Motion
Motion
The gravestone read “Rose Marian Tyler,” with date of birth and date of death. And then, underneath, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” That was all.
As Donna stood next to him, the Doctor arranged a bouquet of flowers and tried not to look like he was taking an inordinate amount of care with how they looked even as he took an inordinate amount of care with how they looked. They were off-planet flowers, from a world they’d just come from. Large, dark pink, with a profusion of floppy, fluffy petals. They smelled strongly, but a cleaner, fresher smell than earth flowers, almost like roses after a thunderstorm. Rose had loved them. That was what the Doctor said as he’d carried them on board the TARDIS. Rose loved them. I’m going to get some to put on her grave. Wellllll, I mean, it’s not really her grave, she’s not buried there, but it’s…well. Do you want to see it?
And so she found herself watching him place alien flowers on a gravestone in a nondescript cemetery. He straightened finally, with a little sigh, and looked down at the flowers. Just looked.
Donna waited, glancing around the cemetery, and then turned back to him curiously. “Did you put this gravestone here?”
“Hmm?” he said, clearly lost in his own thoughts, then nodded. “Yeah. I thought…I thought there should be something. She was on the list of the dead. She had friends here. There should have been something here, some memorial to…”
“You didn’t set one up for her mum,” said Donna. She knew the Pete’s World story, knew both names had been on the list of the dead, and she was puzzled as to why there was only one name on the gravestone.
The Doctor opened and closed his mouth, eyes tracing the engraved letters of Rose’s name. He cleared his throat. His arms were folded, an unusual posture for him as he usually swept his hands into his pockets. It made him look…more distant than usual, she decided. He blinked several times, and Donna wondered suddenly, alarmed, if he was going to start crying, and what the hell she would do if he started crying on her.
“I…” He trailed off, then tried again. “I lied to you, Donna.”
She stared at him. “About what?”
“When I said she was okay. I lied when I told you Rose was okay. I lied about all of it.”
“Doctor,” said Donna, a little harshly, but the weight of this revelation seemed to call for some harshness.
“I couldn’t save her, Donna.”
“What do you mean?”
“I couldn’t save her,” he snapped, looking at her finally.
She was bewildered. “You’ve said that. Pete-“
“No!” He was shouting now. “There was no Pete! Pete didn’t-No one saved her, Donna! There was no one to save her but me! And I didn’t! I watched her fall into the Void and I didn’t save her.”
Donna’s eyes were wide with astonishment. She was beginning to think she was imagining this entire conversation. She had to be. It made absolutely no sense. In the silence that followed his outburst a bird broke into song in the tree they were standing near. The Doctor glared in its general direction.
“I-I don’t understand,” Donna stammered. “You said-“
“I know what I said, I know what-“ He cut himself off and scrubbed his hands over his face, then shoved his hands into his pockets and turned abruptly, striding away.
“Oi!” she protested, hurrying after him.
He reached a small bench, sat on it heavily. Donna slowed as she followed him, then sank down next to him and waited for him to speak. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and kept his eyes on the flowers on Rose’s gravestone.
“She fell into the Void, Donna,” he said, finally. “And I just watched. I just…” He took a deep breath. “And then it closed and then…The panic in her eyes. You should have seen the panic in her eyes. Do you know how long I stood there and couldn’t move? Do you know how much I wanted to die?” He looked at her suddenly, his expression wry. “Do you know why I’m still alive?”
She shook her head the slightest bit, too stunned to do anything else.
“Because I don’t deserve to die. I never have. I go on and on and on, remembering panic-- all the panic all around me, all the panic I caused, all the panic I should have been able to stop,--and I don’t get to escape that. I shouldn’t get to escape that, except…” He shifted restlessly, leaning back against the bench and crossing his arms again in that uncommon posture. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t…move. I kept thinking, How could it have gone differently? What could have happened that would have…? And maybe Pete would have jumped back. Maybe Pete would have grabbed her, just in time. Sure, I’d still be alone on the TARDIS, but maybe I’d get to say good-bye properly, or decently. Maybe the last time I looked into her eyes she wasn’t desperate, frantic, panicking. Maybe she was saying she loved me. And maybe I ran out of time, maybe I didn’t get to tell her everything I meant to say. I mean, it wouldn’t do for me to be too heroic in this story I concocted in my head, but maybe, if I told that story to myself enough times, if it was the version I told other people… Maybe we could just all pretend it was true. Maybe I could…move…if I thought that she wasn’t… That she was just off defending another Earth.” He fell silent.
Donna had no idea what to say. She stared at the fluffy alien petals and shivered, wondering if a chill had crept into the day.
“That’s why there’s a gravestone for Rose but not Jackie.”
She still didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment of silence. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I lied to myself. Rose deserved better and I shouldn’t-“
“Oh, I think you’re wrong,” she interrupted him.
He looked at her in surprise. “What?”
“It wasn’t your fault, what happened to Rose.” She looked him directly in the eye. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He shook his head. “That’s not-”
“And do you think what Rose wanted was for you to torture yourself over it? So you want to remember her vibrant and full of life and saving the world. You don’t think she’d prefer that?”
“I think she’d prefer that I stop writing melodramatic fiction about the circumstances of her life.”
“I think she’d prefer that you live. That you find a way to have a fantastic life. Did she love you?”
“I think she did. I don’t think I fictionalized that.” He paused. “No, I know she did. She did. She loved me and she trusted me and-“
“And it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. She wouldn’t want you to remember her as a form of self-punishment. She’d want you to remember her as a reason for living, as a reason for moving.”
“I shouldn’t have lied about it. I shouldn’t have indulged the whole fantasy of…”
“You kept moving. When you wanted to crawl under a rock and die, you kept moving. You did what you had to do to keep moving, and, considering what was going on, I’m not going to sit here and pass judgment on you, and neither should you.”
“If I don’t pass judgment on me then who will?”
“Judgment doesn’t get passed on the things we do right after our worlds fall apart.”
“Oh, yeah? Whose rule is that?”
“Like you don’t make up rules all the time,” she snorted.
He smiled, the very slightest bit, looking back toward the gravestone.
“You know why you lie to the rest of us? I don’t think you’re scared of our condemnation of you. I think you’re scared we’ll all forgive you.”
He didn’t answer her.
“‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may?’” she ventured.
“‘Old time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today tomorrow will be dying.’ I was a bit…It suited my mood.”
“Why tell me all this now?” she asked after a moment.
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Then said, slowly, “I suppose…I’m moving now. Maybe I’m ready to…discard my coping mechanisms. A body in motion stays in motion, you know.”
“Is that from the rosebuds poem?”
“It’s Newton’s First Law of Motion,” he said, in exasperation.
“Newton?”
“Oh, Donna,” he sighed.
There was another moment of silence.
“It really wasn’t your fault,” she said.
“Oh, it was. Entirely.”
“She wouldn’t have thought so.”
He chuckled a little.
“I’m serious,” she protested.
“Serious and right. She wouldn’t have thought so. She never believed anything less than perfection of me. Especially when I didn’t deserve it.” He stood up. “We should get going.”
“Bodies in motion stay in motion, right?”
“Exactly,” he said, and began walking toward the TARDIS. “Exactly.”
The gravestone read “Rose Marian Tyler,” with date of birth and date of death. And then, underneath, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” That was all.
As Donna stood next to him, the Doctor arranged a bouquet of flowers and tried not to look like he was taking an inordinate amount of care with how they looked even as he took an inordinate amount of care with how they looked. They were off-planet flowers, from a world they’d just come from. Large, dark pink, with a profusion of floppy, fluffy petals. They smelled strongly, but a cleaner, fresher smell than earth flowers, almost like roses after a thunderstorm. Rose had loved them. That was what the Doctor said as he’d carried them on board the TARDIS. Rose loved them. I’m going to get some to put on her grave. Wellllll, I mean, it’s not really her grave, she’s not buried there, but it’s…well. Do you want to see it?
And so she found herself watching him place alien flowers on a gravestone in a nondescript cemetery. He straightened finally, with a little sigh, and looked down at the flowers. Just looked.
Donna waited, glancing around the cemetery, and then turned back to him curiously. “Did you put this gravestone here?”
“Hmm?” he said, clearly lost in his own thoughts, then nodded. “Yeah. I thought…I thought there should be something. She was on the list of the dead. She had friends here. There should have been something here, some memorial to…”
“You didn’t set one up for her mum,” said Donna. She knew the Pete’s World story, knew both names had been on the list of the dead, and she was puzzled as to why there was only one name on the gravestone.
The Doctor opened and closed his mouth, eyes tracing the engraved letters of Rose’s name. He cleared his throat. His arms were folded, an unusual posture for him as he usually swept his hands into his pockets. It made him look…more distant than usual, she decided. He blinked several times, and Donna wondered suddenly, alarmed, if he was going to start crying, and what the hell she would do if he started crying on her.
“I…” He trailed off, then tried again. “I lied to you, Donna.”
She stared at him. “About what?”
“When I said she was okay. I lied when I told you Rose was okay. I lied about all of it.”
“Doctor,” said Donna, a little harshly, but the weight of this revelation seemed to call for some harshness.
“I couldn’t save her, Donna.”
“What do you mean?”
“I couldn’t save her,” he snapped, looking at her finally.
She was bewildered. “You’ve said that. Pete-“
“No!” He was shouting now. “There was no Pete! Pete didn’t-No one saved her, Donna! There was no one to save her but me! And I didn’t! I watched her fall into the Void and I didn’t save her.”
Donna’s eyes were wide with astonishment. She was beginning to think she was imagining this entire conversation. She had to be. It made absolutely no sense. In the silence that followed his outburst a bird broke into song in the tree they were standing near. The Doctor glared in its general direction.
“I-I don’t understand,” Donna stammered. “You said-“
“I know what I said, I know what-“ He cut himself off and scrubbed his hands over his face, then shoved his hands into his pockets and turned abruptly, striding away.
“Oi!” she protested, hurrying after him.
He reached a small bench, sat on it heavily. Donna slowed as she followed him, then sank down next to him and waited for him to speak. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and kept his eyes on the flowers on Rose’s gravestone.
“She fell into the Void, Donna,” he said, finally. “And I just watched. I just…” He took a deep breath. “And then it closed and then…The panic in her eyes. You should have seen the panic in her eyes. Do you know how long I stood there and couldn’t move? Do you know how much I wanted to die?” He looked at her suddenly, his expression wry. “Do you know why I’m still alive?”
She shook her head the slightest bit, too stunned to do anything else.
“Because I don’t deserve to die. I never have. I go on and on and on, remembering panic-- all the panic all around me, all the panic I caused, all the panic I should have been able to stop,--and I don’t get to escape that. I shouldn’t get to escape that, except…” He shifted restlessly, leaning back against the bench and crossing his arms again in that uncommon posture. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t…move. I kept thinking, How could it have gone differently? What could have happened that would have…? And maybe Pete would have jumped back. Maybe Pete would have grabbed her, just in time. Sure, I’d still be alone on the TARDIS, but maybe I’d get to say good-bye properly, or decently. Maybe the last time I looked into her eyes she wasn’t desperate, frantic, panicking. Maybe she was saying she loved me. And maybe I ran out of time, maybe I didn’t get to tell her everything I meant to say. I mean, it wouldn’t do for me to be too heroic in this story I concocted in my head, but maybe, if I told that story to myself enough times, if it was the version I told other people… Maybe we could just all pretend it was true. Maybe I could…move…if I thought that she wasn’t… That she was just off defending another Earth.” He fell silent.
Donna had no idea what to say. She stared at the fluffy alien petals and shivered, wondering if a chill had crept into the day.
“That’s why there’s a gravestone for Rose but not Jackie.”
She still didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment of silence. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I lied to myself. Rose deserved better and I shouldn’t-“
“Oh, I think you’re wrong,” she interrupted him.
He looked at her in surprise. “What?”
“It wasn’t your fault, what happened to Rose.” She looked him directly in the eye. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He shook his head. “That’s not-”
“And do you think what Rose wanted was for you to torture yourself over it? So you want to remember her vibrant and full of life and saving the world. You don’t think she’d prefer that?”
“I think she’d prefer that I stop writing melodramatic fiction about the circumstances of her life.”
“I think she’d prefer that you live. That you find a way to have a fantastic life. Did she love you?”
“I think she did. I don’t think I fictionalized that.” He paused. “No, I know she did. She did. She loved me and she trusted me and-“
“And it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. She wouldn’t want you to remember her as a form of self-punishment. She’d want you to remember her as a reason for living, as a reason for moving.”
“I shouldn’t have lied about it. I shouldn’t have indulged the whole fantasy of…”
“You kept moving. When you wanted to crawl under a rock and die, you kept moving. You did what you had to do to keep moving, and, considering what was going on, I’m not going to sit here and pass judgment on you, and neither should you.”
“If I don’t pass judgment on me then who will?”
“Judgment doesn’t get passed on the things we do right after our worlds fall apart.”
“Oh, yeah? Whose rule is that?”
“Like you don’t make up rules all the time,” she snorted.
He smiled, the very slightest bit, looking back toward the gravestone.
“You know why you lie to the rest of us? I don’t think you’re scared of our condemnation of you. I think you’re scared we’ll all forgive you.”
He didn’t answer her.
“‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may?’” she ventured.
“‘Old time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today tomorrow will be dying.’ I was a bit…It suited my mood.”
“Why tell me all this now?” she asked after a moment.
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Then said, slowly, “I suppose…I’m moving now. Maybe I’m ready to…discard my coping mechanisms. A body in motion stays in motion, you know.”
“Is that from the rosebuds poem?”
“It’s Newton’s First Law of Motion,” he said, in exasperation.
“Newton?”
“Oh, Donna,” he sighed.
There was another moment of silence.
“It really wasn’t your fault,” she said.
“Oh, it was. Entirely.”
“She wouldn’t have thought so.”
He chuckled a little.
“I’m serious,” she protested.
“Serious and right. She wouldn’t have thought so. She never believed anything less than perfection of me. Especially when I didn’t deserve it.” He stood up. “We should get going.”
“Bodies in motion stay in motion, right?”
“Exactly,” he said, and began walking toward the TARDIS. “Exactly.”