What It Is And Isn't

Chapter 17

Rose was glad she had the Doctor with her, because otherwise she would have absolutely no concept of time. She shifted little, sinking into a depression that was caused by not even being able to see the light.  She hadn't seen the sun in a very long time, about four days by the Doctor's count. She made him whisper to her in the night about the suns of different planets. 

"I'm cold," she whispered. 

"It's alright," he said, stroking her arm soothingly, "It might just be because you're thinking about sunlight."

"Tell me more." 

"It'll just make you yearn for it, love."

Her hand clenched in his jacket and she whimpered.  He stroked his hand through her hair soothingly. This what what he had been afraid would happen. He had no doubt that Rose was quite strong, and beautiful, and cunning, but she had never been locked in a cell with no windows. Even on the TARDIS, when they stayed there for multiple days, there was artificial, yet realistic, sun in the gardens.  She would sit in there if she wanted to see the sun.  But there was no sun now, no chance of looking at it, and her muscles cramped from disuse. 

She cuddled against him almost all the time, because he was warm.  He could regulate his body temperature, being Time Lord and all, and made sure to heat up so that she would feel more safe, perhaps she could sleep. She was a good faker, but the Doctor could still tell that she wasn't doing any sleeping.

"I want to get out, but I don't know what to look for," she whispered. 

The Doctor nodded, sensing that night was falling. "I know.  I don't either."

She sat up suddenly, and he followed, afraid, as he always was, that she was about to do something drastic.  She glanced around and picked up the metal knife that had been given to them with their stale bread.  It was a butter knife, not really a steak knife or anything sharper, but it was enough to make him grab for it.

"Stop it," she said, snapping her eyes at him and tugging the knife away from him. "I have an idea."

Still frantic, he grabbed her by the face and kissed her, hard, afraid of her, afraid of him, afraid of their captors, and afraid of the knife.  He pulled away after several moments, and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Doctor, just trust me?" she whispered. 

He had kissed her in the days past, because he could, because he needed the reassurance as much as she did. But she knew what that kiss meant. That was a plea of 'please don't' for something that she hadn't even been planning to do to begin with.  Her heart burst with affection for him, but she couldn't let him see what she was doing, really.  He would either think she was crazy or dying, and she wasn't sure what was worse. 

She reached up and started sliding the knife along the concrete.  "Can you resonate it?" She asked softly.

"No," he said, "This isn't the 1940s, is much more complicated, more advanced.  I'm not sure I would even know where to begin with it."

"Do you have your sonic?"

"Yes."

"Can you look for a solution?"

"Rose."

"What?"

"This isn't really concrete. It's something I've never seen before, it's technology far more advanced than either of us know how to solve."

She slumped, the knife falling to her side. The Doctor carefully removed the knife from her limp fingers, taking it in his own hand.  "I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking her hair with his free hand.