such a shame for us to part
So, this happened quicker than I thought it would. There's probably thousands of words about this out there already, but I can't help it. My heart is broken, oh Doctor :(.
a sequence of connected drabbles from my prompt table
Rose/Tenth Doctor, and everyone else | G | 577 words | spoilers for Doctor Who series 2, 3 and 4.
The Doctor hates himself for having let Rose slip away.
He hates the memory of letting her almost be pulled into the void more than anything and feels so, so relieved that she got away, but he still hates the fact that he’s let her go just as much. He doesn’t tell Martha this when telling her about the battle against the Daleks and the Cybermen, but catches her staring at him whenever he’s found himself with that purple coat Rose left behind, and even worse, he catches himself talking to Martha as if she’s Rose, as if Rose had never left and she had never arrived.
He hates himself even more when he realises what he’s doing to her, thinks about taking her home and going away on his own again, like it always should have been, but the selfish part of him won’t let this happen.
--
He dreams of Rose quite a lot. Dreams he’s talking to her, telling her about all the things he’s been doing, all the adventures, and she’s sitting beside him on the TARDIS, laughing and smiling as he speaks.
He tells her about the Daleks being still alive and evolving into human-Daleks, about meeting William Shakespeare and defeating the Carrionites and Rose grins and asks all the questions he knew she would. He answers them all excitedly, closes his eyes and laughs with her, but when he looks back and makes it to hug her like he always did, she’s gone and he’s alone in the TARDIS with it’s humming noise.
He pats the console fondly and nods, whispering to it, “Yeah, I know. I miss her too.”
--
He doesn’t dare say it, not even if he’s alone in the TARDIS, parked in the middle of nowhere.
He feels those words on the tip of his tongue and swallows them back, wishes very hard for them to go away. She’ll be alright, she’s got himself with her. In a form that’s way, way better for her and that loves her just as much as he does.
He knows he’ll break down if he says it, knows he won’t ever be able to stop if he does what he truly wants to. So he leaves her with the other him, doesn’t say it even if he has the second chance to, runs back into the TARDIS with Donna instead and focuses exclusively on solving her problem, now.
--
The Doctor doesn’t even have the time to let himself feel anything after he gets back from Bad Wolf Bay with Donna. He has to take care of her and take her back to her family safely, and he does so.
It’s only when he walks back from the Noble’s house in the rain and lets himself into the TARDIS that he allows himself to sit down, look around and then stare into nothing. He keeps his hands on the TARDIS’ console, holding tightly to it. Rose, Martha, Jack, Mickey, Donna -- he closes his eyes and concentrates very hard on forgetting them all, but instead he sees them all happy, all laughing with each other, and he can’t. He’s the biggest, lamest liar in the universe if he thinks he’ll ever forget any of them.
He doesn’t even try to stop his eyes from filling up with tears, frustratedly hits the TARDIS with his closed fist and then hugs it, pressing his forehead into the console and staying there for a long moment.
a sequence of connected drabbles from my prompt table
Rose/Tenth Doctor, and everyone else | G | 577 words | spoilers for Doctor Who series 2, 3 and 4.
The Doctor hates himself for having let Rose slip away.
He hates the memory of letting her almost be pulled into the void more than anything and feels so, so relieved that she got away, but he still hates the fact that he’s let her go just as much. He doesn’t tell Martha this when telling her about the battle against the Daleks and the Cybermen, but catches her staring at him whenever he’s found himself with that purple coat Rose left behind, and even worse, he catches himself talking to Martha as if she’s Rose, as if Rose had never left and she had never arrived.
He hates himself even more when he realises what he’s doing to her, thinks about taking her home and going away on his own again, like it always should have been, but the selfish part of him won’t let this happen.
--
He dreams of Rose quite a lot. Dreams he’s talking to her, telling her about all the things he’s been doing, all the adventures, and she’s sitting beside him on the TARDIS, laughing and smiling as he speaks.
He tells her about the Daleks being still alive and evolving into human-Daleks, about meeting William Shakespeare and defeating the Carrionites and Rose grins and asks all the questions he knew she would. He answers them all excitedly, closes his eyes and laughs with her, but when he looks back and makes it to hug her like he always did, she’s gone and he’s alone in the TARDIS with it’s humming noise.
He pats the console fondly and nods, whispering to it, “Yeah, I know. I miss her too.”
--
He doesn’t dare say it, not even if he’s alone in the TARDIS, parked in the middle of nowhere.
He feels those words on the tip of his tongue and swallows them back, wishes very hard for them to go away. She’ll be alright, she’s got himself with her. In a form that’s way, way better for her and that loves her just as much as he does.
He knows he’ll break down if he says it, knows he won’t ever be able to stop if he does what he truly wants to. So he leaves her with the other him, doesn’t say it even if he has the second chance to, runs back into the TARDIS with Donna instead and focuses exclusively on solving her problem, now.
--
The Doctor doesn’t even have the time to let himself feel anything after he gets back from Bad Wolf Bay with Donna. He has to take care of her and take her back to her family safely, and he does so.
It’s only when he walks back from the Noble’s house in the rain and lets himself into the TARDIS that he allows himself to sit down, look around and then stare into nothing. He keeps his hands on the TARDIS’ console, holding tightly to it. Rose, Martha, Jack, Mickey, Donna -- he closes his eyes and concentrates very hard on forgetting them all, but instead he sees them all happy, all laughing with each other, and he can’t. He’s the biggest, lamest liar in the universe if he thinks he’ll ever forget any of them.
He doesn’t even try to stop his eyes from filling up with tears, frustratedly hits the TARDIS with his closed fist and then hugs it, pressing his forehead into the console and staying there for a long moment.