Fic: Risks (Nine/Rose)
Title: Risks
Characters/Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: G
Challenge:
doctor_rose_las Round 1
Prompt: "Red bicycle when you were twelve."
A/N: This story was one of four entries with the distinction of having received no votes in either direction. But considering that I'm not the best at deadline writing, I'm actually pleased that I was able to submit something that no one found objectionable enough to vote against! (Hey, it's election season -- I'm all about the spin!)
* * * * * * *
He knows he shouldn't do it. He knows it's breaking the rules. Going back, interrupting. Every alteration, however insignificant it seems, is a risk.
But he can't help it. It isn't easy, the rejection. The Doctor doesn't issue the invitation to travel with him on a whim, and he knows enough of Rose Tyler to know that she's a rarity, in any world. Inquisitive, compassionate, fearless. So when he asks, and she says no, it's a punch in the solar plexus. As easily as he can close the door and dematerialize the TARDIS, it's going to take a bit more to well and truly move on.
She is compelling to him, but he never asks twice. Even when he knows things should be different.
So he goes back to the same place, six, maybe seven years earlier. He thinks seeing the girl will help him understand the choice made by the young woman. And she'll be easier to say goodbye to, even if it will just be in his own head.
He lands mid-December. Not much has changed, in reverse. It's still Rose and Jackie on their own, doing what they can to get by. He watches them for a while, and it cements what the Doctor already knows to be true. Out of an ordinary existence, an extraordinary girl bloomed.
He wants to do something for her. He doesn't care to think about why. Maybe it's a going-away present, of sorts. The sonic screwdriver works some magic at an ATM, and he walks into a shop and asks the clerk what he should get his 12-year-old niece for Christmas.
"Is she a girly girl, or more of a tomboy?"
The Doctor doesn't know what either of those descriptions means, but faking it is practically an autonomic process for him. He tells the clerk about the older Rose.
"Ah, an athletic type. Does she have a bike? These here are the newest models. All the kids are nuts for them."
He asks if they'll deliver it for him, with a note he quickly scrawls, something congratulating mother and daughter on winning a contest neither will remember entering.
He leaves the shop and returns to the TARDIS, almost at a run, before he has time to think about what he's done. And before he has time to think about what he's doing, he makes the necessary adjustments, slams his hand down on the switch, and holds on.
The TARDIS materializes at its directed coordinates. He moves toward the door, willing his indulgence to have had no lasting effect on what he will see. Just how often do kids on bikes get hit by cars, anyway? A chance in a million, if that.
He is more relieved than he'd ever care to admit to find the exact same scene he left, days ago to him, moments ago to them.
Rose has no idea that he has altered a distant memory in the intervening time. Someday, he might confess... but not today.
Today, he breaks one more rule, and asks twice.
Characters/Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: G
Challenge:
doctor_rose_las Round 1
Prompt: "Red bicycle when you were twelve."
A/N: This story was one of four entries with the distinction of having received no votes in either direction. But considering that I'm not the best at deadline writing, I'm actually pleased that I was able to submit something that no one found objectionable enough to vote against! (Hey, it's election season -- I'm all about the spin!)
* * * * * * *
He knows he shouldn't do it. He knows it's breaking the rules. Going back, interrupting. Every alteration, however insignificant it seems, is a risk.
But he can't help it. It isn't easy, the rejection. The Doctor doesn't issue the invitation to travel with him on a whim, and he knows enough of Rose Tyler to know that she's a rarity, in any world. Inquisitive, compassionate, fearless. So when he asks, and she says no, it's a punch in the solar plexus. As easily as he can close the door and dematerialize the TARDIS, it's going to take a bit more to well and truly move on.
She is compelling to him, but he never asks twice. Even when he knows things should be different.
So he goes back to the same place, six, maybe seven years earlier. He thinks seeing the girl will help him understand the choice made by the young woman. And she'll be easier to say goodbye to, even if it will just be in his own head.
He lands mid-December. Not much has changed, in reverse. It's still Rose and Jackie on their own, doing what they can to get by. He watches them for a while, and it cements what the Doctor already knows to be true. Out of an ordinary existence, an extraordinary girl bloomed.
He wants to do something for her. He doesn't care to think about why. Maybe it's a going-away present, of sorts. The sonic screwdriver works some magic at an ATM, and he walks into a shop and asks the clerk what he should get his 12-year-old niece for Christmas.
"Is she a girly girl, or more of a tomboy?"
The Doctor doesn't know what either of those descriptions means, but faking it is practically an autonomic process for him. He tells the clerk about the older Rose.
"Ah, an athletic type. Does she have a bike? These here are the newest models. All the kids are nuts for them."
He asks if they'll deliver it for him, with a note he quickly scrawls, something congratulating mother and daughter on winning a contest neither will remember entering.
He leaves the shop and returns to the TARDIS, almost at a run, before he has time to think about what he's done. And before he has time to think about what he's doing, he makes the necessary adjustments, slams his hand down on the switch, and holds on.
The TARDIS materializes at its directed coordinates. He moves toward the door, willing his indulgence to have had no lasting effect on what he will see. Just how often do kids on bikes get hit by cars, anyway? A chance in a million, if that.
He is more relieved than he'd ever care to admit to find the exact same scene he left, days ago to him, moments ago to them.
Rose has no idea that he has altered a distant memory in the intervening time. Someday, he might confess... but not today.
Today, he breaks one more rule, and asks twice.