sudden anger. "I care about Rose. I would split time and space for her." The you should know was unspoken, and the 10th Doctor faced him squarely. "Would you? If it came down to it—would you really?"
"How long?" the Doctor with satellite-ears and leather jacket asked his counterpart after a long pause, the same anguish in his voice as had been—still was—in his next regeneration's. Well, almost the same. He hadn't yet been through the experience, and even anticipating it could never destroy him as much as the actual event.
"Not nearly enough," the 10th Doctor answered softly. "Never enough."
"With her, it never could be, could it?" The question didn't need a reply—both men knew the answer without it ever being said.
"I should go," the next Doctor said after a moment, eyes closed like his hearts were breaking a second time. Even seeing her from a distance, even seeing her with his previous form, had been so…incredible. Unbelievable, and he thought he could spend the rest of his lives like this, just watching—but he knew he couldn't. That was the curse of the Time Lords—that temptation to keep looking back, at what had been, at the price of what needed yet to be done. That was what they had to fight.
"You should," the proper Doctor for this moment in time replied, and moved a little to the side as the 10th Doctor got up, slowly, like he had aged a million years. He started to walk away, coat snapping out behind him like a painting of an ancient martyr—and then stopped, and turned. "Just…take care of her. Treasure her. Take every single second and store it up, because…" He broke off, choking on something like tears, and the Doctor still on the fountain nodded. "I will."
"Doctor?" Rose called from across the square, and both heads briefly turned, before the 9th Doctor got up, going to her without a second glance.
The next Doctor, the lost Doctor, watched his former companion for a moment as she asked something, frowned at the reply, and turned to look at him quizzically. He caught her eye briefly, held it, drank that one bit of contact up until he knew that he had to leave, now, before he was caught in memories for the rest of his life—and turned, sharply, striding out of the square.
"Who was that, then?" Rose asked as her Doctor came to her, his face a study in repressed feeling, and frowned as he forced a smile. "No one. Just…an old acquaintance."
Rose turned to look at him, and her breath caught as he looked her in the eye, holding her gaze for one long moment. She couldn't even begin to describe what those eyes held—but there was also something in them, something familiar, and she turned back to the Doctor with a critical eye. There—in the sharp blue-grey of his iris, that same sense of galaxies swirling and infinite, burning knowledge.
"Will I ever meet him?" she asked lightly, tucking this odd connection away in the back of her mind, and the Doctor took a deep, measured breath in, then out. "I hope not—" he started—and then it was like a dam breaking, as he grabbed her and pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her tightly and burying his nose in her hair. She had the strangest feeling—like he was breathing her in, saving her against some time she couldn't even imagine. And she didn't quite know why, but she had the strangest knot of worry in her stomach… "Doctor, how long am I gonna stay with you?" she asked suddenly, and he squeezed her tighter. "Forever," he promised into her hair, eyes closed tight. "Forever."
Even though he was a Time Lord. Even though Time Lords didn't believe in forever. Because for her—for her, he would make anything happen. Even that.