Chapter Text
Chapter 1
He was gone the next morning.
It had been dark by the time they had returned to her place in London. Rose had never been so glad when the door closed behind them with a quiet sound. Here at least she knew what to do, here actually was something to do.
"What about a drink?" She mimicked drinking by way of providing subtitles for him. After the Doctor and Donna had left, he had remained oddly silent, clasping her hand in his as though he were holding on for dear life. He had opened his mouth then, wanted to say something, more than just her name.
"Rose? Allons-y?" The imperative had turned into a question. It had sounded strained, as though it took him a lot of will-power to utter the words. So different from a few heartbeats and a small eternity ago when he had asked her to love him.
"Oh ... my." It was only then that she had understood something. Separated from the TARDIS, there was nothing to provide a translation of the words being exchanged for him. All he could rely on was her name and set pieces of languages that had once taken his fancy.
Three words. Well, expressions. But that‘s what it came to.
Rose.
Allons-y.
Molto bene.
"This is not molto bene," Rose had said, softly, chagrined. Yet she had managed to smile at him, and give his hand a tug. "Molto bene." And after a beat or two, had added: "Doctor."
He looked at her just as crestfallen, and offered her an intense look of excuse. At the moment, his eyes had been more eloquent than he had ever been in her presence. She had wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her in a fierce hug.
"We‘ll be all right," she had whispered. "D‘you hear? We‘ll be all right. Molto bene, Doctor."
The journey home had been rather silent, Jackie having picked up on the situation very quickly. She had said nothing, but her eyes had spoken volumes. They had separated at the Zeppelin port, mother and daughter only talking briefly.
Now he nodded and followed her into the kitchen. She could feel his eyes on her as she removed whatever drinks she had in her fridge and put them on the counter for him to choose from. She took two glasses from one of the cabinets and set them next to the assortment of containers.
"What would you like?" she asked slowly, careful to pronounce everything clearly and correctly. "This is ... jus‘ ... never mind." He was not a child. He was half Time Lord, easily the most intelligent man she had ever met, and here she was talking to him in this way. As if this wasn‘t bad enough for him as it was.
"Can‘t you," she began, meeting his attentive gaze, "y‘know, do this telepathically? Learnin‘ English? You are still a telepath, yeah?" She stepped towards him, and reached up to gently touch his temples, to show him what she‘d meant.
His eyes went wide, and he took a quick step back. He caught her hands by her wrists and pushed her hands away. "No. No. Nonononono."
Another word he knew.
"But why ever not?"
He explained. It was the most beautiful sound Rose had ever heard, and for a moment she was glad she wasn‘t supposed to listen to what he said. His voice had taken on a slightly different quality as he talked in his native tongue. It sounded musical, and not like anything she had ever heard. Not as rushed as back when the TARDIS had translated for them. Serene, almost. And then he stopped.
"I don‘ understand you," Rose said, taking a step back. He let go of her wrists.
He looked chagrined again, and reached out for her. Rose accepted his warm hand. It was still strange that it should be warm, like any man‘s, rather than cool, as she had come to know it.
Any man.
No. He definitely was not any man.
She smiled, but had no idea if he was still a telepath.
He eventually chose the blue water bottle, and Rose poured some. "Water it is," she commented.
He touched her arm, then gestured for her to repeat the word. "Water," he repeated after her. He had a little difficulty with the unfamiliar sounds at first. But of course he managed. "Water. Water. Water."
"Yeah," Rose said. "Water."
She then had hastily cleared the bed in the spare bedroom which had become her study. The books and magazines and folders that covered the bed she swept up and piled them on the halfway neat desk. When she worked on a project she had taken to laying out all her research on the bed to keep an overview of what she had.
The Doctor was standing in front of the wall lined with books. Rose remembered her shopgirl self then, from what seemed to her now had been ages ago and literally in a different life. The old Rose Tyler had never cared much for her education, or at least the one they had wanted to impress on her at school. Ever since she had made a new life here in Pete‘s World, she had been trying to remedy this, and there was so much to discover, literature that her home planet never had.
Rose watched the Doctor trailing his fingers over the colourful spines of the volumes on the shelves. He was lost in his thoughts, or just appreciating what he saw. She had no way of knowing.
She pulled a volume of Shakespeare off the shelf. He had wanted to take her to one of the Bard‘s plays, but they had never managed. The book was one of the oldest volumes she possessed, dated back to the early 18th century.
But then she realised.
He wouldn‘t be able to understand a single word from it.
"Rose?"
Was it going to be like this? Her name a question?
Rose looked up at him, and handed him the volume. "It‘s my favourite. It‘s Shakespeare. Love‘s Labour‘s Won."
His lips curved into a smile. Names didn‘t translate, and so he dipped his hand into the pocket of his blue jacket.
The expression on his face when he didn‘t find his spectacles was priceless, and Rose broke in to a fit of giggles.
"I‘m sorry," she managed, forcing herself to sober. This really wasn‘t funny. The Doctor was just as lost without his sepctacles as without his English words. "We‘ll have to get you a new pair tomorrow."
"I‘m sorry," he repeated. And meant it.
Rose swallowed. "Don‘t. You don‘t have to." She left him to the Shakespeare then, busying herself with his bed once more.
She whipped up some risotto for them afterwards, with mangel and goat‘s cheese, because it demanded her attention, adding wine and stock one bit at a time. They ate in silence, listening to some music Rose had put on. At one point, the Doctor reached out for her, and covered her hand with his, squeezing it in what Rose took to be gratefulness. She wanted to kiss him to bits in that moment, but there was something in his eyes that begged her not to.
When it was time to go to bed, all she could give him was towels and an extra toothbrush she had meant to replace her own with the next morning. There was nothing in her wardrobe that would fit him.
The Doctor, however, had discovered a picture in one of the many frames she kept on the mantel in her spare bedroom. "Tony?" he asked.
Rose joined him at the mantel. She smiled, as she always did when she looked at her brother‘s picture. "Yeah, tha‘s him. Mum says he looks just like me at that age. I guess she‘s right. We‘ve lost all my pictures," she explained. "I never cared much about them back ... I wish I did, though."
He did something very unexpected then. He kissed her temple, and whispered "I‘m sorry". Little did she suspect then that this was his good-bye to her, because when she woke the next morning, much earlier than usual after a restless night, his bed was empty and cold. How come she had not heard him leave? Had she fallen asleep long enough after all?
A yellow sticky note sat on his pillow, a sticky note with a heart drawn on it, and an x.
That was before she discovered he had taken the notes from her purse.