![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
The Hidden Well, Chapter Thirty-Two
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: PG
Betas:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ivydoor, np_complete, platypus, and sensiblecat
Special thanks tojesidres for brainstorming with me about Jonah's scene here.
Previous Chapters
In this chapter: The consequences of the Doctor's mercy, and an act of kindness.
Author's Note: Yes, there are conclusions here. The story is not quite complete but it will be soon. Thank you to everyone who's stayed with me throughout the telling of this tale.
--
Rose spent the day with the children and Brandon again, with all the usual comedy and tiny drama of the classroom. Just before lunchtime, Emelia dropped by to let them know that the envoy had finished with his operations review and had gone over to the labs. Since a great number of the project's staff would be occupied in some way until well after his departure at 18:00 hours, the nursery would remain open far later than normal.
As the afternoon turned truly into evening, Rose watched in rapt fascination as Ian's pencil strokes outlined a face and then fleshed out the finer details. His mother's face emerged with enough life to show the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes and the indulgent smile she used for her sons alone.
While the children weren't directly aware of the reasons for all the tension on Arisbe, they did pick up on the unconscious cues and nerves of the adults, and their tempers were running thin. Rose's dreamy study of Ian's drawing was interrupted by someone who yanked someone else's hair, and the resulting tears, and she and Brandon found themselves occupied for the next few moments re-establishing the fragile peace.
Jonah's mind abruptly tugged at hers and she looked over to find him struggling out of his chair. "What's the matter?" she asked him, putting her hand on his back and trying to soothe him with mind and words.
He responded instantly with a vivid impression of the Doctor and then pulled away, silent. Rose's stomach dropped in sudden, sick worry. "Is he all right?" she asked, trying to pitch her voice so the other children wouldn't hear her.
Jonah looked up at her, and as it had been before, his direct stare was both unnerving and encouraging. She knew he could feel the Doctor at all times, even through his shield, like the radiant heat of a fire from some distance away. Now, Jonah could still sense the Doctor's presence but worried about the uncharacteristic silence of his mind. Go, Jonah urged her wordlessly.
"Brandon," she called, desperate to leave but also to maintain the appearance of calm in front of the children. "Can you stay here? I need to go back to our flat."
"Of course," he answered, coming to stand by her and Jonah. "Is everything all right?"
"It's probably nothing," she said with forced levity. "Thanks."
He wasn't fooled, she could tell, but he nodded and she was grateful. "I can finish up. Most of the parents will be here before long."
She hurried down the hallway and broke into a run once she was outside.
…
The Doctor had moved the TARDIS to their new flat in Section 8, and she went there without hesitation. Her hands shook as she tried to swipe the keycard in the door. The TARDIS, as before, was parked in the bedroom closet, and the door was unlocked. She threw it open and burst into the console room, not knowing what she would find there.
The Doctor stood in front of the console, sonic screwdriver in hand. A knot of wires spilled out from behind an open panel. He glanced up as she entered and then went back to his work.
She was stunned. Everything, including him, looked perfectly normal. No, that's not right. She studied him again. Rumpled hair, coat off but jacket still on. It was his bearing, not his appearance, that was off. He hadn't smiled when she came in, and he looked oddly … empty.
"What's wrong?" she asked, coming to stand next to him. She wanted to touch him, but she didn't quite dare to.
"Saved the day, didn't you hear?" he said flatly. His gaze remained fixed on the console. "Fliss is gone. His report is full of praise for Arisbe Project. We won."
She waited, but he refrained from further comment. The rhythmic buzz of the sonic screwdriver was unnaturally loud in the silence between them.
"Doctor, please." She did reach out then and place her hand over his on top of the console. "Talk to me?"
He put the screwdriver down and turned to face her. The desperation and darkness in his eyes staggered her. "Wilson's dead," he said without preamble.
"How?" she asked. He was safe, right here in the TARDIS.
"He hung himself."
She gasped. "Where?"
That elicited a dry, sharp laugh without any humor in it at all. "Here, Rose. In the TARDIS. In my TARDIS. I took everything away from him and he managed to hang himself with his trousers."
"She let him?"
His eyes snapped with anger and he slapped one hand down on the console. "It doesn't work like that, Rose! I mean – it might have – once – but it doesn't any more." He scrubbed his face with both hands, and hers felt cold without his touch.
What reassurance could she offer to him? He had been the jailor, and his prisoner had killed himself. He would feel as culpable in that as if he had strangled Wilson with his own hands.
"Come here," she said, drawing him back a few steps to the jump seat and pulling him down with her. His momentary anger had disappeared and he complied without resistance. She scooted closer to him on the seat. Her arms wound around him and she stroked, soothed, petted until the tension within him relented a fraction, and then she drew his head down to rest against her shoulder.
"You keep forgiving me," he mumbled against her.
She ran her fingers through his wild hair before she replied, trying to choose her words carefully. "It's like you've said, I have to live with the choices I make. I chose to help Jonah and Emelia and Connor and everyone here." She saw, vividly, Frances' expression right as Emelia had fired the blaster: horror and fury and defiance and shock. "If we'd walked away, Frances and Wilson would still be alive, but everyone here would be homeless. Jonah would still be the way he was before." She kissed the top of his head. "It was the right choice."
"The greater good." It was impossible to tell if he was mocking, or ironic, or simply stating a fact.
"Yeah. What would you have done with Wilson?"
"Locked in a cage," he said. "Or a crystal ball. Or a mirror." He shook his head and his nose rubbed against her. "Thrown into a black hole. I have so many ways, Rose, so many different ways to show mercy. I've never told you – I don't want to tell you. Can I please not tell you?"
Her eyes welled with tears at the anguished pleading in his voice. She gathered him closer to her and rocked him back and forth. "Shhh," she whispered. "It's okay. We don't have to talk right now."
Maybe one day, if she could bear it, he could.
…
"To success!" Connor yelled. He clanged his glass up against every raised glass he could find, and it seemed that everyone in the project was holding one up for him. Countless voices echoed the toast back to him.
Rose goggled at the spectacle. Arisbe was celebrating in grand style, ostensibly in the restaurant in Section 6, but in fact all around it as there simply wasn't room. Every spare table, it seemed, had been commissioned into service as part of a buffet line, with mismatched tablecloths covering them and more food than could possibly have been eaten weighing them down. Ian and several other children whooped and ran, scurrying around tables and kicking up clouds of dust. No one paid them any mind. This was not the time to scold children for exuberance or misbehaviour.
Connor had rung them on the comm, repeatedly, until Rose had persuaded the Doctor to emerge from the TARDIS. She hadn't felt much like celebrating either, but she couldn't bring herself to tell Connor about what had happened to Wilson. Without that, there was no excuse for them to stay away from the festivities.
The Doctor now had a staggering plateful of food and a glass of something fizzy, and he was talking to Meg Pathkind. Predictably, for someone who talked with his hands as much as he did, he was sloshing his drink around rather spectacularly. He had already sectioned off Wilson's tragedy into some corner of his mind and was concentrating on the moment. Rose knew him well enough not to mistake that for lack of caring.
She took another slice of something she had decided was the local version of pizza – a square of flatbread with a tangy red sauce and herbs. She had eaten far too much of it. She had, however, politely declined all the offers of various exotic beverages and stuck to water. Inebriation, in her current dark mood, was the last thing she needed.
Jonah stood next to Rose, finishing a slice of the pizza. He had some sauce smeared on the right side of his face and his dark curls had frizzed out. Rose licked her finger and removed the sauce, prompting a small grunt of protest from her victim.
"Oh, come on," she laughed, amused despite her worries at the waves of indignity rolling from him. "It's not so bad."
"Hello, you two," the Doctor said softly. She hadn't noticed him come over. He still had his plate, although its contents were much reduced. She eyed it and nabbed a biscuit. "Why yes, Rose, I'm happy to share, thank you for asking."
"You eat off my plate all the time," she informed him. Their usual banter felt forced, but she fitted a smile on her face and tried to alter her mood to match.
"At least I chew with my mouth closed," he retorted. She swallowed the last of the biscuit and stuck her tongue out at him. "Here, have another." He held the plate out over to her, a pained expression on his face.
"Want a biscuit, Jonah?" she asked the little boy. He nodded, wide-eyed and intent on the Doctor's plate.
The Doctor tutted and moved the plate just out of her reach. "Jonah?" he prompted.
Jonah's mind vibrated with longing. "Don't tease," she said, not liking the way this was going.
"Just a tick," the Doctor said, his eyes fixed on Jonah. She felt the rustle of some communication between the two of them. "Hold this, but don't give anything to him yet." He handed the plate over to Rose and rummaged through his pockets. "I've got something for you." He pulled out a worn leather wallet and handed it to Jonah. "There you are. Now, what do you say?"
Jonah turned the wallet over several times in his hands and studied it with as much interest as he had fixed on the biscuit earlier. He opened it and held it up for the Doctor and Rose to see.
Rose's jaw dropped. Across the white surface of the psychic paper, a message clearly spelled itself out: May I have a biscuit, please?
…
Emelia watched incredulously as the words appeared and disappeared on the paper in the wallet in her son's hands. Mummy, the paper read – no, Jonah said – will you read me the story about the man in the yellow hat again? Ian never wants to hear that one. I made a bubble and the voices aren't so loud. Don't cry, Mummy.
"It's psychic paper," Rose was saying. "It shows whatever he wants."
"Go and get Connor, would you?" Emelia knelt and put her arms around Jonah, hugging him tightly against her and keeping her eyes fixed on the psychic paper. "I'll read any story you want, sweetheart."
The man with the yellow hat, Jonah said. A faint line appeared underneath the words to emphasize his point.
"The man with the yellow hat," she agreed.
Don't cry?
"Sometimes we cry when we're happy," she explained. He knew how she felt, didn't he? "I'm happy, I promise. I love you so much."
He squirmed in her arms and the paper was momentarily blank. Mum!, he said, finally, and she grinned through her tears at the evident protest in the single word, all embarrassed little boy and loving son.
They would be all right.
Rating: PG
Betas:
ivydoor, np_complete, platypus, and sensiblecatSpecial thanks to
jesidres for brainstorming with me about Jonah's scene here.Previous Chapters
In this chapter: The consequences of the Doctor's mercy, and an act of kindness.
Author's Note: Yes, there are conclusions here. The story is not quite complete but it will be soon. Thank you to everyone who's stayed with me throughout the telling of this tale.
--
Rose spent the day with the children and Brandon again, with all the usual comedy and tiny drama of the classroom. Just before lunchtime, Emelia dropped by to let them know that the envoy had finished with his operations review and had gone over to the labs. Since a great number of the project's staff would be occupied in some way until well after his departure at 18:00 hours, the nursery would remain open far later than normal.
As the afternoon turned truly into evening, Rose watched in rapt fascination as Ian's pencil strokes outlined a face and then fleshed out the finer details. His mother's face emerged with enough life to show the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes and the indulgent smile she used for her sons alone.
While the children weren't directly aware of the reasons for all the tension on Arisbe, they did pick up on the unconscious cues and nerves of the adults, and their tempers were running thin. Rose's dreamy study of Ian's drawing was interrupted by someone who yanked someone else's hair, and the resulting tears, and she and Brandon found themselves occupied for the next few moments re-establishing the fragile peace.
Jonah's mind abruptly tugged at hers and she looked over to find him struggling out of his chair. "What's the matter?" she asked him, putting her hand on his back and trying to soothe him with mind and words.
He responded instantly with a vivid impression of the Doctor and then pulled away, silent. Rose's stomach dropped in sudden, sick worry. "Is he all right?" she asked, trying to pitch her voice so the other children wouldn't hear her.
Jonah looked up at her, and as it had been before, his direct stare was both unnerving and encouraging. She knew he could feel the Doctor at all times, even through his shield, like the radiant heat of a fire from some distance away. Now, Jonah could still sense the Doctor's presence but worried about the uncharacteristic silence of his mind. Go, Jonah urged her wordlessly.
"Brandon," she called, desperate to leave but also to maintain the appearance of calm in front of the children. "Can you stay here? I need to go back to our flat."
"Of course," he answered, coming to stand by her and Jonah. "Is everything all right?"
"It's probably nothing," she said with forced levity. "Thanks."
He wasn't fooled, she could tell, but he nodded and she was grateful. "I can finish up. Most of the parents will be here before long."
She hurried down the hallway and broke into a run once she was outside.
…
The Doctor had moved the TARDIS to their new flat in Section 8, and she went there without hesitation. Her hands shook as she tried to swipe the keycard in the door. The TARDIS, as before, was parked in the bedroom closet, and the door was unlocked. She threw it open and burst into the console room, not knowing what she would find there.
The Doctor stood in front of the console, sonic screwdriver in hand. A knot of wires spilled out from behind an open panel. He glanced up as she entered and then went back to his work.
She was stunned. Everything, including him, looked perfectly normal. No, that's not right. She studied him again. Rumpled hair, coat off but jacket still on. It was his bearing, not his appearance, that was off. He hadn't smiled when she came in, and he looked oddly … empty.
"What's wrong?" she asked, coming to stand next to him. She wanted to touch him, but she didn't quite dare to.
"Saved the day, didn't you hear?" he said flatly. His gaze remained fixed on the console. "Fliss is gone. His report is full of praise for Arisbe Project. We won."
She waited, but he refrained from further comment. The rhythmic buzz of the sonic screwdriver was unnaturally loud in the silence between them.
"Doctor, please." She did reach out then and place her hand over his on top of the console. "Talk to me?"
He put the screwdriver down and turned to face her. The desperation and darkness in his eyes staggered her. "Wilson's dead," he said without preamble.
"How?" she asked. He was safe, right here in the TARDIS.
"He hung himself."
She gasped. "Where?"
That elicited a dry, sharp laugh without any humor in it at all. "Here, Rose. In the TARDIS. In my TARDIS. I took everything away from him and he managed to hang himself with his trousers."
"She let him?"
His eyes snapped with anger and he slapped one hand down on the console. "It doesn't work like that, Rose! I mean – it might have – once – but it doesn't any more." He scrubbed his face with both hands, and hers felt cold without his touch.
What reassurance could she offer to him? He had been the jailor, and his prisoner had killed himself. He would feel as culpable in that as if he had strangled Wilson with his own hands.
"Come here," she said, drawing him back a few steps to the jump seat and pulling him down with her. His momentary anger had disappeared and he complied without resistance. She scooted closer to him on the seat. Her arms wound around him and she stroked, soothed, petted until the tension within him relented a fraction, and then she drew his head down to rest against her shoulder.
"You keep forgiving me," he mumbled against her.
She ran her fingers through his wild hair before she replied, trying to choose her words carefully. "It's like you've said, I have to live with the choices I make. I chose to help Jonah and Emelia and Connor and everyone here." She saw, vividly, Frances' expression right as Emelia had fired the blaster: horror and fury and defiance and shock. "If we'd walked away, Frances and Wilson would still be alive, but everyone here would be homeless. Jonah would still be the way he was before." She kissed the top of his head. "It was the right choice."
"The greater good." It was impossible to tell if he was mocking, or ironic, or simply stating a fact.
"Yeah. What would you have done with Wilson?"
"Locked in a cage," he said. "Or a crystal ball. Or a mirror." He shook his head and his nose rubbed against her. "Thrown into a black hole. I have so many ways, Rose, so many different ways to show mercy. I've never told you – I don't want to tell you. Can I please not tell you?"
Her eyes welled with tears at the anguished pleading in his voice. She gathered him closer to her and rocked him back and forth. "Shhh," she whispered. "It's okay. We don't have to talk right now."
Maybe one day, if she could bear it, he could.
…
"To success!" Connor yelled. He clanged his glass up against every raised glass he could find, and it seemed that everyone in the project was holding one up for him. Countless voices echoed the toast back to him.
Rose goggled at the spectacle. Arisbe was celebrating in grand style, ostensibly in the restaurant in Section 6, but in fact all around it as there simply wasn't room. Every spare table, it seemed, had been commissioned into service as part of a buffet line, with mismatched tablecloths covering them and more food than could possibly have been eaten weighing them down. Ian and several other children whooped and ran, scurrying around tables and kicking up clouds of dust. No one paid them any mind. This was not the time to scold children for exuberance or misbehaviour.
Connor had rung them on the comm, repeatedly, until Rose had persuaded the Doctor to emerge from the TARDIS. She hadn't felt much like celebrating either, but she couldn't bring herself to tell Connor about what had happened to Wilson. Without that, there was no excuse for them to stay away from the festivities.
The Doctor now had a staggering plateful of food and a glass of something fizzy, and he was talking to Meg Pathkind. Predictably, for someone who talked with his hands as much as he did, he was sloshing his drink around rather spectacularly. He had already sectioned off Wilson's tragedy into some corner of his mind and was concentrating on the moment. Rose knew him well enough not to mistake that for lack of caring.
She took another slice of something she had decided was the local version of pizza – a square of flatbread with a tangy red sauce and herbs. She had eaten far too much of it. She had, however, politely declined all the offers of various exotic beverages and stuck to water. Inebriation, in her current dark mood, was the last thing she needed.
Jonah stood next to Rose, finishing a slice of the pizza. He had some sauce smeared on the right side of his face and his dark curls had frizzed out. Rose licked her finger and removed the sauce, prompting a small grunt of protest from her victim.
"Oh, come on," she laughed, amused despite her worries at the waves of indignity rolling from him. "It's not so bad."
"Hello, you two," the Doctor said softly. She hadn't noticed him come over. He still had his plate, although its contents were much reduced. She eyed it and nabbed a biscuit. "Why yes, Rose, I'm happy to share, thank you for asking."
"You eat off my plate all the time," she informed him. Their usual banter felt forced, but she fitted a smile on her face and tried to alter her mood to match.
"At least I chew with my mouth closed," he retorted. She swallowed the last of the biscuit and stuck her tongue out at him. "Here, have another." He held the plate out over to her, a pained expression on his face.
"Want a biscuit, Jonah?" she asked the little boy. He nodded, wide-eyed and intent on the Doctor's plate.
The Doctor tutted and moved the plate just out of her reach. "Jonah?" he prompted.
Jonah's mind vibrated with longing. "Don't tease," she said, not liking the way this was going.
"Just a tick," the Doctor said, his eyes fixed on Jonah. She felt the rustle of some communication between the two of them. "Hold this, but don't give anything to him yet." He handed the plate over to Rose and rummaged through his pockets. "I've got something for you." He pulled out a worn leather wallet and handed it to Jonah. "There you are. Now, what do you say?"
Jonah turned the wallet over several times in his hands and studied it with as much interest as he had fixed on the biscuit earlier. He opened it and held it up for the Doctor and Rose to see.
Rose's jaw dropped. Across the white surface of the psychic paper, a message clearly spelled itself out: May I have a biscuit, please?
…
Emelia watched incredulously as the words appeared and disappeared on the paper in the wallet in her son's hands. Mummy, the paper read – no, Jonah said – will you read me the story about the man in the yellow hat again? Ian never wants to hear that one. I made a bubble and the voices aren't so loud. Don't cry, Mummy.
"It's psychic paper," Rose was saying. "It shows whatever he wants."
"Go and get Connor, would you?" Emelia knelt and put her arms around Jonah, hugging him tightly against her and keeping her eyes fixed on the psychic paper. "I'll read any story you want, sweetheart."
The man with the yellow hat, Jonah said. A faint line appeared underneath the words to emphasize his point.
"The man with the yellow hat," she agreed.
Don't cry?
"Sometimes we cry when we're happy," she explained. He knew how she felt, didn't he? "I'm happy, I promise. I love you so much."
He squirmed in her arms and the paper was momentarily blank. Mum!, he said, finally, and she grinned through her tears at the evident protest in the single word, all embarrassed little boy and loving son.
They would be all right.
no subject
:D
That is all.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Oh, good. I've been plotting poor Wilson's demise for ages, and it's nice it didn't seem inevitable.
no subject
no subject
::hands you a tissue::
no subject
And he's a right chatty thing now isn't he?!
no subject
Absolutely. He's had it all bottled up for a while.
no subject
And giving the psychic paper to Jonah was a stroke of genius! Oh, I'm so happy for him and his family. He's such a sweetie. And was that "Curious George" he was wanting? My nephew's favorite. :D
no subject
Yes, and what do you say to assure someone that a suicide wasn't his fault?
And giving the psychic paper to Jonah was a stroke of genius!
no subject
Poor wiggly boy.
And poor Doctor. Another death to blame himself for, however needlessly.
I'd be sorry for putting him in that situation ... but, well, it is what it is.
no subject
I *love* the psychic paper idea- what a great way for Jonah to communicate!
"He hung himself." (sorry - can't figure out how to put this in italics!)
One very teeny tiny nitpick. When referring to the hanging of a person (as opposed to a picture or something) the past tense of hang is not hung but hanged. Weird, I know, but true. So the sentence should more properly read "He hanged himself."
no subject
I credit
no subject
no subject
I plan on it.
no subject
As for Wilson... well, I can't really feel bad about his death per se, but I do feel bad for how it affected the Doctor. And his "can I please not tell you" speech nearly broke my heart.
no subject
::giggles::
As for Wilson... well, I can't really feel bad about his death per se, but I do feel bad for how it affected the Doctor. And his "can I please not tell you" speech nearly broke my heart.
Wilson wasn't likable, and he'd done some horrible things. Still, I do think he was grieving for Frances, and the impact of his suicide on the Doctor is profound.
no subject
Poor Doctor, though. *hugs him*
no subject
He rather needs one.
no subject
"I've never told you – I don't want to tell you. Can I please not tell you?"
no subject
"I've never told you – I don't want to tell you. Can I please not tell you?"
I can't imagine he'd want Rose to know everything, and in this continuity he hasn't been particularly forthcoming with her. Poor Doctor.
no subject
I really needed a happy, fluffy story/chapter :) And you delivered as usual!
Loved it kalleah!!
no subject
no subject
You're so kind to say so. I couldn't imagine that story ending any other way, but it's been nice to go AU after that and explore one "what if" with their reunion.
no subject
no subject
I'm glad. I've been planning that for a very long time, and I was hoping everyone had forgotten about Wilson a bit. Everyone on Arisbe had certainly put him in a corner, so to speak.
no subject
And the rambling! Wheee!
*cuddles everyone*
Brilliant job!
no subject
no subject
"You keep forgiving me," he mumbled against her.
"Locked in a cage," he said. "Or a crystal ball. Or a mirror." He shook his head and his nose rubbed against her. "Thrown into a black hole. I have so many ways, Rose, so many different ways to show mercy. I've never told you – I don't want to tell you. Can I please not tell you?"
Her eyes welled with tears at the anguished pleading in his voice. She gathered him closer to her and rocked him back and forth. "Shhh," she whispered. "It's okay. We don't have to talk right now."
Maybe one day, if she could bear it, he could.
That's heartbreaking, and so very them.
Also, psychic paper+Jonah+mum=a squee party. Very touching. :)
no subject
no subject
Starting out angsty and ending on such a happy note is wonderful. =)
no subject
I think it's healthy to switch emotions at least three or four times a chapter. ;)
no subject
You had we worried there at the beginning - thought the Doctor had been possessed by some evil spirit or something! Nice to end on a positive note. Any chance of everyone left alive coming away from this fic happy? Oh, and btw, I still haven't forgotten about your promised adult 'outtake' which follows ch6 (?) of this fic. Nor have I forgotten about the parallel series of insights into the thoughts and feelings of Rose's family, following VoD (the name of the series escapes me just now - got it all saved on a USB though!)
no subject
Anything's possible. :)
On the matter of other stories -- yes, those are both on the list for after I finish this, although we'll see about when things come out. I would like to have Starting From The End in particular done before S4 comes out and messes with my view of the alt!verse.