(A sequel to "Terraform")
Disclaimer: I own very little including 'Doctor Who' and 'Torchwood'. On the other hand, my imagination is my own and I take full responsibility for Wil and the Terraformers.
Wil was pretty sure she wasn't lost. If she'd been lost, that would've implied someone might be able to find her. But she doubted that would happen.
She was less sure about being dead.
She'd never believed in an afterlife and thought that if she were indeed dead then somehow she'd figure out (or be told) that the whole afterlife business hadn't been nonsense.
Besides, if it was the afterlife she thought she would've not been so alone.
And she was very alone, aside from whoever or whatever she could conjure up in her head.
She shrugged her shoulders and then wondered if by that very act she had produced further proof that it wasn't the afterlife.
She went back to Mozart…
The Doctor and Rose were in the middle of a gigantic row.
Neither had said anything that they'd forever regret, at least not yet. Nor had objects been thrown, but it was probably only a matter of time.
For The Doctor, it felt like the argument had been going on for days.
And, in fact, it had.
The quarrel had started innocently enough, at least to his mind. He could tell Rose was out of sorts; while he knew it wasn't PC of him to think it, he simply believed she was having a rough couple of days and she'd snap out of it soon enough, so he'd just let her roil in the meantime.
He'd first noticed she didn't sparkle and laugh as usual at his bad jokes. There were other times she appeared to ignore him when he spoke to her, looking up as if she'd not heard; but he knew she had. Then there was the loud banging shut of doors and cabinets. Oh, and don't forget the stalking past him without any recognition of his presence as she strode through the TARDIS.
All these behaviors he'd seen sporadically before in ones and twos, but never so concentrated and continuous over the span of several days.
So it came to be that he'd finally started to worry.
And not coming up with any obvious answer, he decided to ask.
"Is there something wrong?" It had seemed innocent and straightforward enough.
Her flashing eyes betrayed the innocuous answer: "No, nothing is wrong."
Then she stomped out of the room and slammed the door.
He sighed and counseled himself to be patient. Surely she'd come around soon.
But she didn't.
So again, he asked.
"Is there something wrong?"
The response that time was icy silence.
The Doctor was starting to feel uncomfortable. He felt he should be pussyfooting around the TARDIS, avoiding her to prevent any further upset.
This is ridiculous, he thought. I'm afraid to be in my own home.
It was intolerable.
"Please, can't you tell me what is the matter?"
Rose burst into tears.
She looked at him and shrieked, "If you can't figure it out I'm not going to tell you!"
Again, she stormed out of the room and slammed the door.
This was probably when things went really wrong.
He'd had enough. He couldn't continue to live this way. So he followed her and although he knew he should knock first, he burst through the closed door and found her, shaking, hands and forehead pressed against the wall.
Part of his brain, probably the smart part, told him to go to her and envelope the distraught woman in his arms.
But he didn't listen to that part. He'd gone well beyond listening to the wiser of his inner voices.
Instead he scowled. "What in the hell is wrong with you?"
She turned on him, more fury than he'd ever seen on her face, and screamed.
"How could you not know?"
She gasped a harsh breath and then continued, eyes blazing.
"I can't believe you killed her!
"You sent her to her death and you refuse to go back and fix it!
"What good is it being a Time Lord if you can't bring her back?
"Those two hearts of yours are worthless, unfeeling chunks of ice!
"She's dead and you don't give a damn!
"You let her die – you watched her kill herself and did nothing to try to stop it!
"What a joke! You call yourself 'The Doctor' and you blather on with this nonsense about helping people and assisting them to reach their full potential, and all that rot… but you're a walking, talking death trap!
"You're a nightmare straight out of a Stephen King book; death and destruction both precede and follow you!
"Everywhere you go and everything you touch gets destroyed! OR WORSE!"
Okay, now it seemed words were being said that might be regretted.
The Doctor stood, hands in pockets, blinking, unable to speak – even if he could've gotten a word in edgewise, Rose was on a tear and pausing for no man, or Time Lord.
"Admit it! You planned it! From the beginning! You're a coward!
"And a murderer!
"What good is this piece of crap spaceship," Rose kicked the wall with vehemence, "if you can't fly it back and save her?"
Finally, The Doctor had heard more than enough.
He yelled back at her.
"Blimey, listen to yourself, you're channeling Jackie! You're as daft as your crazy mother and twice as annoying.
"And at least twice as infuriating!
"I'm sorry but I don't do domestic. I can't take this any more!"
The Doctor spun on his heels, marched out into the TARDIS control room, grabbed his coat and slammed the door as he left.
Rose picked up a book and threw it after him. It bounced off the door and skidded across the floor.