Doctor Who Fic: in our town, there are ghosts
note: for araceli_maura because she continues to keep me excited about the series and such. ♥ this came about because of this song: emily haines & the soft skeleton, bottom of the world. so i’m sharing that too.
in our town, there are ghosts
she’s angry some days. if there was honesty to share, she would tell you that she wished that they would’ve talk about an end. this is rose with her in-betweens. doctor who. rose. mickey. implied ten/rose. general fourth series spoilers. 1,976 words, pg.
-
The park is quiet, swarming into the early evening as the last of the traffic starts to fade into the networks of neighborhoods that are still left.
Her ears are closed with the news, the sighs of weather patterns and the latest of the forecast to keep herself comfortable with some sort of predictability. Still, though, Rose’s hand manages to remain tight over the strap of her bag as she ignores how it sways, back and forth, over her hip. She hears a cough behind her and Mickey stutters over catching up, tapping the sharp jut of her arm and reaching for his gaze.
“Slow down.”
She bites her sigh, clutching a map at her side. “Keep up.”
They’ve been on the same path for a few minutes, the mix of wrinkled stones and gravel scuffing under her boots. She keeps to noises and changes, things like the hurn of the wind and the way the trees seem to sigh as she passes. She ignores them a little too, pushing herself to stay with business.
The story begins and ends around the two years that she’s been here, promising herself that she would learn how to adjust and spinning instead to the habits of survival. She’s angry some days, tired on most, and her mind still reels with the occasion slaughter of predictability. But she’s keen on pushing through this not because she wants to but because she has to.
“Still a long while,” Mickey carries the conversation again, burying his hands over the compact transmitter that he carries. “I think we ought to be closer.”
“No.”
She doesn’t look up at him, moving straight ahead and ignoring any of his urges to stop. What they’ve figured out is that there’s a gap, a small gap that carries an unpredictable door and opens her chance to step back over to the other side. It’s always long enough for a glimpse, never enough for help and help, help is what they really need. This is how they’re learning to adjust.
They come to a circle of trees and she stops first, looking around. They’re far from the last point, she thinks, and she can’t even recognize any of the pieces along the path. It’s just trees and a few scattered benches as the sun tries to skim light over them in passing.
“Rose.”
She shrugs. “Not the right spot,” she murmurs, “but timing’s always off - I told you that before.”
“I know,” he nods.
Her mouth tightens. “So listen.”
She’s preoccupied with the string of minutes she had on the other side and the same unfocused streets that felt more like home than it does here. But she’ll never allow herself more than an acknowledgment, keeping herself straight on the things she needs to do. It’s more than just the sensible thing to do, it’s that she’s running out of time and she understands the difference between leisure and necessary all too well.
They’re late today, Mickey stumbling about behind her still as she tries to figure out the next set of coordinates that are willing to let her through to the next universe. She can hear him behind her, the thick cracks of wires and plating and the murmurs of his worry that’ll her pass through for a little while.
She finds herself soften for a brief moment - it’s not his fault and he’s trying to help her, his hands always moving when she asks and he’s never willing to leave her about to do this all alone. In some respects, she appreciates it all. But she’s learned to go off by herself, to go over by herself, and she’s not going to find the Doctor with the sort of help that he really wants to give her.
“M’sorry,” she mutters still, peeking up at her friend.
He smiles and shrugs as if it were really nothing, lying in his gestures and even between his teeth.
“It’s nothing.”
The wind picks up, laughing as it slips between the two of them. Her hair brushes along her jaw and she bats it away with a frown, dipping back over the map in her hand. Her scribble lines the corner of the paper, filling with ifs and maybes, never forthcoming enough.
“Thing he’ll be there?” It’s the same simple question and it’s Mickey’s turn to ask her, catching up and walking easily by her side.
Rose hates it. The question enjoys haunting her from time to time, whether it is Pete or her mum or Mickey, straight on his own. Her answer is always practiced though and there are more things that she hasn’t even begun to sort herself over. What she has though is the motivation, maybe not to see him again - it’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s that she has to remain practical. It’s as simple as that. The idea of loss is something that she can’t have again, not like that and not ever.
But she shrugs finally, looking away. “Don’t know.”
She’s absent and tense, her thoughts running backwards at times. Neither of them can exactly pinpoint when things have started and why Rose feels the things that she feels, but it’s the expression of danger that sort of teases her and presses harder to let her know that it’s here. She’s inclined to allow herself that room of reason - being with the Doctor, all those years, have allowed habits to endure and habits to stay. For this, she thinks she’s lucky and if anything, she understands that more.
Mickey’s watching her too, that stretch of concern tempting some sort of obviousness. She shakes her head and tries to bite away at another round of conversation, wanting to move on.
“What are you going to say?” He finally blurts it out, the words stumbling over as her thoughts thin again.
“You’ve got to come up with something different to ask.”
He snorts. “An’ what? Expect a straight answer?”
Rose’s eyes darken, but she says nothing in return. They come to a crossing of paths, in between trees that seem occupied with helping the day change to something darker. She has to stop and look around, tilting her head up to the sky and waiting, just waiting, for the colors to pink. She’s not disappointed either. Reds become orange and orange slips into a bit of pink and gray, the stars sorting themselves over them with whimpers.
It moves fast and then slow, some halves of the sky rewriting itself in expectation. She’s quite comfortable with the idea that the problem is swimming along up there, biding time that it doesn’t want any of them to have at all. There’s a strange exchange of selfishness that she doesn’t understand, but remains too familiar to her.
It’s nothing, she tells herself to think.
There’s a sigh from next to her, Mickey breaking her thoughts. “Still don’t get how people don’t notice.”
They’re both staring, Rose much more apprehensive for the both of them. All she can say that it’s in the pit of her stomach, something akin to a desperate need to survive and protect the ones that she has left. With that, she channels herself into the search for the Doctor. The brief moments that she has on the other side are terrifying, much more lonely than they are here. It’s because she remembers the city and city should remember her, but she’s only left to being smart and derisive.
“Time?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
Only then does she drop her bag, between their feet, and stretches her arms out. The pads of her fingers are bruised and she listens to the space again, to the sky and the trees, to the way the noise of the streets seem to fade behind the two of them.
It’s getting closer, grabbing in decisions whether or not it wants to open to her. She starts to feel it too, the sensation deep in her throat as the quiet rising of a pull starts to swim around her. It’s in her head and in her hands, the tension sighing across her palms even as they press against her hips.
“Soon,” is all she has and she steps forward, crossing her arms around her chest. She bites her lip and stands taller.
“Sure?”
She nods slowly.
“Remember -”
He still hesitates with worry, watching her with a tight grimace. He reaches for her, patting her arm in an honest display of awkwardness. Rose smiles a little, shaking her head to cut him off.
“I know.”
But Mickey ignores her. “Ten minute maximum,” he tells her, “an’ I don’t know where you’re going to be dropped off - keep to the center of the city if you can. Whatever it is, it won’t be able to follow you either if it’s about doing that too.”
“Right.”
They keep it at that and she turns back to watch the sky again. The stars continue to spread and stretch across the park, over the trees that seem to be complacent with their mood. It isn’t dark enough, but she can see each of them and how they place themselves before her. For some reason, tonight, the air starts to become cooler too. Her cheeks are cold and her hands disappear into her pockets as she braves another step farther away from Mickey.
She drops the map that she kept to carrying, watching it as it falls over the dust from the gravel and dirt. In the distance, she can see a playground peeking in between some of the trees as something in her stomach starts to pull. She thinks of ghosts and laughter, the sudden smile of the things that she still lets herself carry from time to time. It’s not important for this, she reassures herself. But she hears rose behind her, swallowed by the wind as she turns to say something to Mickey about her bag.
But there’s a flash of light that cracks between them and she’s startled, jumping forward instead of backwards and the entire of surge of her body seems to prefer to scream in movement. Her eyes go wide first and she sees a burst of blue and gray ripping in front of her; it’s vague and brief in her head, the fact that it wasn’t like this the first time and the next, the surge of panic peeking out briefly. Her heart races faster and faster and she knows it’s happening, her eyes closing tightly as she braces herself for a quick, hard fall.
It doesn’t come this time either.
“Doctor,” she breathes and her hands fall from her side as the light subsides, an alley grinning back at her in greeting. She hears nothing, sees nothing extraordinary, and sighs, trembling against the nearest reach.
There’s a wall against her side, the brick cool against her hands as she drops her forehead lightly against it to rest. She starts to recognize the small things, from the slight touches of stone under her skin and the way her boots quiver across a small nook of trash and dirt. Breathe in and out, she tells herself, in and out. She’s still trying to calm herself, her body moving instead of stopping to think.
Ten minutes start now.
Doctor, her lips move again. Her hands curl as she steps into the open mouth of the alley, peeking into the outside street again. She adjusts once more, a quick slice of vulnerability as she reminds herself that she’s here for without her choices in periods.
Everything is as she remembers though, straight as a continuation of the last time. The city, outside the alley, is still motionless, streaked with side of cars and pubs with no people, just a bit of light here and there.
It’s still late here. Rose is tired.
in our town, there are ghosts
she’s angry some days. if there was honesty to share, she would tell you that she wished that they would’ve talk about an end. this is rose with her in-betweens. doctor who. rose. mickey. implied ten/rose. general fourth series spoilers. 1,976 words, pg.
-
The park is quiet, swarming into the early evening as the last of the traffic starts to fade into the networks of neighborhoods that are still left.
Her ears are closed with the news, the sighs of weather patterns and the latest of the forecast to keep herself comfortable with some sort of predictability. Still, though, Rose’s hand manages to remain tight over the strap of her bag as she ignores how it sways, back and forth, over her hip. She hears a cough behind her and Mickey stutters over catching up, tapping the sharp jut of her arm and reaching for his gaze.
“Slow down.”
She bites her sigh, clutching a map at her side. “Keep up.”
They’ve been on the same path for a few minutes, the mix of wrinkled stones and gravel scuffing under her boots. She keeps to noises and changes, things like the hurn of the wind and the way the trees seem to sigh as she passes. She ignores them a little too, pushing herself to stay with business.
The story begins and ends around the two years that she’s been here, promising herself that she would learn how to adjust and spinning instead to the habits of survival. She’s angry some days, tired on most, and her mind still reels with the occasion slaughter of predictability. But she’s keen on pushing through this not because she wants to but because she has to.
“Still a long while,” Mickey carries the conversation again, burying his hands over the compact transmitter that he carries. “I think we ought to be closer.”
“No.”
She doesn’t look up at him, moving straight ahead and ignoring any of his urges to stop. What they’ve figured out is that there’s a gap, a small gap that carries an unpredictable door and opens her chance to step back over to the other side. It’s always long enough for a glimpse, never enough for help and help, help is what they really need. This is how they’re learning to adjust.
They come to a circle of trees and she stops first, looking around. They’re far from the last point, she thinks, and she can’t even recognize any of the pieces along the path. It’s just trees and a few scattered benches as the sun tries to skim light over them in passing.
“Rose.”
She shrugs. “Not the right spot,” she murmurs, “but timing’s always off - I told you that before.”
“I know,” he nods.
Her mouth tightens. “So listen.”
She’s preoccupied with the string of minutes she had on the other side and the same unfocused streets that felt more like home than it does here. But she’ll never allow herself more than an acknowledgment, keeping herself straight on the things she needs to do. It’s more than just the sensible thing to do, it’s that she’s running out of time and she understands the difference between leisure and necessary all too well.
They’re late today, Mickey stumbling about behind her still as she tries to figure out the next set of coordinates that are willing to let her through to the next universe. She can hear him behind her, the thick cracks of wires and plating and the murmurs of his worry that’ll her pass through for a little while.
She finds herself soften for a brief moment - it’s not his fault and he’s trying to help her, his hands always moving when she asks and he’s never willing to leave her about to do this all alone. In some respects, she appreciates it all. But she’s learned to go off by herself, to go over by herself, and she’s not going to find the Doctor with the sort of help that he really wants to give her.
“M’sorry,” she mutters still, peeking up at her friend.
He smiles and shrugs as if it were really nothing, lying in his gestures and even between his teeth.
“It’s nothing.”
The wind picks up, laughing as it slips between the two of them. Her hair brushes along her jaw and she bats it away with a frown, dipping back over the map in her hand. Her scribble lines the corner of the paper, filling with ifs and maybes, never forthcoming enough.
“Thing he’ll be there?” It’s the same simple question and it’s Mickey’s turn to ask her, catching up and walking easily by her side.
Rose hates it. The question enjoys haunting her from time to time, whether it is Pete or her mum or Mickey, straight on his own. Her answer is always practiced though and there are more things that she hasn’t even begun to sort herself over. What she has though is the motivation, maybe not to see him again - it’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s that she has to remain practical. It’s as simple as that. The idea of loss is something that she can’t have again, not like that and not ever.
But she shrugs finally, looking away. “Don’t know.”
She’s absent and tense, her thoughts running backwards at times. Neither of them can exactly pinpoint when things have started and why Rose feels the things that she feels, but it’s the expression of danger that sort of teases her and presses harder to let her know that it’s here. She’s inclined to allow herself that room of reason - being with the Doctor, all those years, have allowed habits to endure and habits to stay. For this, she thinks she’s lucky and if anything, she understands that more.
Mickey’s watching her too, that stretch of concern tempting some sort of obviousness. She shakes her head and tries to bite away at another round of conversation, wanting to move on.
“What are you going to say?” He finally blurts it out, the words stumbling over as her thoughts thin again.
“You’ve got to come up with something different to ask.”
He snorts. “An’ what? Expect a straight answer?”
Rose’s eyes darken, but she says nothing in return. They come to a crossing of paths, in between trees that seem occupied with helping the day change to something darker. She has to stop and look around, tilting her head up to the sky and waiting, just waiting, for the colors to pink. She’s not disappointed either. Reds become orange and orange slips into a bit of pink and gray, the stars sorting themselves over them with whimpers.
It moves fast and then slow, some halves of the sky rewriting itself in expectation. She’s quite comfortable with the idea that the problem is swimming along up there, biding time that it doesn’t want any of them to have at all. There’s a strange exchange of selfishness that she doesn’t understand, but remains too familiar to her.
It’s nothing, she tells herself to think.
There’s a sigh from next to her, Mickey breaking her thoughts. “Still don’t get how people don’t notice.”
They’re both staring, Rose much more apprehensive for the both of them. All she can say that it’s in the pit of her stomach, something akin to a desperate need to survive and protect the ones that she has left. With that, she channels herself into the search for the Doctor. The brief moments that she has on the other side are terrifying, much more lonely than they are here. It’s because she remembers the city and city should remember her, but she’s only left to being smart and derisive.
“Time?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
Only then does she drop her bag, between their feet, and stretches her arms out. The pads of her fingers are bruised and she listens to the space again, to the sky and the trees, to the way the noise of the streets seem to fade behind the two of them.
It’s getting closer, grabbing in decisions whether or not it wants to open to her. She starts to feel it too, the sensation deep in her throat as the quiet rising of a pull starts to swim around her. It’s in her head and in her hands, the tension sighing across her palms even as they press against her hips.
“Soon,” is all she has and she steps forward, crossing her arms around her chest. She bites her lip and stands taller.
“Sure?”
She nods slowly.
“Remember -”
He still hesitates with worry, watching her with a tight grimace. He reaches for her, patting her arm in an honest display of awkwardness. Rose smiles a little, shaking her head to cut him off.
“I know.”
But Mickey ignores her. “Ten minute maximum,” he tells her, “an’ I don’t know where you’re going to be dropped off - keep to the center of the city if you can. Whatever it is, it won’t be able to follow you either if it’s about doing that too.”
“Right.”
They keep it at that and she turns back to watch the sky again. The stars continue to spread and stretch across the park, over the trees that seem to be complacent with their mood. It isn’t dark enough, but she can see each of them and how they place themselves before her. For some reason, tonight, the air starts to become cooler too. Her cheeks are cold and her hands disappear into her pockets as she braves another step farther away from Mickey.
She drops the map that she kept to carrying, watching it as it falls over the dust from the gravel and dirt. In the distance, she can see a playground peeking in between some of the trees as something in her stomach starts to pull. She thinks of ghosts and laughter, the sudden smile of the things that she still lets herself carry from time to time. It’s not important for this, she reassures herself. But she hears rose behind her, swallowed by the wind as she turns to say something to Mickey about her bag.
But there’s a flash of light that cracks between them and she’s startled, jumping forward instead of backwards and the entire of surge of her body seems to prefer to scream in movement. Her eyes go wide first and she sees a burst of blue and gray ripping in front of her; it’s vague and brief in her head, the fact that it wasn’t like this the first time and the next, the surge of panic peeking out briefly. Her heart races faster and faster and she knows it’s happening, her eyes closing tightly as she braces herself for a quick, hard fall.
It doesn’t come this time either.
“Doctor,” she breathes and her hands fall from her side as the light subsides, an alley grinning back at her in greeting. She hears nothing, sees nothing extraordinary, and sighs, trembling against the nearest reach.
There’s a wall against her side, the brick cool against her hands as she drops her forehead lightly against it to rest. She starts to recognize the small things, from the slight touches of stone under her skin and the way her boots quiver across a small nook of trash and dirt. Breathe in and out, she tells herself, in and out. She’s still trying to calm herself, her body moving instead of stopping to think.
Ten minutes start now.
Doctor, her lips move again. Her hands curl as she steps into the open mouth of the alley, peeking into the outside street again. She adjusts once more, a quick slice of vulnerability as she reminds herself that she’s here for without her choices in periods.
Everything is as she remembers though, straight as a continuation of the last time. The city, outside the alley, is still motionless, streaked with side of cars and pubs with no people, just a bit of light here and there.
It’s still late here. Rose is tired.