Fic: Neverland (Rose, Ten/Rose, PG, Season 2)
Neverland. Rose Tyler after Doomsday. PG, spoilers for the end of season two; and a fearful misuse of James Barrie.
"You'll see," Jackie says, sagely. She nods towards the next room, where Pete is sprawled on the sofa, matching his second daughter snore-for-snore while the evening news blares around them. "Life goes by, things happen- what you'll really want is a good, steady man who'll rub your feet."
It's a church wedding.
"I half-expected you to, to alight and," she stops, giggles hysterically, presses the back of her hand to her watering eyes, "and forbid the banns."
She's alone, talking to the mirror in nonsense; children's fairy stories. A woman grown with her hair done up in ringlets, and the bouquet wilting in her hand. He would have looked horrible in skeleton leaves, anyway, whatever those are. "God, I'm pathetic," she murmurs. She straightens her bodice, blinks her eyes, pinches her cheeks just a touch. The red nose could be from too much champagne.
Kiss the bride, she thinks.
It's a good marriage, as marriages go. There's no running around hiding Torchwood and flying saucers and her addiction to imported Taraxian hair gel, because she met him in the field. He was the one holding the blaster and saying dunno if it'll work, but won't it be fun to try ?
She liked- likes- that about Stephen. The recklessness, the total dedication to the job that he never turns off. The intensity. Of all the boys at the office, he was the one who held back, who didn't hang around her desk with a cat-versus-canary smile and the expectation that nailing the boss's daughter would be a step up the corporate rung.
They buy a house not too far from her parents, and not too far from his. They go home at holidays. There are no children, just hot baths and takeout and late hours over paperwork and mineral oil on the shoulder he pulled, leaping off an AirLight glider.
It's so human it hurts.
She absolutely, positively, in no way looks for an out.
But it finds her, in a moment of weakness, when she's all too tired of picking colors for the drapes and talking about the bad tagging in the Relics and Sacreds Department; and Jackie's new haircut and how, again, Stephen doesn't want to take a week off in January to go to Bali and just stare at everything covered in sunshine.
"I've got three reports, ducks," he says absently, head craned over a file and curry cooling at his elbow. "Not to mention training to coordinate for Field Nine."
"I just want to go away," she says, murmuring to him, draping her arms around his middle, spilling her hair over his neck. "I want to sit in the sand and get a nice, satisfying sunburn. We can get drunk and steal coconuts from monkeys. Anything you want."
"Rose-"
"It'll be wonderful- blue sky, blue water-"
"Life's too short to waste, Rose," he says, and shakes her off.
She's packed her life into the smallest possible spaces so often, cramming memory and physical matter into the same duffel; eventually, she does it again.
She goes home to Jackie for a bit, lets her fuss and feed her cake at three in the morning and listen to her cry. It's deliciously pathetic. But Rose can tell it's giving her sister sort of a complex, and six years old is far too young to start giving up on love. She gets a flat of her own and she pulls her first and only string as the boss's daughter; and gets Stephen transferred. Not too far, and to a better position. She gives him the house by way of apology- he's the one who built the office bigger than the bedroom, anyway.
"What will you do, sweetheart ?" Jackie asks, and Rose gets it; Jackie got the dimensional travel and the adventure and it all turned out impossibly romantic, with the baby and the vow renewals and the big house and the groceries delivered instead of lugged in a cart. She knows that's what her mother wants for her. "Do you think you'll be dating again soon ? Because Tina knows a boy-"
"No, mum." She smiles. "Thanks just the same." At her mother's downcast look she continues. "I mean, if he's so super, why isn't Tina chasing him ? Too young ?"
"Nobody's too young for Tina," Jackie giggles, rather darkly. "She likes them trainable."
"Ugh." She eats a handful of popcorn. "I'm imagining you didn't say that."
"You'll see," Jackie says, sagely. She nods towards the next room, where Pete is sprawled on the sofa, matching his second daughter snore-for-snore while the evening news blares around them. "Life goes by, things happen- what you'll really want is a good, steady man who'll rub your feet."
"Feet." Rose stares. Smiles. "I'll keep it in mind."
In the moments between sleep and waking, when her arms are lead under the pillow and the light's too gentle to be true dawn, she wonders: what did Wendy do ?
It's more games, more fantasy, but she can't help wondering. She grew up with the story of the girl who was left behind. A girl who saw crocodiles and heard mermaids singing; who flew backwards towards a star, stealing food from the mouths of birds. Did she cry, Rose wonders. Did she hope ? Did she sew heels back into her husband's socks and never, ever want anything else ? Did she dream, so often, of throwing off her life for chaos and reckless joy ? Did she still hear them in the dark- the waves, crashing unheard on endless shores.
Did she remember the color of pearls, dug out of their shells with a knife ?
Did she love him, even as he left her ?
He comes back and she's too scared to ask him how, too scared of that fragile second to do anything but sit at the edge of the bed in her slippers and stare at him; with her hand still on the cover of her book. He's reading it upside-down, and then he's looking at her, searching her face, finding the words out of so many that he might say.
"I could use your help," he says, hands in his pockets. "Have some awfully big adventures need tending. I want you to come with me- if you will. You will, won't you ?" She knows he can't be younger but he looks it; helpless and thoughtless and beautiful. "It's spring cleaning."
"Oh."
"Rose-"
"Will you rub my feet ?" she asks, heart in her throat.
"No." He looks at her. "Yes. Always."
"Alright, then," she says.
"You'll see," Jackie says, sagely. She nods towards the next room, where Pete is sprawled on the sofa, matching his second daughter snore-for-snore while the evening news blares around them. "Life goes by, things happen- what you'll really want is a good, steady man who'll rub your feet."
It's a church wedding.
"I half-expected you to, to alight and," she stops, giggles hysterically, presses the back of her hand to her watering eyes, "and forbid the banns."
She's alone, talking to the mirror in nonsense; children's fairy stories. A woman grown with her hair done up in ringlets, and the bouquet wilting in her hand. He would have looked horrible in skeleton leaves, anyway, whatever those are. "God, I'm pathetic," she murmurs. She straightens her bodice, blinks her eyes, pinches her cheeks just a touch. The red nose could be from too much champagne.
Kiss the bride, she thinks.
It's a good marriage, as marriages go. There's no running around hiding Torchwood and flying saucers and her addiction to imported Taraxian hair gel, because she met him in the field. He was the one holding the blaster and saying dunno if it'll work, but won't it be fun to try ?
She liked- likes- that about Stephen. The recklessness, the total dedication to the job that he never turns off. The intensity. Of all the boys at the office, he was the one who held back, who didn't hang around her desk with a cat-versus-canary smile and the expectation that nailing the boss's daughter would be a step up the corporate rung.
They buy a house not too far from her parents, and not too far from his. They go home at holidays. There are no children, just hot baths and takeout and late hours over paperwork and mineral oil on the shoulder he pulled, leaping off an AirLight glider.
It's so human it hurts.
She absolutely, positively, in no way looks for an out.
But it finds her, in a moment of weakness, when she's all too tired of picking colors for the drapes and talking about the bad tagging in the Relics and Sacreds Department; and Jackie's new haircut and how, again, Stephen doesn't want to take a week off in January to go to Bali and just stare at everything covered in sunshine.
"I've got three reports, ducks," he says absently, head craned over a file and curry cooling at his elbow. "Not to mention training to coordinate for Field Nine."
"I just want to go away," she says, murmuring to him, draping her arms around his middle, spilling her hair over his neck. "I want to sit in the sand and get a nice, satisfying sunburn. We can get drunk and steal coconuts from monkeys. Anything you want."
"Rose-"
"It'll be wonderful- blue sky, blue water-"
"Life's too short to waste, Rose," he says, and shakes her off.
She's packed her life into the smallest possible spaces so often, cramming memory and physical matter into the same duffel; eventually, she does it again.
She goes home to Jackie for a bit, lets her fuss and feed her cake at three in the morning and listen to her cry. It's deliciously pathetic. But Rose can tell it's giving her sister sort of a complex, and six years old is far too young to start giving up on love. She gets a flat of her own and she pulls her first and only string as the boss's daughter; and gets Stephen transferred. Not too far, and to a better position. She gives him the house by way of apology- he's the one who built the office bigger than the bedroom, anyway.
"What will you do, sweetheart ?" Jackie asks, and Rose gets it; Jackie got the dimensional travel and the adventure and it all turned out impossibly romantic, with the baby and the vow renewals and the big house and the groceries delivered instead of lugged in a cart. She knows that's what her mother wants for her. "Do you think you'll be dating again soon ? Because Tina knows a boy-"
"No, mum." She smiles. "Thanks just the same." At her mother's downcast look she continues. "I mean, if he's so super, why isn't Tina chasing him ? Too young ?"
"Nobody's too young for Tina," Jackie giggles, rather darkly. "She likes them trainable."
"Ugh." She eats a handful of popcorn. "I'm imagining you didn't say that."
"You'll see," Jackie says, sagely. She nods towards the next room, where Pete is sprawled on the sofa, matching his second daughter snore-for-snore while the evening news blares around them. "Life goes by, things happen- what you'll really want is a good, steady man who'll rub your feet."
"Feet." Rose stares. Smiles. "I'll keep it in mind."
In the moments between sleep and waking, when her arms are lead under the pillow and the light's too gentle to be true dawn, she wonders: what did Wendy do ?
It's more games, more fantasy, but she can't help wondering. She grew up with the story of the girl who was left behind. A girl who saw crocodiles and heard mermaids singing; who flew backwards towards a star, stealing food from the mouths of birds. Did she cry, Rose wonders. Did she hope ? Did she sew heels back into her husband's socks and never, ever want anything else ? Did she dream, so often, of throwing off her life for chaos and reckless joy ? Did she still hear them in the dark- the waves, crashing unheard on endless shores.
Did she remember the color of pearls, dug out of their shells with a knife ?
Did she love him, even as he left her ?
He comes back and she's too scared to ask him how, too scared of that fragile second to do anything but sit at the edge of the bed in her slippers and stare at him; with her hand still on the cover of her book. He's reading it upside-down, and then he's looking at her, searching her face, finding the words out of so many that he might say.
"I could use your help," he says, hands in his pockets. "Have some awfully big adventures need tending. I want you to come with me- if you will. You will, won't you ?" She knows he can't be younger but he looks it; helpless and thoughtless and beautiful. "It's spring cleaning."
"Oh."
"Rose-"
"Will you rub my feet ?" she asks, heart in her throat.
"No." He looks at her. "Yes. Always."
"Alright, then," she says.