doctor who fic: they drew destiny on our dinner plates (1/1)
doctor who fic: they drew destiny on our dinner plates (1/1)
ten/rose; spoilers for season 4
pg
1,872 words
for my new friends
araceli_maura ,
gabesaunt and
riot__libertine. hope you enjoy!
“i don’t know why you’re doing this.”
she sighs, flipping her hair behind her while turning her back on the person she thought she knew best. it’s not so sinple anymore to ignore, to pretend that you seemed like you were the center of the world, where nothing mattered, as long as-
the words fall squarely into her lap before she knows it. it’s the typical response she’s given her mother every day now, for everything relevant to saving the world.
“it’s not because i have to,”
it sounds so childish sometimes. saving the world. like something you’d see in a movie, or on the disney channel- “saving the world” was cool in those days, back where it was all fake, where all you had to do was hold his hand-
she remember that in high school she used to kiss guys all the time. it was for fun, just for kicks and games, illusions that would dissolve into dust the moment your lips left the jockey’s. she had never known what a real kiss felt like, that is, until-
we never saw this coming, did we Rose?
her mind wavers on his chocolate brown face, his eyes shining with worry. his hair is a bit longer now, a bit darker than before. he was working at the moment on the other project. maybe it was out of the hopes of winning her back. a futile try though. that was way behind them now. all they talked about, if they ever did “talk”, was about him, and what the next day would be like in measurements of wires, cables, telescreens, and audio files. it’s been a long time since they’ve smiled.
she plugs in the last cable with a sigh of relief. thrity minutes was too short of a time, but the words needed to be heard. not i love you or i’m back, but more importantly a message that needed to be delivered. it was all part of the game plan.
funny thing was, she didn’t even know what the whole game plan was.
“start the countdown,” she says firmly, strapping the belt across her waist while stepping onto the platform. her mother gives an indifferent shrug and begins to mouth the numbers. she looks wearier, older. the bags under her eyes have deepened with those wrinkles on her forehead. the baby was to be expected within two months. she wanted to call it samantha, but pete said that it was too fancy, so they named her susan. [rose shrugged at this and asked her mother, “what type of world will she live in by then? one covered in tyranny and destruction? or one trembling in the darkness? will she ever see her bigger sister again?”]
quite right to.
she had shed too many tears on that day. her eyes close, and in this deepening silence, she tries to think. these thoughts of daleks and cybermen have been etched into her brain flawlessly, to the point that she dreams not only of his eyes and his voice, but their electronic voices, the screams of agony of being deleted, the anguish- it was all intolerable. days would go by when she would looks at these tars in hopes of spotting a blue streak, or maybe the noise of an engine roaring, the melodious harmony of a box arriving on the dawn of a new day...
foolish dreams, she chastises herself. she could never have him anyway.
“...one.”
the light swallows her whole as her mind blanks and she is thrown into the farthest reaches of insanity. she knows, by instinct, that she’s heading home at last- back to places of sweet cakes, and job searching, and watching old horror movies-
it’s by then she realizes that in reality, she could never go back. it was already too late for that.
the fragrance of lilies seems to fill the air.
she gazes at an empty, deserted sidewalk, glaring back at her with graffiti on the torn down brick walls. far away a meow can be heard, and the echo of a pot crashing bounces off the walls into empty silence.
[when you close your eyes, what do you see? her father would ask her when she was working. nothing, she replied sadly. only what i need to do. and her father would sigh the longest of sighs, and turn away from what was left of his daughter.]
on her wrist, the clock ticks ever so slightly. the stars twinkle and gleam upon her, shedding their bountiful light on her pale skin. twenty eight minutes. her heartbeat grows restless as the blood pounds through her ears. she licks her lips noisily, as they are covered in strawberry gloss (he said it was his favorite fruit. strange that he never liked pears- they smelled awfully nice too.) twenty six. her finger are intertwined, and she stares down this lonesome sidewalk, waiting for-
“waiting again? you were always the waiting type, you know. remember when we saw the supernova of section 73, and you fell out of the tardis? you just sat there and waited for me to come and pick you up. silly girl,”
there are tears in her eyes, tears that have been waiting to be shed for a long time. tears that never got through her eyelashes because she lacked the motivation necessary to cry, because there was too much to waste tears upon, because she knew ultimately, in the end, he would come.
“i wasn’t expecting you to come this early, considering it’s one a.m and all,” she does not turn around to look at him. she does not press him for answers. the questions have already been revealed. all that’s left for them to do is settle the common ground, to establish the last, firm link. accept that it was all a deceiving lie, and return back to where they left off. but what if that was what got them into trouble in the first place?
best not to turn around, a vicious monster, waiting in the dark, ready to claw at her heart and leave fresh, new wounds, that was what was behind her.
“oh, so observant of you. but it’s actually eleven p.m, not one in the morning, sourpatch,” he points out, and she can just imagine him grinning that insane smile that was just so damn contagious-
“i think i accidentally set if to french time,” she replies, her hands now curled into tiny balls of fists. the anger inside her chest hurts, impatient. the countless years she had waited for this moment, all to be ruined by some stupid fucking mission. how ironic. all she wanted, all she ever wanted was just to say-
“oh, of course. allons-y, yes?” his voice is tinged with a sour mix of sarcasm and yet simple amusement. oh hell, how he’s tortured her for two consecutive years. how he’s made her toss and turn constantly in her sleep, making blue circles develop around her eyes. she’s sick of it all, the screaming, the helplessness, that empty, raw, gaping hole inside her ribcage. she hated every second of it.
she says nothing, but shivers uncomfortably, trying to think again. the doctor is silent now, but she can hear his heavy breathing. it’s slow and yet somewhat sad, as if there is a sorrowful tune, even in his sighs, which makes the stars weep and the suns dim.
the words are scribbled on her face; jumbled up in meaning. she opens her lips to speak, but then closes them again. it’s no use- her voice has lost its purpose, and the only thing she can her in her head right now are the unwilling thoughts and the sound of her heart, thumping hard against her chest-
they have to start somewhere. so she slowly turns her head, letting her bangs slowly fall down to cover her tightly shut eyes. she can feel him now, the heat radiating from his body, those two hearts-
his fingers trace her cheek, burning her soul alive. please, she whimpers. go. i don’t want to be hurt.
i don’t want to be hurt by you. that in itself is sinful.
but it all changes when his lips brush her softly.
he certainly knows how to do it, is the first thought that rises to the surface of her muddled brain. his tongue rolls around hers inside his warm mouth. every step is with dignity and grace- the hands moving across her hips, his body melding toward hers, crashing against her thighs- it’s all done with such a style it’s as if he’s practiced this so many times.
her mind freezes, and she pushes away the last thought from what’s left of her sanity. she’s already lost most of her self. rather, she gave it up- to him.
slowly, snows drifts over London. soft and silent, it falls on their hearts, in this everlasting darkness. each precious flake, memory, touch, it’s all here in their minds, if only the could create a bridge in this open, vast rift between them. time heals everything eventually. but for some reason, the wounds only seemed to get deeper when time grew longer.
it’s a gentle kiss, but she can feel the hesitation in his body. the real him has not revealed itself as of yet. is he scared? scared that he left her too soon, too long? she doesn’t know- she can’t tell if he’s happy or not.
surely, times were much sweeter and more ignorant that this, when they traveled without seeing what they had become.
he breaks away, his fingertips sliding across her forehead one last time before they hastily enter the pockets of his long, brown coat. she gives a moan- out of distress, relief, or happiness- she can’t tell.
“does that count as an ‘i’m sorry’, Rose Tyler?”
she laughs. it’s been a long time since she’s done that. to let go of missions and guns and alien experiments- she hated it all. but it was the only way to get closer of him, ironically. however now, her heavy heart seems to have gotten a bit lighter.
“i forgot how it feels,” she smiles. “being with you and all. i guess i’ve been kept in the dark too long, i s’pose,”
“yeah, that happens.” she can see heis face clearly now. it hasn’t changed at all- perhaps a few more wrinkles near the eyes, but otherwise he seems as light, young, happy and outgoing as ever.
he shrugs. “how long do you have?”
she taps the watch on her wrist, and a blue screen pops up. ten minutes is all it says, but she feels her heart plunge into the cold again. but it’s time. there’s still time.
“fancy a walk?” she asks, smiling again, and grabs his hand. we’ve always got forever, like this now.
“yeah, sure,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but she can almost taste his happiness. his fingers curl around hers, and they walk the longest of walks. the stars are still shining, twinkling and gleaming upon them, shedding their bountiful light on the snow and the night and the two lonesome, but very delighted companions.
[they never really did see what was coming, did they now?]
fin.