Doctor Who Fic: Waiting on the End
Title: Waiting on the End
Author:
intrikate88
Disclaimer: My cunning plot involves one day owning this show, and convincing Billie to come back. However, I have to graduate first, and until I do so, the mighty BBC owns it. (They're quaking in their boots, though, can't you tell?)
Spoilers: Doomsday.
Rating: PG, PG-13? Nothing graphic, very minor references to sex.
Summary: The Doctor knows he will lose Rose one day. He doesn't know when, or how, or why, or where, but he'd rather live for the journey, not the destination. Thanks to
allthat_hopping for transcripts.
This just came out of a late-night watching of Fear Her, Army of Ghosts, and Doomsday with
andi_horton and hazelnut icecream and chocolate. We cried. We plotted. We got inspired. And we cried some more.
The Doctor stares at himself, a figure in pinstripes, standing before him. The pinstripes are not straight; they hang crooked on his more haggard body. The Doctor knows the signs of grief; he has seen them before, catching a glance in the mirror. He has not seen them much lately.
“Hold on to her now,” the other Doctor says to him, his voice low. “Hold on to her, as much as you can, because you’re going to lose her.”
Fear, terror, grips around his hearts: it literally feels like a fist, grasping something vital in his chest and holds off the spasm, but just barely. Every time Rose wanders away, gets into trouble (like she always, always does) it comes, buckling him over and making him run after her that much faster. “Lose her?” he asks buoyantly, “lose her how? Shove her to the back of the fridge, leave her in my other pants?” His brow wrinkles. “Mind you, that’d be awkward, people would talk. Well, more than they do already. Well, they do already and it’s for no reason, that’s different.”
His other self just looks on.
“I already lost her, you’re a bit late,” the Doctor says, just a bit more seriously. “Today. The Wire, took her face and left her. She was gone, utterly gone. But I got her back.”
“Yeah, you did,” the sad Doctor says, and looks like he wonders if continued explanation is something he wants to do, except he knows he already has, and now he must explain, or the nature of causality will unravel, effects will start happening before causes and it will just be problematic all around, especially when people start getting hangovers the morning before they go to the pub.
* * *
He holds himself in a neutral place, believing with every atom that Rose can not only take care of herself but she could save the world, and knowing this was it, he’s lost her this time, until she pushes open the TARDIS door, and then he’s running to her, and she’s running towards him, leaping into his arms, and he can’t grin any larger but he wants to, because this time, this time he didn’t lose her. So with her arms wrapped around him to tight he’s actually getting bruises he grins until he thinks he’ll split at the ears and the top of his head will fall off, and wouldn’t that be something? A half-headed Doctor! The two-hearted, half-headed Doctor! It’d be like a freak show, he’d be lined up with the Elephant Man and the Timorous Beastie in his arms.
“It said I was goin’ to die in battle,” she reminds him later, after they say goodbye to the former denizens of the Sanctuary Base.
His face drops at the reminder. “Then it lied,” he tells her with certainty, his heart heavy. She smiles at him: that’s all she needs for reassurance and her trust is another squeeze in his chest because she doesn’t even ask how he knows. So he pulls her back into his arms and even though he’s never tried it before and doesn’t know how it will work now or if it will work at all or if he’ll just get a Jackie-level slapping- he kisses her, until she pulls back a little; he hesitates, wondering if he did the wrong thing, reaching for her in this way; then she gasps in air, drawing in huge lungfuls, before returning his kisses with enthusiasm.
For this moment, this is all that matters: here and now, in their own tiny world that is bigger on the inside.
* * *
His nerves are growing raw; every close call terrifies him. He’s merely walking down the street, an ordinary suburban street in 2012, when Rose screams, “Doctor!” and he turns to see her on the ground, kicking and shielding herself from whatever is attacking her, and his mind is roaring, this is it, this is it, I have to stop it, bollocks to causality, Iamgoingtoloseher…
It is nothing, it is a scribbly thingummy-whatsit-syntatic-variable. He clutches her to him. He doesn’t want to let go, not ever. He doesn’t know when, or where, or how, or why, but he does know that it is impossible, because she will be dragged from his grasp. He holds her tighter, then lets her go.
* * *
“You know what; they keep on trying to split us up, but they never ever will,” she assures him, a smile on her face and, he’s sure, the taste of icing and edible ball bearings in her mouth. (If not, there soon will be.)
He stops, and looks at her. He wants to warn her, to tell her to stay in his room (their room, now) in the TARDIS, to never leave, and then maybe she’ll be safe. But the Rose he loved wouldn’t do that, would she? “Never say never ever,” he says, and her blushing glow fades.
“Nah.” She perks up again; being apart from her Doctor is inconceivable, there is not a place in the universe for such an event. “We’ll always be okay, you and me.”
He doesn’t reply. He’s not a liar and the truth is unspeakable.
“Don’t you reckon, Doctor?”
Everything he touches turns to dust in the end, because he is the lord of time. Everything turns to ash, as the lightening strikes it, and he is the Oncoming Storm. He looks at the exploding fireworks in the sky, bright red and green, vibrant and fading to smoke outlines. “Something in the air, something coming.” Rose asks for clarification. “A storm’s approaching.”
Later, he holds her against the pillows as if he intends to keep her from going anywhere, no matter what the history of the future might opine.
* * *
He talks out his plan, tells Rose she’s going to Pete’s World, and ignores the incredulous look building on her face, starting with bemusement and growing into full-fledged ridiculous disbelief. So this is it, then, and this is how it goes. He sends her away; he has done it to previous companions, and he can do it to Rose. He locked his very own granddaughter out of the TARDIS and left, didn’t he? He can do this, and it is for her own good, and every second she looks at him it’s becoming more difficult. In the end, it is only by sneaking up on her he can send her away.
Peace. Assurance. They are a lead weight on his soul, but it is done. No more waiting and questioning and wondering and fearing what’s coming: she is gone, and that is it.
She reappears, and he nearly falls over.
No-no-NO! I did it, I finished it! He shouts at himself, and he shouts at her. How dare she make things so much more difficult? Adding on more days of agonizing anticipation. He reminds her of her mother, who she’ll never see again, and he can’t tell her why this is bad, but it means when he loses her, she won’t even have Jackie to turn to.
But she only asks how she can help, which is like getting stabbed in the chest with… okay, he can’t think of the simile, but something not sharp and very symbolic of love. A mattress? Getting stabbed in the chest with a mattress? His mind is moving like treacle. “Those coordinates over there, set them all to six. And hurry up!”
When the computer intones that the levers are operational, he smiles at her, tries to relieve the fear he just put into her. It’s not today. Today is not the day he loses her, and as always, today is all that matters, because tomorrow will be a today when it happens and when it happens it can be all that matters to them then.
For that moment, he had been almost certain they were going to have a tomorrow.
* * *
He can’t actually see her on the beach. He’s only aiming an image of himself through a hole in the universe. But he’s touched her mind, and the TARDIS has been inside her, and him, and so he knows what she sees, what she does, what she looks like. (Beautiful.)
What is this place, he asks her, curious for the sake of knowledge, and really, what can be said? He isn’t at a loss for words, just at a loss for meaning.
“Dårlig Ulv Stranden,” she says. “Bad Wolf Bay.”
Bad Wolf, again. He wonders if the Bad Wolf can track her way back to him again, or if the trail goes cold and freezes in the Void.
He can sense a pull in Rose towards Mickey, towards her family. They are with her, then. That’s good, very good. She needs them. (She needs him more.)
“There's five of us now. Mum, dad, Mickey... and the baby,” she confirms.
A baby? The knot in his gut loosens, surprising him slightly. A baby, that was good, that was incredible! Of course Rose should be somewhere safe, now, not running from danger constantly. A baby… linking them across the Void; perhaps a bond more powerful than any physics. He looks across the console at Rose’s shirt, left where it was flung on the railing. The shirt she wore when she snogged him, with help from Cassandra. The shirt she wore when she snogged him, with no help from anyone. (She only needed help with the small buttons, but he had nimble fingers.) A baby, though… wouldn’t he have known? Confused, he breathes, “You’re not…”
“No!” she giggles, “It’s Mum.”
The knot inside returns, but less tightly than before. There is no baby, no; but there is a connection, one the Void cannot sever. Body and soul and time and space, flowing between them. She will save her world and he will save his; she is still the Bad Wolf; he, the Oncoming Storm. He tells her she cannot see him again, reminding her of all the things that couldn’t be done, the seven impossible things they did before breakfast. He prattles on, burning up a sun with words and so he does not give her his I love you in return. He does not know the ending of the story, but he knows the story goes on.
Author:
intrikate88
Disclaimer: My cunning plot involves one day owning this show, and convincing Billie to come back. However, I have to graduate first, and until I do so, the mighty BBC owns it. (They're quaking in their boots, though, can't you tell?)
Spoilers: Doomsday.
Rating: PG, PG-13? Nothing graphic, very minor references to sex.
Summary: The Doctor knows he will lose Rose one day. He doesn't know when, or how, or why, or where, but he'd rather live for the journey, not the destination. Thanks to
allthat_hopping for transcripts.
This just came out of a late-night watching of Fear Her, Army of Ghosts, and Doomsday with
andi_horton and hazelnut icecream and chocolate. We cried. We plotted. We got inspired. And we cried some more.
The Doctor stares at himself, a figure in pinstripes, standing before him. The pinstripes are not straight; they hang crooked on his more haggard body. The Doctor knows the signs of grief; he has seen them before, catching a glance in the mirror. He has not seen them much lately.
“Hold on to her now,” the other Doctor says to him, his voice low. “Hold on to her, as much as you can, because you’re going to lose her.”
Fear, terror, grips around his hearts: it literally feels like a fist, grasping something vital in his chest and holds off the spasm, but just barely. Every time Rose wanders away, gets into trouble (like she always, always does) it comes, buckling him over and making him run after her that much faster. “Lose her?” he asks buoyantly, “lose her how? Shove her to the back of the fridge, leave her in my other pants?” His brow wrinkles. “Mind you, that’d be awkward, people would talk. Well, more than they do already. Well, they do already and it’s for no reason, that’s different.”
His other self just looks on.
“I already lost her, you’re a bit late,” the Doctor says, just a bit more seriously. “Today. The Wire, took her face and left her. She was gone, utterly gone. But I got her back.”
“Yeah, you did,” the sad Doctor says, and looks like he wonders if continued explanation is something he wants to do, except he knows he already has, and now he must explain, or the nature of causality will unravel, effects will start happening before causes and it will just be problematic all around, especially when people start getting hangovers the morning before they go to the pub.
* * *
He holds himself in a neutral place, believing with every atom that Rose can not only take care of herself but she could save the world, and knowing this was it, he’s lost her this time, until she pushes open the TARDIS door, and then he’s running to her, and she’s running towards him, leaping into his arms, and he can’t grin any larger but he wants to, because this time, this time he didn’t lose her. So with her arms wrapped around him to tight he’s actually getting bruises he grins until he thinks he’ll split at the ears and the top of his head will fall off, and wouldn’t that be something? A half-headed Doctor! The two-hearted, half-headed Doctor! It’d be like a freak show, he’d be lined up with the Elephant Man and the Timorous Beastie in his arms.
“It said I was goin’ to die in battle,” she reminds him later, after they say goodbye to the former denizens of the Sanctuary Base.
His face drops at the reminder. “Then it lied,” he tells her with certainty, his heart heavy. She smiles at him: that’s all she needs for reassurance and her trust is another squeeze in his chest because she doesn’t even ask how he knows. So he pulls her back into his arms and even though he’s never tried it before and doesn’t know how it will work now or if it will work at all or if he’ll just get a Jackie-level slapping- he kisses her, until she pulls back a little; he hesitates, wondering if he did the wrong thing, reaching for her in this way; then she gasps in air, drawing in huge lungfuls, before returning his kisses with enthusiasm.
For this moment, this is all that matters: here and now, in their own tiny world that is bigger on the inside.
* * *
His nerves are growing raw; every close call terrifies him. He’s merely walking down the street, an ordinary suburban street in 2012, when Rose screams, “Doctor!” and he turns to see her on the ground, kicking and shielding herself from whatever is attacking her, and his mind is roaring, this is it, this is it, I have to stop it, bollocks to causality, Iamgoingtoloseher…
It is nothing, it is a scribbly thingummy-whatsit-syntatic-variable. He clutches her to him. He doesn’t want to let go, not ever. He doesn’t know when, or where, or how, or why, but he does know that it is impossible, because she will be dragged from his grasp. He holds her tighter, then lets her go.
* * *
“You know what; they keep on trying to split us up, but they never ever will,” she assures him, a smile on her face and, he’s sure, the taste of icing and edible ball bearings in her mouth. (If not, there soon will be.)
He stops, and looks at her. He wants to warn her, to tell her to stay in his room (their room, now) in the TARDIS, to never leave, and then maybe she’ll be safe. But the Rose he loved wouldn’t do that, would she? “Never say never ever,” he says, and her blushing glow fades.
“Nah.” She perks up again; being apart from her Doctor is inconceivable, there is not a place in the universe for such an event. “We’ll always be okay, you and me.”
He doesn’t reply. He’s not a liar and the truth is unspeakable.
“Don’t you reckon, Doctor?”
Everything he touches turns to dust in the end, because he is the lord of time. Everything turns to ash, as the lightening strikes it, and he is the Oncoming Storm. He looks at the exploding fireworks in the sky, bright red and green, vibrant and fading to smoke outlines. “Something in the air, something coming.” Rose asks for clarification. “A storm’s approaching.”
Later, he holds her against the pillows as if he intends to keep her from going anywhere, no matter what the history of the future might opine.
* * *
He talks out his plan, tells Rose she’s going to Pete’s World, and ignores the incredulous look building on her face, starting with bemusement and growing into full-fledged ridiculous disbelief. So this is it, then, and this is how it goes. He sends her away; he has done it to previous companions, and he can do it to Rose. He locked his very own granddaughter out of the TARDIS and left, didn’t he? He can do this, and it is for her own good, and every second she looks at him it’s becoming more difficult. In the end, it is only by sneaking up on her he can send her away.
Peace. Assurance. They are a lead weight on his soul, but it is done. No more waiting and questioning and wondering and fearing what’s coming: she is gone, and that is it.
She reappears, and he nearly falls over.
No-no-NO! I did it, I finished it! He shouts at himself, and he shouts at her. How dare she make things so much more difficult? Adding on more days of agonizing anticipation. He reminds her of her mother, who she’ll never see again, and he can’t tell her why this is bad, but it means when he loses her, she won’t even have Jackie to turn to.
But she only asks how she can help, which is like getting stabbed in the chest with… okay, he can’t think of the simile, but something not sharp and very symbolic of love. A mattress? Getting stabbed in the chest with a mattress? His mind is moving like treacle. “Those coordinates over there, set them all to six. And hurry up!”
When the computer intones that the levers are operational, he smiles at her, tries to relieve the fear he just put into her. It’s not today. Today is not the day he loses her, and as always, today is all that matters, because tomorrow will be a today when it happens and when it happens it can be all that matters to them then.
For that moment, he had been almost certain they were going to have a tomorrow.
* * *
He can’t actually see her on the beach. He’s only aiming an image of himself through a hole in the universe. But he’s touched her mind, and the TARDIS has been inside her, and him, and so he knows what she sees, what she does, what she looks like. (Beautiful.)
What is this place, he asks her, curious for the sake of knowledge, and really, what can be said? He isn’t at a loss for words, just at a loss for meaning.
“Dårlig Ulv Stranden,” she says. “Bad Wolf Bay.”
Bad Wolf, again. He wonders if the Bad Wolf can track her way back to him again, or if the trail goes cold and freezes in the Void.
He can sense a pull in Rose towards Mickey, towards her family. They are with her, then. That’s good, very good. She needs them. (She needs him more.)
“There's five of us now. Mum, dad, Mickey... and the baby,” she confirms.
A baby? The knot in his gut loosens, surprising him slightly. A baby, that was good, that was incredible! Of course Rose should be somewhere safe, now, not running from danger constantly. A baby… linking them across the Void; perhaps a bond more powerful than any physics. He looks across the console at Rose’s shirt, left where it was flung on the railing. The shirt she wore when she snogged him, with help from Cassandra. The shirt she wore when she snogged him, with no help from anyone. (She only needed help with the small buttons, but he had nimble fingers.) A baby, though… wouldn’t he have known? Confused, he breathes, “You’re not…”
“No!” she giggles, “It’s Mum.”
The knot inside returns, but less tightly than before. There is no baby, no; but there is a connection, one the Void cannot sever. Body and soul and time and space, flowing between them. She will save her world and he will save his; she is still the Bad Wolf; he, the Oncoming Storm. He tells her she cannot see him again, reminding her of all the things that couldn’t be done, the seven impossible things they did before breakfast. He prattles on, burning up a sun with words and so he does not give her his I love you in return. He does not know the ending of the story, but he knows the story goes on.