Five Things the TARDIS Understood About Rose Tyler (and One She Didn't About the Doctor)

[misscam]

Five Things the TARDIS Understood About Rose Tyler (and One She Didn't About the Doctor)
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: BBC's characters. My words.

Rating: PG.

Summary: Here a human, there a human, here a Rose Tyler. They're not all that complicated, humans. Perhaps that is why they are hard to understand. [Doctor/Rose]

Author's Note: Pinch-hit for the Rose Tyler ficathon for brienze, who wanted: 1. Rose doing something that surprises the Doctor (Nine or Ten) 2. the TARDIS as a character in the story 3. mention of Gallifrey or the Time War. Prompt 016 for 50lyricsfanfic. Vague references to series one and two. Thanks to wendymr for beta'ing.

Table of Prompts

II

Knowledge is not understanding, the TARDIS understands. Even knowing them, she never stops learning about humans.

It's hard to avoid learning when her Time Lord keeps bringing in stray humans and almost adopting them for a while. Here a human, there a human, not always a human, but often enough. It's like the Doctor has a particular affinity, and that breed seems to fit.

They're not all that complicated, humans. Perhaps that is why they are hard to understand. Perhaps that is why the TARDIS finds something to learn every time, every stray.

All of them put together and there might not seem much in common. Perhaps there isn't really anything except him. But one look in their minds, and the TARDIS usually knows he will take them before even he does. It's hard not to, with all of time in her heart, always seeing what will be. Always seeing what was. They are the same, for all they're not. All of time, and people only ever come in one edition. Time never repeats them, just echoes.

Here a human, there a human, here a Rose Tyler. Not that different from the others. Not that different at all, but all distinct. Rose Tyler, limited edition human (one of one), collection companion. One touch of her mind, and the TARDIS knows. Rose Tyler is coming with.

Even knowing her, the TARDIS has much to understand yet.

II

Humans don't understand, the TARDIS knows.

"900," Rose says one day in flight, leaning back in the console chair as the Doctor tinkers around her. He gives her a surprised look, and she returns it with so much innocence there's guilt all over it. "What? You are."

"You needn't say it as if you're sizing me up for the old folks' home."

"You'd be a right riot in one of those, you would," she observes, visibly enjoying a few mental images.

"Haha," he replies curtly, but Rose only grins. She seems to have grown used to his ways, even adapting to his darkness by being bright herself. Little human, ever trying to make a fit. They always do. Even if it takes readjusting the whole universe around. Even if it takes trying to imagine 900 years of living.

"So come on, what's 900 years like?"

"Hurried."

She thinks, her mind a mass of confused thoughts and trying to understand what someone at 19 just can't and at 90 still won't. Humans don't understand age. They never live one.

"Can you die?" she asks after a moment, biting her lip a little. Already fear, and still so young. So intent on being brave when she's only seen a fraction of all there's to be afraid of. Easy to be brave in ignorance.

"Yes," he says firmly.

"Ever want to?" falls out of her, more trying to understand than trying to intrude, but he still looks almost stricken, pain crossing his face so tellingly even Rose can see. "I mean..."

"Once," he says, standing up to loom over her, his shadow dark across her skin.

"After the war?" Rose whispers, because she does piece things together and he keeps giving her little clues.

"After the war," he agrees, voice bitter. Still haven't forgiven her, the TARDIS knows. Never will, because living is worst punishment you can give someone determined they deserve death. He still loves her. He has to, when she's all he has.

All and Rose.

"Good thing you didn't," Rose says suddenly, challenging him. "Never would've met me if you didn't."

"Good thing," he agrees, almost smiling, and they joke all the way till their new destination and danger. Rose is making a puzzle, the Doctor is making a survival and between them, there is a mass of years. 900 and 19. It shouldn't be a fit.

Rose will still try to make it one, the TARDIS understands.

II

Humans are herd animals, the TARDIS knows.

Easy enough when there's only two. Rose and the Doctor. You and me, him and her, twosome. An easy herd to keep track of, even if there's always complications if both want to lead. Humans do seem ever fond of twosome herds, repeating them again and again. But sometimes, they do add to them.

Rose, the Doctor and Jack.

Threesome herd. The TARDIS has observed those before, and foursome herds too. Family, as humans call it, even if it isn't genes that bring them together. Always with roles to go with. Father, mother, child, sister, brother, friend, lover, brother-in-law, grandchild.

It isn't easy to puzzle this particular herd out. Jack seems to play several roles at once, as if trying the fit. Brother to Rose. Potential lover to Rose. Rival to the Doctor. Potential lover to the Doctor. Outsider to the twosome. Part of the threesome.

Humans don't just have one herd. Perhaps that is the puzzle. Perhaps it's Rose and the Doctor, Rose and Jack, Jack and the Doctor and Rose, the Doctor and Jack all at work at the same time.

It's no wonder humans get so confused. And still they keep making their herds, keep holding on to them, keep defending them viciously if need be.

Humans are herd animals. Rose is going to do all she can to keep hers together, the TARDIS understands.

II

Humans are so small, the TARDIS knows.

All of her in all of Rose, and there's hardly space. Something will have to give, and it'll be Rose, and she's not even regretting it. She is... She is... They are. They are everything and they're saving the Doctor again and loving and oh yes, love. Humans know love, in their tiny little ways.

Humans love enough to let time into them and feel what it costs. Little Rose and the great TARDIS. Just one, now, taking time from the Daleks until they're dust. Giving time to Jack until he's alive. Tiny Jack. Beloved Jack. Jack of their herd.

Doctor of their herd. He's always been her Doctor, even before she was Rose. She's lived for him. It makes it easy to die for him. It makes it easy to kill Rose for him.

Rose even agrees.

"... It's killing me," Rose-TARDIS says, because time kills and humans have this weird desire to say what is obvious and now the TARDIS does too.

"I think you need a Doctor," the Doctor says, which Rose thinks a bad joke and the TARDIS a threat. When he leans forward and kisses them, human and not, she knows it is. He's taking her away from Rose, using her to give life back and heal the damage she's already done, erasing memories as he goes. She lets him, even knowing the cost to him.

All of time hurts too much in human wrapping.

Humans are so small. Rose prefers the size she is, the TARDIS understands.

II

Humans mate, the TARDIS knows.

Rose is kissing the Doctor and the Doctor isn't exactly protesting, hair ruffled and tie loose and back against the TARDIS door. He hasn't said a word and Rose only two, but they still seem to make some sort of understanding in touches. Or maybe it's a war of wills, Rose's versus the Doctor's.

The TARDIS isn't sure who she's cheering. She feels Rose still, remembers Rose still, but the Doctor is the real heart of the TARDIS and she's his. Perhaps it doesn't much matter, since neither will win.

"Bad idea, Rose," the Doctor says when she moves her mouth to his earlobe, as if he knows Rose is using sex as reassurance, claim and comfort all at once. She didn't need it before. Now, she's beginning to feel she does, even if she isn't even aware of it herself.

"Yes," she agrees. "Talking is a bad idea."

He closes his eyes, but his hands are around her waist and he's not letting go or pushing her away. Always half-way, the Doctor. Half a rebel, half a rule-maker. Half resisting attachments, half making them. Half a Time Lord, half trying not to be. Half the Universe's, half anyone he gives himself to. Half Rose's, half TARDIS's.

Half wanting to shag Rose, half not.

Time Lords do mate. Just not always with sex. Rose can't know that, because he doesn't tell her. The TARDIS could, but knowledge isn't understanding. Rose will still want to have naked skin and his body beneath his, yielding to her will.

Humans mate. Rose is going to claim hers the way she knows how, the TARDIS understands.

II

Humans do feel time, the TARDIS knows.

The Doctor is lying on the floor, thinking with his eyes closed and Rose is watching him, a rare moment of silence between them. He talks a lot and she has adapted, still trying to fit when the space beside him is no longer the same. But time for adjustments is almost over. He feels it. She does too, she just can't quite identify it.

Premonitions, humans say. Something in the wind. Ache in the bones. A sense of doom. Explanations for feeling time, but not quite making out what it sings about.

Changes. Always changes.

Humans never like them. Time loves them.

Rose stands up abruptly, and the Doctor looks rather surprised when she sits herself on top of him and take hold of his tie.

"Rose," he protests. "I was thinking!"

"You usually think while babbling 200 words a minute," she replies. "You telling me you can't think with a woman on top?"

"I can think with a Ranstorik beast on top," he counters. "Mind you, they don't have breasts."

"We don't have to go anywhere today," she says, and he looks at her with lowered eyelids.

"Not even to see your mum? You've been nagging me..."

"I have not!"

"You were thinking about nagging me, that's as good as."

"You can tell when I'm thinking about nagging?"

"Yes," he says simply. "So no Jackie Tyler's?"

"Just not today."

She yanks at his tie slightly, and he obediently lifts himself up enough to come face to face with her.

"Let's stay like this forever," she says.

Humans do feel time. Rose is trying very hard not to, the TARDIS understands.

II

Time Lords don't like goodbyes, the TARDIS knows.

The Doctor comes back to the TARDIS alone and she knows what has happened even as he's still trying to cope with it. He seems to walk almost in a daze, steps slow and careful, as if they pain him. None of the usual energy, but all of the grief he always feels.

Here a human, there a human, here a parting. Always a parting. Sometimes by choice, sometimes not. Not this time.

Here no longer Rose Tyler.

"I said I wouldn't just leave her behind," he says quietly, hands already busy on the console. "I need to say goodbye."

Time Lords don't like goodbyes. They will still sometimes make them, the TARDIS understands. He'll find a way. He does, when there's something he needs. She knows him that well. She just doesn't always understand him.

All these stray humans, always the same pain. He must know - he does know - they never last. He still keeps finding them, even looking for them. She doesn't understand, even if she can learn to understand them. They're not all that complicated, humans. Maybe she's missing something simple.

Knowledge is not understanding, the TARDIS understands. Even knowing him, she never stops learning about the Doctor.

FIN

Comments

[misscam.livejournal.com]

Sometimes, what you don't see or write about can be as powerful as what you do, really. People tend to fill in the gaps in ways that are satisfying to them. Always seem to me better than to explain things to death. But preferences do vary.

Thanks!