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Chapter 1
Chapter 2. Life Ephemeral
Rose stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. It was slightly misted from her earlier shower and the face that peered back at her was somewhat insubstantial. She lifted a hand and let her fingers ghost the outline of her reflection, not quite touching the glass. The obscured image echoed her inner turmoil: the person she saw was no longer familiar; she was no longer entirely human, no longer entirely Rose. She felt rather like a Picasso portrait; each component part of her face made sense, but assembled was not altogether coherent. She knew she should be jubilant - she had found her way back to the Doctor, lived when she should have died - but instead she felt lost, alien.
She frowned and wiped a hand across the fogged image as if to scrub it from her sight. Turning away, she tossed her towel to the floor and walked naked into her bedroom in search of clean underwear. She tugged on white cotton knickers and a utilitarian bra heedlessly, her mind still elsewhere, struggling with thoughts she wished she could banish.
The new, alien part of her had saved her life, given her back a life with the Doctor, given them the real possibility of a future she knew he had never dreamed possible. She knew she should be glad. She had been glad. In the giddy aftermath of living, swept up in the Doctor's unalloyed joy, her happiness had been a tangible, powerful thing, as bright and as vibrant as the butterflies he had shown her. Like a butterfly, however, it had proved ephemeral.
She snorted crossly, dragging on jeans and a pink vest top with 'Sexy Babe' emblazoned across it in bold white letters. She loved the Doctor, had chosen him over her family and best friend, had promised him her forever. She didn't understand why the revelation of her sudden longevity was causing her such difficulty. Shoving her feet into some trainers and deep thoughts out of her mind she headed for the kitchen.
To her surprise, the kitchen was empty; normally the three of them always gathered here after an adventure for a cup of tea and a gossip. She shrugged, wincing a little at the dull ache in her left shoulder; once she’d cleaned off the blood, her cuts and grazes had proved largely minor but she was developing a few impressive bruises. No good deed, it seemed, went unrewarded. She shoved the kettle on, pulling mugs from the cupboard and adding tealeaves to the teapot. She didn’t need to warm the pot, the TARDIS always kept it perfectly heated. It was one of the little details that made living within her such a joy.
Rose cleared her mind and cast her thoughts outwards towards the ship. Since the Doctor had discovered her new telepathic abilities he had been schooling her in their use. She was adept at shielding her thoughts now, and could, if she concentrated hard, make contact with the Doctor. It still drained her, though. The only thing she found easy about her new ability was talking to the TARDIS. She wondered if it was because they had once been one. Whatever the reason, the TARDIS was a constant, soothing, presence in her mind and a ready consciousness to converse with.
Rose felt the rumbling acknowledgement of her affection and gratitude from the ship and smiled softly. I do love you, girl, she telegraphed. The warmth in her mind increased and she felt cushioned in reciprocal affection. Beneath the affection, however, other sensations coursed. Concern, questioning confusion, scolding displeasure at the risk she had run saving the little girl on the surface of the planet they had just left and, laced beneath it all, worry for her Time Lord. Rose shifted uncomfortably. I don’t mean to hurt him, she whispered, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Everything’s different. I’m different. She paused, stumbling uncertainly towards meaning. Nothing’s how I expected it to be. Nothing feels how I thought it would.
The whistle of the kettle interrupted her concentration and Rose broke away from the TARDIS, losing herself in the ritual of tea making. With impeccable timing, Jack materialized in the doorway just as Rose was pouring the brew into his mug.
‘’ello, beautiful, that for me?’ he asked, sauntering into the room and subsiding into one of the kitchen chairs, one arm draped casually across a braced thigh. Even at ease he exuded ready sexuality.
Rose wrinkled her nose at him and raised her eyes heavenward, ‘Of course. Where’s the Doctor? Made one for him, too.’
‘Think he’s got some urgent tinkering to do. Reckon it’s just you and me, love,’ he added, leering at her suggestively. She smacked his arm affectionately.
‘Down boy!’
‘You 21st Century girls are no fun. All publicity,’ he said, gesturing at her top, ‘and no follow-through!’
‘You saying I’m a tease, Jack Harkness?’ she cried in mock outrage, leaning back slightly, inadvertently ensuring he got the full benefit of her message emblazoned chest.
‘Would I?’ he chuckled, ‘I’m just observing that you’re a little repressed. Nothing I couldn’t cure, given ’alf a chance, though!’ He laughed as she bristled, grabbing her round the waist and sweeping her into his lap. ‘Don’t worry, you might be repressed, but I love you anyways.’ He pressed a brief kiss on her lips before shifting his mouth and blowing a raspberry against her neck.
‘Oi!’ she shrieked, giggling, curling in his lap against his ticklish assault. As her giggles subsided she rested her head against his chest, nuzzling like a sleepy kitten against the soft fabric of his shirt. ‘Love you, too, Jack,’ she whispered, before slipping from his grip and moving to sit opposite him at the kitchen table, nursing her mug of tea.
‘You alright?’ he asked after a moment.
‘I’m fine. Just bruises, nothing major’.
‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ Jack replied, fixing her beneath a serious gaze. Rose frowned at him and studied the tea in her hands with unwarranted interest.
‘I’m fine, Jack.’
‘You’re not, though.’ He responded. Anger reared in Rose from nowhere and she pushed herself up from the table, her body language suddenly frigid.
‘I’m gonna take the Doctor his tea,’ she said, stalking from the room. Jack sighed, feeling like a ping-pong ball. Just as well he loved the two of them, ’cause, immortal or not, he was beginning to suspect that the Doctor and Rose would be the death of him.
Chapter 3
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