Fic: dreams tinted gold
Title: dreams tinted gold
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Rating: G
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 504
Characters: Rose (Rose/Ten)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: He's altered so many events but the one he doesn't is the one that separates them.
She has dreams sometimes that are tinted gold.
She doesn't remember the first one but during the Doctor's sword fight with the Sycorax leader she has a flash of recognition, something almost like a memory, but it flickers away when he wins and she runs to him, smiling at him and loving him just as much as she did before.
The next time a memory flickers in her head she is staring at a werewolf bearing down on her and she thinks to herself that she's seen all of this before, that she's lived all of this before, and then the Doctor grabs her around the waist, hauling her into the library before slamming the doors.
She tells him about it later, about her dream of the werewolf and its similarities to their recent adventure, and he seems to brush it off, telling her that a lot of people dream about things like werewolves. But there's a look in his eyes before he glances away from her, just a glimmer of something dark and then it's gone.
He begins asking her about her dreams in a seemingly nonchalant way, sometimes catching her off guard so that she doesn't immediately realize what he's doing.
She dreams of clockwork people, of men made of metal, of faceless people in cages, of a hideous monster trapped deep within a pit, and she tells him every one, every detail. She realizes almost immediately that her dreams are prophetic, almost. Every new adventure they have is just like her dreams, almost, except for tiny little differences, subtle things that don't seem to matter but which always seem to change the eventual outcome.
It's later that she realizes he's the one changing things. That despite all of his bluff and bluster about being unable to change things, despite the way he tends to scoff at prophecies, he's altering the events of her dreams as they unfold in reality.
She wakes one night with a gasp, gold still visible on the edges of her vision, and he sits up beside her, his hand warm on her waist. He asks what she dreamed of and she tells him of the large white wall and the small metal lever, of something he called "Void stuff" and of ghosts that aren't really ghosts.
She tells herself sometimes that she doesn't really blame him for what happened, knows that there would have had to come a time when he couldn't save her and that it all worked out just fine in the end.
But sometimes as she lies awake at night, staring up the plain white ceiling in her bedroom with hot tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, she knows. She knows he could've saved her, could've done something to change the inevitable outcome like he had done so many times before, but he watched her go, he let her go, and there's a secret part of her mind, a tiny part which grows larger as time passes, that hates him for it.
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Rating: G
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 504
Characters: Rose (Rose/Ten)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: He's altered so many events but the one he doesn't is the one that separates them.
She has dreams sometimes that are tinted gold.
She doesn't remember the first one but during the Doctor's sword fight with the Sycorax leader she has a flash of recognition, something almost like a memory, but it flickers away when he wins and she runs to him, smiling at him and loving him just as much as she did before.
The next time a memory flickers in her head she is staring at a werewolf bearing down on her and she thinks to herself that she's seen all of this before, that she's lived all of this before, and then the Doctor grabs her around the waist, hauling her into the library before slamming the doors.
She tells him about it later, about her dream of the werewolf and its similarities to their recent adventure, and he seems to brush it off, telling her that a lot of people dream about things like werewolves. But there's a look in his eyes before he glances away from her, just a glimmer of something dark and then it's gone.
He begins asking her about her dreams in a seemingly nonchalant way, sometimes catching her off guard so that she doesn't immediately realize what he's doing.
She dreams of clockwork people, of men made of metal, of faceless people in cages, of a hideous monster trapped deep within a pit, and she tells him every one, every detail. She realizes almost immediately that her dreams are prophetic, almost. Every new adventure they have is just like her dreams, almost, except for tiny little differences, subtle things that don't seem to matter but which always seem to change the eventual outcome.
It's later that she realizes he's the one changing things. That despite all of his bluff and bluster about being unable to change things, despite the way he tends to scoff at prophecies, he's altering the events of her dreams as they unfold in reality.
She wakes one night with a gasp, gold still visible on the edges of her vision, and he sits up beside her, his hand warm on her waist. He asks what she dreamed of and she tells him of the large white wall and the small metal lever, of something he called "Void stuff" and of ghosts that aren't really ghosts.
She tells herself sometimes that she doesn't really blame him for what happened, knows that there would have had to come a time when he couldn't save her and that it all worked out just fine in the end.
But sometimes as she lies awake at night, staring up the plain white ceiling in her bedroom with hot tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, she knows. She knows he could've saved her, could've done something to change the inevitable outcome like he had done so many times before, but he watched her go, he let her go, and there's a secret part of her mind, a tiny part which grows larger as time passes, that hates him for it.