#and she chooses to push the lever WITH the doctor and shoulder that heavy heavy guilt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

janekfan · 4 years ago

Text

Chronic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802141

Thank you @taylortut for helping me!!!

Jon looked at the clock.

537.

The glowing numbers burned themselves into his retinas. How had it been less than an hour since last he’d checked? No use for it. Better to get himself up and ready for work. But he’d closed his eyes against the headache blaring like a klaxon and he’d have to open them again at some point.

Taking advantage of his lonely flat, Jon allowed himself to indulge the noise pushing its way through grit teeth as he maneuvered his sore legs from under the quilt. He sat a moment, pressing the bare soles of his feet on the cold floor and levering his heavy body upright with a shaking arm.

Exhausted.

And it’s only--a quick glance.

544.

The hell was wrong with him?

Since just before accepting the position as Head Archivist, and rightly pissing off both Sasha and Tim on her behalf, Jon felt like he’d been constantly coming down with something. Dizzy and nauseous and unable to eat, he was chronically exhausted and while he’d never slept well at the best of times, it was evading him more than ever.

And there were his mornings. Struggling to motivate himself out of bed, brushing his teeth with his eyes closed and leaning against the wall. Deciding he could forgo a shower just once more and choosing instead to make breakfast. Forcing himself to eat a piece of dry toast with his heart hammering away in his throat and half laying on the table, panting through his tea. Mentally, Jon prepared himself for the walk to the train, automatically going for his cane because lord knew he needed the support.

He’d get to the Institute hours early.

At least that made him look good?

Taking advantage of being a cane user, Jon opted for a reserved seat, the guilt at truly needing one eating away at his insides. But there were black spots at the corners of his vision and he had to sit down before he fell down and the guilt is a far sight better than causing a scene. The trip was too short. His chest ached from the constant pounding and he pressed the hand not holding his cane for dear life against his breastbone. It didn’t help but the pressure and touch grounded him enough to stand up. To head to the cross street. To wait for the lights to change. To stagger down the stairs and into his office, to drop into his desk chair and focus on every breath of air moving into his body and back out of it.

Jon put his head down. There was no one here. Wouldn’t be for a couple hours yet and he was exhausted, shaking from it. Nauseated. There wasn’t a fever. He’d gone as far as to purchase a thermometer to be certain when the strange symptoms refused to abate no matter how often he let himself rest, no matter the meals he tried his damndest to eat, the water he drank down. He was trying. Jon couldn’t remember ever taking such good care of himself and of course it refused to pay off. In Uni, he’d driven himself into the ground with little consequence. He’d maintained those habits until a few months ago and now--

Muffled voices drifted through his door, the rise and fall of easy conversation. The kind he’d once been allowed to partake in. Laughter filled the air and while Jon wished to join them he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Why had he done it?

Why hadn’t he refused Elias?

Because you’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish. Needy. Greedy, grasping, always striving to know answers and never satisfied with what you're given. You take what you don’t deserve.

Reluctantly, Jon stood, slowly, because doing anything quickly these days has him ducking his head between his legs or waking up on the floor without any recollection of how he came to be there. He could at least collect their research in person, greet them. Try to be the boss they deserved.

Sasha was the boss they deserved.

“Ah, g’good morning.”

“Jon!” Martin, smiling shyly. “You’re here so early!” He began to stammer and Jon’s legs began to ache. This wasn’t a good day. They seldom were anymore. “I m’mean, of course y’you are, you work very hard!” Martin was saved by Tim swinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ve broken ‘im, boss.” A flush rose in Jon’s cheeks. He could feel it. “No worries, Marto. He’s always been an early riser.” While it was said in jest, the tone settled heavy in Jon’s chest, directly beside the pain blossoming like a thorny rose. Luckily, he was rescued by Rosie, standing halfway down the stairs and informing him that Elias requested him in his office. Jon didn’t relish the climb, no matter how grateful he was to escape out from underneath Sash’s heavy gaze. She had every right and he would bear his punishment in silence until she chose, if she ever did, to forgive him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jon limped out of Elias’ office without any recollection of what they’d spoken about or if he’d even spoken at all. Thumping pain and panic and he knew he was rude to ignore Rosie at her desk but he wasn’t in any shape to hold a conversation, fairly certain that he wasn’t able to currently speak, far too focused on trying to hide how ill he was. But every sound was magnified tenfold in his ears and he could barely remember where the door to the archives was with the way his head reeled and spun. Jon wanted to sink to the ground once he had the door between himself and the lobby but he’d never make it to his feet again after that. Push through, he told himself. Get to your desk. He allowed himself a moment, two, just to put his head to rights, to try and breathe through the battering of his pulse.

And oh god he wasn’t going to make it and he wondered if somehow Elias knew. It was as though he’d kept him standing there talking about nothing until Jon hit his limit, knowing he wouldn’t have the strength to get back to his office.

But he had to try and he’d almost gotten down the ridiculously narrow stairwell before he forgot nearly entirely why he was there in the first place. Was he going up? Down? Meeting with someone? Just arriving? He could barely breathe and the panic welling in his throat was choking and the black was crawling over his eyes and the dizziness only increased and he needed...needed…

For a moment, Jon didn’t recognize where he was, the migraine, the fuzziness, conspiring against memory and reason. But he knew this color, the hideous lick of paint some contractor had splashed over the walls a lifetime ago.

Breakroom?

Wha--

“Jon!” He winced, his own name like broken glass shredding every sense to ribbons. “Christ, are you alright?” Martin, the sounds he made were shrill, grating, and if he’d been able to tell him to be silent, he would have. “We heard the noise--you’d, you fainted! On the stairs! Luckily it was only the last few.” Jon blinked, dull and dumb, forcing himself up, up, up, and through heavy mist and fog in his search for words. Weary to the marrow of his aching bones, Jon slumped on the cushions and tried to think of a way to stop Martin’s incessant chattering. Tim and Sasha, alerted most likely by all the commotion, stood over him and he craned his neck up to look at them. Tim especially looked furious.

“You could have been seriously hurt!”

“S’sorry…” And he was, between his rabbiting heartbeat, throbbing migraine, and difficulty drawing breath into his exhausted lungs, he wanted to cry with how sorry he was.

“This is ridiculous. You need to take better care of yourself.” Jon wasn’t sure why the sting from Tim’s accusation cut so deep and he hung his head, biting trembling lips to prevent the tears threatening to spring free.

It wasn’t fair.

By all accounts he was taking care of himself. More than ever!

“Did you even eat today? Drink anything?” He nodded, miserable, unwell, and equipped with no better answers than the truth.

“Tim. He’s just come to.” The understanding was the final straw, and Jon’s sight blurred with salt damp. “I’ll make sure he eats something before going back to work.”

“Alright, Martin. If he gives you any trouble, call.” At Jon, he pointed. “And you, no trouble.” And he nodded miserably.

“Okay, they’ve gone.” The familiar sounds of the kettle heating filled the room, the clink of a pair of ceramic mugs, the rustling of the tea bags, Martin’s distracted murmuring, all combined to calm him. “How long have you been feeling this way?” Jon looked up, surprised, and shrugged one shoulder, accepting the small plate of biscuits and nibbling slowly and when he finished those, Martin offered up the tea. Sitting with him in companionable quiet, he sipped on his own cup. Nothing more was exchanged and when Jon finished he thanked Martin for the company and locked himself away.

Jon was at wit’s end. Nothing he tried seemed to improve anything and the few times he did speak with a doctor, he was sent away with the same, useless advice, or worse, told he was imagining things, making it up, having panic attacks even though he was familiar with those and this was not that.

Work was a nightmare made even more miserable with the overwhelming amount of paperwork, statements, boxes, misfiled folders and envelopes and items and Jon missed the easy camaraderie and understanding he’d had with Sasha and Tim. Maybe he should resign, try and salvage what little of the relationship they still had, or, or invite them out for dinner, his treat, but Elias would never let him quit and the very idea of entertaining exhausted him. A cuppa appeared at his elbow filled with something new, something floral and slightly sweet, accompanied, as always, by a few biscuits.

“That’s a lot of work, Jon.” He sipped, grateful, lifting an eyebrow in response.

“I knew it would be when I accepted this position.” Undeterred, Martin stumbled forward.

“Y’yeah, I mean, you would have. Of course. I just--” A breath. “I’ve finished with my other assignments, ready for round, uh. Well, another round!”

“Ah. Alright, I’ll bring something over when I pick up your translations.” Martin took back the cup, nodding enthusiastically, and Jon appreciated that it was business as usual, selecting a few he’d been putting off and making his way toward his assistants ignoring inquiring looks in favor of taking the chair Martin offered up to go over his expectations. Short, succinct. A few notes on one translation, advice to remember for next time, and Jon felt reasonably confident Martin could handle himself. It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his office that Jon realized that was the first time he’d been offered a chair. It was becoming apparent that Martin was good at noticing the little things about them. A blush heated his cheeks and he tried to rub it away, feeling ridiculous that such a small act of kindness made him feel so seen.

Jon pushed forward, ignoring the warnings his body was trying to give him in favor of plowing through his work like he’d always done, and by the time he made it home, was on the verge of collapse. Hot tears of frustration stung at the corners of his eyes, spilling over when Jon allowed himself to feel it. More than anything, he was used to having control over himself, working when he wanted, burying himself in the research, devouring knowledge. Now he was at the whim of his physical form. Paying more attention to it than ever before and never knowing if he was going to wake up and have a good day or a bad day and it was maddening. Managing whatever it was without knowing what it was, was impossible with no rhyme or reason he could discern.

So in the absence of both, Jon kept shoving his way through how difficult it was because if he could just be normal through pretending everything was normal, then it would be.

Jon knew Tim was cross with him and managed to avoid him for most of the day, taking breaks here and there like he’d promised Martin he would do. But his luck, while it had been holding steady, had just run out and he found himself cornered in the breakroom.

“What do you think you’re on about?” Frustration had long since turned to outrage, boiling over.

“Tim, I. I’m not sure what you mean--”

“Damn it, Jon! You’ve already taken on a job you aren’t fit for! You can’t keep heaping your work onto Martin and then swanning off!”

“That’s.” He balled his hands into fists, nails biting crescent moons into his palms. How could he explain when even the doctors thought he was making it all up? Heat rushed through him, top to toe, flushing his face and he wavered, legs threatening to buckle, vision threatening to go dark. He was going to pass out a second time today if he didn’t sit down. But that would mean walking away from Tim, and he didn’t think the man would let him. At least not until he was done telling him off. Better to be silent. Try not to pay attention to how erratic the persistent beating caged behind fragile ribs had become.

“Why didn’t you say no?” Because he wanted to be useful. Because Elias made him feel like he was capable even if he wasn’t. “Why didn’t you just let Sasha have this?” Because he was an awful, selfish person. “God, Jon. Why did you drag us all down here with you?”

Because he was lonely.

Because they’d been friends. Once.

Rather than remind Tim that he was free to go at any time, that he and Sash hadn’t been forced or coerced into accepting positions here in the archives, Jon pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Well?!” Sharp, strident, Tim’s shout echoed around in the space between his own hurting, agonal breaths in his ears.

“I. I, I need to si’down…” wanted to lay down. Wanted to sleep, trembling with exhaustion, about to go down.

“What?” Lashes fluttering as he gripped the thread of consciousness with both hands, he barely registered Tim’s hands around his shoulders, guiding him into a chair and pushing his head down between his knees. “Jon?”

“M’okay…”

“You are clearly not.” A wide palm settled on his back, keeping him folded over. It was helping.

“S’mm...been. S’fine.” The floor came back into focus, all the little cracks and imperfections and Jon counted the streaks in the pattern in an attempt to ground himself but kept losing track of the number. Neither moved until Jon attempted to sit up, slowly, accepting Tim’s help.

“Jon?” He looked spooked, pale. “Please, what’s going on?” His hand settled in the crux of shoulder and neck, thumb ghosting along his clammy skin, and Jon allowed himself to find a morsel of comfort in the familiar gesture, the threat of tears closer than ever. So he reached for him.

“I don’t know.” And Tim pulled away as if burned, the frustration and anger rising in his face again, and Jon was bereft. “T’truly! I--”

“Why won’t you be honest with me? Don’t you trust me?” Standing, he took a step backwards, away from him, the hurt in him a palpable thing. “We’re supposed to be friends!”

Yes. They were friends. It was most likely why for the first time in a long while, the pain in his chest wasn’t a physical ache.

“Tim, I.” Fingers folded to fists to rest on his knees. But he was already gone.

“Jon!” Tentative, Martin lifted his chin. “Oh, oh.” Having been crying, Jon figured his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and he didn’t bother attempting to hide the evidence. “Alright.” Martin went about making tea, chamomile, herbal and calming, placing it before him on the table with a chocolate digestive. “Drink this down and then go home. It’s half six.”

“Mm.”

“Sleep will help.”

“Mm.”

“I could speak to them for you. If--”

“No!” All but shouted. “No. That won’t be necessary, Martin.” Carefully he stood, paused. “Thank you.” And left.

Jon called off.

Called off again.

Again.

Apologized to Elias in a curt email requesting leave and was granted it.

He ignored his phone. His texts. The knock at the door and Martin’s voice behind it. He slept when he was tired and he was tired often and it was easier besides, to finally listen to the screaming of his body. It was after hours on his fifth day gone when Tim let himself in with the spare key to Jon’s flat.

“Hey.” Sheepish, he held up his hands in surrender, a bag of takeaway from Jon’s favorite place dangling from one. “Martin said you wouldn’t let him in.” Dressed in the most comfortable clothes he had, which were also the shabbiest, Jon glared at him from where he laid on the couch. “I was an arse.” Slowly, he sat up, making Tim wait on purpose, a powerful frown still aimed in his direction.

“You were.” He was aware he looked a mess, greasy hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, but he felt a sight better for the rest he’d gotten.

“Would you accept an apology?” Folding his arms, Jon leaned back into the cushions and fixed his stare at whatever rubbish was on the telly.

“Might do.” Silently, Tim scurried into the tiny kitchen and Jon listened to the familiar sounds of him rooting around for cutlery. It smelled delicious and comforting, a reminder of nights spent together laughing at nothing on this same couch and despite himself, Jon began to relax.

“I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” Tim’s face split in a wide, relieved grin, and he flopped down next to him, planting a loud kiss to his temple before urging him to eat. “Martin sent you here.”

“An angry Marto is not to be trifled with.” Through a mouthful of noodles, Tim chuffed in laughter. “Wouldn’t tell me anything, other than to stop being a prick.”

“He did not.”

“He did not. But it was more than implied!” He put his bowl on the low table in front of them, sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees. “And he was right. I didn’t give you a fair shake and accused you of awful things. And I know you’re doing your best at this job.”

“Gertrude isn’t making it easy.”

“Neither is your health, I take it.” Jon set his own meal aside, curling into the padded arm.

“No. It isn’t.”

“And you don’t know what’s causing it?”

“I know some things that help. M’Martin has been invaluable.”

“Has he, now?”

“Leave off!”

“Okay, okay.” But he continued giggling as Jon felt his face go hot, muttering.

“He really has.” This time Tim pulled him gently into an embrace.

“Then Sash and I will just have to catch up.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jon sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #sasha james #cane user jon sims #archivist with a cane #chronic illness #undiagnosed #pots #fainting #exhaustion #anxiety #hurt/comfort #internalized ableism

87 notes · View notes

ofstormsandwolves · 7 years ago

Text

Making Choices

For Doomsday month, and @doctorroseprompts: Rose ties herself to the clamp

Ten/Rose, Canon Divergence

When Rose makes a different choice in the lever room, it becomes clear that maybe a different decision can do a world of good.

Read on AO3 (account needed) | Whofic

It was the way the Doctor’s fingers dug into her arms that first suggested to Rose that the Doctor was far from pleased that she’d defied his orders.

“Once the breach collapses, that’s it,” the Doctor all but growled. “You will never be able to see her again. Your own mother!”

Despite the height difference, Rose fixed the angry Time Lord with a stare. “I made my choice a long time ago,” she told him firmly, “and I’m never gonna leave you. So what can I do to help?”

The Doctor clenched his jaw in barely-contained rage, and for a moment, she thought he might argue some more. But then, an electronic device announced that the systems had been rebooted, and the Doctor deflated a little.

“Those coordinates over there,” he told her, pointing at a computer, “set them all at six. And hurry up.”

Deciding not to take offence at his harsh tone, Rose did as she was told, dropping the dimension hopper onto the desk as she did so. They worked in silence, for several minutes, and it was only after the coordinates were set that Rose was startled to see another window pop up on her computer screen.

“We’ve got Cybermen on the way up,” she told him, glancing across the room at him.

With a frown, the Time Lord crossed to her side. “How many floors down?”

“Just one.”

She chanced another glance at him. The Doctor was clearly still angry, but determined. Good. It meant he had a plan. Whether it involved her, or not, Rose wasn’t sure. But he wouldn’t be sending her away again, she knew that for certain.

So when he retrieved the two magna clamps he’d grabbed earlier, as the computer announced the levers were once more operational, Rose was relieved to see a grin on the Doctor’s face.

“That’s more like it. Bit of a smile,” she told him. “The old team.”

The Doctor beamed, and plonked one magna clamp down on the floor by a lever before steering Rose over to the other. “Hope and glory, Mutt and Jeff, Shiver and Shake!” He flashed her another grin.

“Which one’s Shiver?” Rose asked with a small frown.

“Oh,” the Doctor beamed again, “I’m Shake.”

He handed the magna clamp off to her then and was halfway across the room before Rose spoke up.

“If you were sendin’ me away, how come there’s two clamps?”

She saw his steps falter, and quirked an eyebrow at him as he turned around.

“Well,” he admitted slowly, and he was tugging at his ear, “I might have had the suspicion you’d put up a bit of a fight.”

“An’ you still tried to send me away?” Rose asked with a frown as she lifted the magna clamp up and set it against the wall.

“Press the red button,” the Doctor told her from the other side of the room. “And I was trying to keep you safe.”

Rose pressed the red button on the clamp, and then frowned at it, before turning back to the Doctor. “And you think just holding onto these will be enough? You don’t think the Void will, I dunno, be too strong?”

The Doctor frowned then, like the thought had never occurred to him. He blinked at his own clamp, now also attached to the wall, and looked back at Rose. “Shouldn’t be,” he told her. “As long as you don’t let go of the magna clamp you should be fine. Really, Rose, we’re wasting time.”

He was moving to his lever then, and Rose bit her lip.

“It’s just,” she spoke up suddenly, “I dunno if I’ll be able to hold on. I mean, how strong is it? How long will the breach be open?”

“Rose, when it starts, just hold on tight,” the Doctor told her calmly. “Shouldn’t be too bad for us, but the Daleks and Cybermen are steeped in Void stuff.”

There was a pause.

“Have you still got the rock climbing gear in your pockets?”

There was a flicker behind the Doctor’s eyes at that, an almost-grimace of pain, before he hid it and blinked at her. “What?”

“The harness from when we went rock climbing on that planet,” Rose repeated.

“What do you want that for?” the Doctor spluttered. “This is hardly the time to go rock climbing, Rose!”

Rose sighed at that. “I know that! But it’s been a long day, and frankly I’m tired, and I could really do with something a little extra holding me onto that clamp beside my arms.”

The Doctor watched her for several moments before he let out a sigh, gave a quick glance at the door, and suddenly stuck his hand deep in his pockets. Rose watched as he rummaged for a little while, before eventually pulling out the light blue harness and black ropes, half-jogging across the room to give them to her.

He watched as she got the harness situated, then helped her slip the rope through the handle of the clamp and secure it to her harness. It was almost ridiculously too long, but as long as it held her to the clamp and gave her that little bit more support, Rose couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Alright?” he asked, once he’d checked the knots were sufficient.

“Yeah.”

With another brief glance at the door, the Doctor returned to the lever on his side of the room.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Rose nodded, and moved towards the lever. Then the lever was in position, and she was reaching for the magna clamp, and the sound of heavy metal footsteps were drawing closer outside the door. The electronic voice declared the levers ‘online’, and a blinding light began to grow.

As the breach opened, it felt like a huge gale was blowing through the room, and Rose found herself being buffeted against the base of the lever. A glance across the room told her the Doctor was in much the same position as her.

There was the shattering of glass as Daleks that had previously been outside the tower were pulled inside, and Rose heard the Doctor let out a gleeful laugh.

“The breach is open!” he crowed, and Rose couldn’t help but grin at him. “Into the Void! Ha!”

And it only seemed to get more chaotic from there. Within seconds, more Daleks and Cybermen had been pulled into the room and into the Void, speeding past the Doctor and Rose as if they weighed nothing. Minutes passed, and Rose was starting to feel a little giddy with excitement; the Doctor’s plan was actually working! It was working!

But then, her lever slipped, not by much, but enough to set the electronic voice off.

“Offline.”

Rose’s eyes widened, and she immediately sought out the Doctor across the room. Already the suction from the Void was decreasing, and as the Time Lord stared back at her equally bewildered, Rose realised he didn’t know what to do. She looked back at the lever, and made a half-hearted attempt to reach for it with one hand, but it was too far for her to stretch.

She could already feel the muscles in her back, shoulder and arms beginning to burn as she forced herself just that little bit further. She even caught her feet on the lever base, trying to propel herself forward just that little bit more.

But it was no use.

Rose glanced back at the rope connecting her harness to the clamp. It was more than secure, and still slack due to its length. It could take her weight, she realised, should she choose to let go of the clamp. She took a breath. And released her grip on the clamp. As she tumbled forward, her left hand sought out the lever, and she used all her strength to push against the pull of the Void, to force the lever back into position. She was vaguely aware of the Doctor’s wide-eyed gaze on her from across the room, knew he was staring at her in disbelief.

“I’ve got to get it upright!” she insisted, and it was as much for her own benefit as his, she realised.

And somehow, against all odds, there was a faint click and a booming electronic voice.

“Online and locked.”

Rose sagged a little then, arms burning from the strain of pushing the lever back into position. But despite the safety of the harness, she knew that the Doctor would much rather she was back at the clamp.

And as the suction once more increased, her thoughts were confirmed. She felt her legs being lifted by the pull of the Void, as her fingers scrabbled to remain clinging to the lever, and she found herself grunting with the effort of just trying to keep her hands around the rubber of the lever handle.

“Rose! Hold on! Hold on!”

One glance at the Doctor’s face told her he was panicking. Even despite their distance, even despite the futility of it all, he was reaching for her. One arm still anchoring him to the clamp, his long legs scrabbling for purchase against his own lever, a hand outstretched to her.

And that was when Rose slipped.

A scream tore, unbidden, from her throat, fingers still desperately clenching around thin air as she was pulled towards the Void. The sound of the Doctor screaming her name was ringing in her ears, and the harsh pull of the Void was all but dragging the air from her lungs. But then there was a sudden pain around her waist and thighs, as the rope attaching her to the magna clamp finally went taut, the jolt forcing the remaining air from her lungs just as the suction of the Void started to die down.

Moments later, Rose found herself crashing to the floor, her forearms slamming down against the floor and barely saving her from face planting. She gasped, coughed, and forced herself shakily to her knees.

Suddenly the Doctor was at her side, pushing the sleeves of her jumper up to check her already-bruising forearms, muttering softly to her as he did so. He fingers moved up her arms then, clearly checking for signs of injury as he continued to mutter a litany of words that only just started connecting in Rose’s mind.

“It’s alright, you’re safe, you’re safe Rose. You’re ok, I’ve got you.”

There was a sob then, and it took Rose a moment to realise it had come from her. The Doctor quickly ceased his medical exam and instead cupped her face in his hand, tilting her face to look at him.

“It’s alright, Rose. You’re fine. We’ll get you back to the TARDIS, check you over. Quite some fall you took there.”

She nodded mutely. She didn’t know what to say.

The Doctor’s hands moved lower then, to her waist, and it took her a moment to realise he was undoing the harness she was still wearing. He was gentle, she realised, like he was scared she was going to break; frankly, she didn’t blame him. She was feeling a little fragile. Already, tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her hands still shook. They were silent as he released her from the harness, gently encouraging her to shift so he could slide it down her legs and off.

“Lucky you insisted on wearing that,” the Doctor mused quietly as he looked at the light blue harness in his hands.

“Yeah,” Rose managed, finally finding her voice.

There was silence.

Then, the Doctor got to his feet. “Come on,” he told her, and he moved behind her, hauling her up by her armpits before wrapping his arm around her waist, “let’s get back to the TARDIS.”

They paused momentarily to untie the rope from the magna clamp, but frankly Rose wasn’t sure she’d ever want to use that rope or that harness ever again. Anything that involved that harness had now lost its appeal.

She didn’t say anything, though, and soon they were back in the TARDIS, having made their way through the eerily silent Torchwood Tower.

“I’ll put us in the Vortex for a while,” the Doctor told her gently. “We could do with the rest, and I want to check you over.”

Rose nodded, and watched in silence as he set the coordinates.

~0~0~

He took her to the medbay, and there was something different about the atmosphere. The light was softer, less harsh than usual, and Rose wondered if it was the Doctor’s doing or the TARDIS’s.

She watched him in silence as he collected a scanner from a drawer and returned to her bedside.

“Where does it hurt most?” he asked, and his voice was almost impossibly gentle.

“My arms,” Rose said quietly. “And my shoulders. My stomach, a bit.”

He nodded. “That’s to be expected,” he told her, even as he gestured for her to unzip her top. “You had a lot of strain on your shoulders and arms, and I’m not surprised your tummy’s feeling a little tender what with the force of your rope kicking in.”

He scanned her forearms first, tutting when he came across hairline fractures from where she’d hit the floor. He fetched another machine for that, and fixed her up in no time, but he still looked at her sadly.

“You’ll have bruises,” he told her. “Nothing I can do about them, I’m afraid. But I can give you some pain killers if you want.”

Rose shook her head.

Her upper arms and shoulders were next, and there was no surprise that she’d strained some muscles. The Doctor had a gel for that, though, and once she’d pulled her t-shirt off, he helped her rub it into the abused muscles to help them heal.

After that, he had her lay down, while he took a look at her tummy. Nothing too serious there, he’d assured her, but it was likely she’d be a little sore for at least a few hours.

With the scans done and the Doctor happy that she hadn’t come out of it too badly scathed, Rose pulled her t-shirt back on and they headed for the galley.

~0~0~

“I still don’t understand why you tried to send me away,” Rose told him quietly as she watched him cook stir-fry at the hob.

The Doctor’s back was to her, but she still saw him stiffen. She shifted in her chair at the galley table.

“It was for your own good,” he told her. “I wanted you safe.”

“But not so safe that you’d thought to tie me to the clamp,” Rose pointed out, and there was no heat in her voice, just exhaustion. “If I hadn’t asked for the harness, I might not even be sat here now, Doctor.”

He set the spatula down on the kitchen counter with a thud then, and he whirled to face her.

“You think I don’t know that, Rose? You think I didn’t feel a new timeline snapping into place the moment you asked for the harness? You think I don’t know how close I came to losing you?”

Rose blinked at him, unsure what to say.

“You... You felt a new timeline?” she stuttered after a moment.

The Doctor’s shoulders sagged.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and he ran a hand over his face. “When you asked for the harness, you changed the timeline, Rose. That storm I thought was approaching, last week, that disappeared the moment you asked me for the harness. Whatever was going to happen, you changed it.”

Rose gaped. “But what about Reapers? Oh my god, are we gonna have to go back?!”

But the Doctor shook his head. “No,” he assured her, and he quickly closed the space between them, crouching beside Rose’s chair. “Whatever it was you changed, Rose, it didn’t create a paradox. We don’t have to go back. There are some things that are fixed points, that influence everything that happens after, but today wasn’t one of them. Today was... Today was more fluid. There were several different outcomes. Several different timelines, I suppose. The one I was feeling was the one that was most prominent, most likely to happen, but when you asked to be tied to the clamp, you changed that.”

Rose frowned. “But how?” she asked. “You said you felt the storm approaching, that something bad would happen. How did I change it?”

The Doctor swallowed, straightened up, and returned to the stir-fry. Rose watched him, but he never replied.

~0~0~

It was later that night, as Rose got ready for bed, that the Doctor appeared at her bedroom door.

“I didn’t answer you earlier,” he said as he watched her remove her makeup.

“No,” she agreed, watching him in her vanity mirror. “You didn’t. Why not?”

He shrugged, and stepped into the room, crossing the expanse of plush carpet to sit on the edge of her bed.

“I was scared. You changed the timelines, Rose. Not deliberately, but you did. And that’s why I was scared. Because the timeline that would have happened, had you not asked for the harness, the one I’d been feeling since last week... I’d have lost you.”

The words hung heavy in the air then, and Rose froze, blinking at the Doctor’s reflection.

“How do you mean?” she managed after a moment, and she turned to look at him, wide-eyed.

He watched her for several moments, before looking around her room. “Can I stay in here tonight? If I go and get changed? I’m not... I’m not sure I want to be away from you tonight.”

Rose nodded, a little bewildered, and watched him leave. They’d shared a room- and even a bed- before, of course, and had been in an actual relationship since Sanctuary Base, although they weren’t putting labels on it just yet. But for the Doctor to actually ask to stay with her for the night... That was new, and Rose knew that the events of the day must have really shaken him.

When he returned in his pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt a few minutes later, Rose was just returning from the bathroom, having used the loo and brushed her teeth. They climbed into bed silently, each automatically taking their preferred side of the bed, and it wasn’t until they were settled on their sides facing each other that the silence was broken.

“The timeline that would have happened today, if you hadn’t changed it, would have meant I’d lost you,” the Doctor said quietly, fingers playing idly with Rose’s hair as he spoke. “I don’t know how, but I would have. Maybe you’d have slipped and fallen into the Void, maybe the Cybermen would have arrived sooner than expected and you’d be killed. Maybe, somehow, you ended up back in Pete’s World and the breach closed with you there. I don’t know. But I’d still have lost you.”

“That’s why you looked like you were in pain,” Rose realised softly, “when I asked about the harness. That triggered the new timeline, didn’t it?”

He nodded, but didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. The thing is, Rose... It would have been my decision not to give you any extra support that would have meant I’d lose you. Whether it was me sending you to Pete’s World with your mum and Mickey, whether it was not securing you to the clamp...”

He trailed off, eyes damp. Rose reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand.

“But that didn’t happen. I’m right here.”

He snorted. “Because you made a choice to ask for the harness, Rose. All the choices I’d have made for you would have been wrong. I’d have lost you.”

Rose smiled softly at him then. “Then maybe you should let me make my own choices sometimes.”

The Doctor let out a breath. “Yeah.”

“Doctor, I know the choices you make for me are because you want me safe, but you can’t keep doing that to me. Especially not now.” She gestured around herself at her bedroom, making a point about their relationship. “You need to let me make my own choices, even just sometimes. They might be right, or they might be wrong, but you need to let me be the one to make them.”

Mutely, the Time Lord nodded. Rose smiled softly at him.

“I’m really tired,” Rose murmured after a moment. “D’you mind if we call it a night?”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed briefly at that, and he shook his head. “Not at all, Rose! We’ve had a long day. Get some sleep.”

She smiled, and settled against the pillows, finally allowing her body to relax. She could hear the Doctor’s soft breaths, his hand on her waist as it rubbed soothing circles. She’d almost dropped off when, just one last time, she heard the Doctor’s voice, soft in the dark of the room.

“Sleep, Rose. I’ll still be here in the morning.”