(no subject)
He is rambling again, dancing a jig around the TARDIS console, pulling levers and pushing buttons; she suspects this is all mostly for dramatic effect, especially since they haven’t decided where to go yet. She is leaning on her elbows against the console, watching his complicated course with a laugh around her lips, not so much listening as just absorbing the rhythm of his voice. When he enthuses about exploding suns his voice is robust, as if he himself was exuding light and fire; when he tells stories of planets lost or war-torn his voice is laced with a sorrow she can’t fathom. Right now, as he twirls about making suggestions as to what their next destination will be, he sounds almost giddy with something she decides is pure restlessness.
Finally he stops, directly opposite her but leaning so far over the console and around the time rotor that his face is quite close to her. “So, Rose Tyler,” he says breathlessly, “where to?”
It might be that restless quality in his voice or it might be the gleam in his eye that always seems to say I dare you or it might just be that she’s curious. “Take me somewhere…different,” she requests, biting her lip as she watches for his reaction.
If he is surprised he doesn’t show it. He studies her for a moment, eyes narrowed slightly, apparently in deep contemplation. “Hold that down,” he finally instructs, pointing to a large orange button to her right before moving to twist a few knobs, and away they go.
---
The TARDIS lands lacking much of her usual aplomb and Rose turns to the Doctor quizzically. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tilts his head toward the doors in response. “After you,” he says, watching her intently as she flings the door open and takes her first steps outside into a new world, eager as always.
However, after she slips through the door, there is no amazed rush of laughter, no gasp of wonderment. She does not call for him to join her, and when he finally does so she does not move to grab his arm. “Different,” he comments finally, gesturing at the landscape before them.
She remains quiet, but she does squeeze his hand when he reaches across the space between them to lace his fingers with hers. He waits patiently, brushing his thumb across her knuckle and watching her closely, until she closes her eyes, draws a long breath, and nods. “Different,” she agrees, her voice catching only slightly.
When she opens her eyes her stomach churns unpleasantly, and the Doctor notices that her heart rate picks up. “We can go,” he offers softly, moving to extricate his hand, but she catches the tips of his fingers and squeezes harder, opening her eyes to meet his.
“No we can’t,” she says crisply. “I asked for different. This is definitely different. So…show me.”
He rejoins their hands with a grin that looks more like a grimace and she holds on tight as he pulls her along. They walk in silence, the only sound his trainers and her sandals slapping dully against the gray sand. She doesn’t mention that his lack of a monologue is even more unnerving than the world around them.
---
Their surroundings look as though they have been pulled from an old black-and-white photograph. There is no vegetation visible as far as the eye can see; where there should be grass there is only miles of flat, gritty sand, apparently untouched by even the slightest breeze. There is no sun, but the gray sky also seems to be cloudless. In fact, no matter how she squints at the horizon, Rose cannot tell where the ground ends and the sky begins.
Worse than that, though, are the scenes scattered across the landscape. Their slow steps carry them past churches, homes, and what Rose can only assume must have once been pools or lakes-all blackened as if they have been coated in ash, and covered by what looks like cobwebs.
Each new sight makes her heart lurch and her eyes water, and she can feel the Doctor’s eyes on her, gauging how much he should let her see before he insists that it’s time to go. It feels like a challenge, like some sort of test, and she still remembers too clearly the sting of the words “stupid ape.” So she bites her tongue and forces herself forward, left foot, right foot, refusing to meet his gaze or to ask any of the questions that she feels clawing at her throat.
It is the piano that stops her in her tracks. About forty seats are set up in a half-circle, and a few of them are slightly tilted as though still wobbling under the weight of someone taking their seat for a concert. The piano, though completely wrapped in the cobwebs, looks to be completely free of dust. Rose is struck by a mad urge to move around it to see if there are keys half-depressed, but she finds herself rooted to the spot.
The tears welling in her eyes finally spill over as she opens her mouth to beg him to take her away, but she is cut off by his arms encircling her waist and his lips pressed gently to her temple. “Time to go, I think,” he says, and she is sure she has never felt more grateful to anyone.
---
“What was it?”
They have been back aboard the TARDIS for several hours. The Doctor didn’t follow Rose when she fled to her bedroom, deciding it would be better to give her some time. Now she was standing in the doorway of the control room, wringing her hands together in front of her, looking afraid of the answer to the question she had almost elected not to ask.
He extends his hand and she moves toward him to take it, joining him in leaning against the console. “Paivnet,” he answers, and she nods though it means nothing to her. “Formerly one of the foremost producers of art in the universe. Recently overtaken by the Apelfi, who outlawed everything Paivnet stood for: art, joy, beauty, love.”
Rose wonders for a moment whether the people of Paivnet left when the new laws were instated. The alternative makes her shudder and she hangs onto his hand more tightly rather than ask about their fate.
“I’m sorry I took you there,” he goes on softly. “A world without beauty and love…It’s certainly different, but it’s no place for you and me.”
This stirs something in her and she glances at him sharply. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well, look at me!” He grins when she laughs and pulls her into his arms, whispering his next statement in her ear. “And look at you, Rose Tyler. You could certainly not survive for long on a planet that doesn’t allow beauty.”
Her heart hammers against her ribcage and she buries her grin in the lapels of his jacket. “Then I suppose we should go somewhere a bit more welcoming, hm?” she replies at length, not sure of what else to say.
“Absolutely!” He holds her for another lingering moment before spinning away, pushing this and pulling that and rambling about how he had been thinking lately about the Olympics and how much she’d love seeing Britain’s performance in 2012. As she watches him a wave of relief floods through her, and as she lets go of a wild laugh his face lights up, and he twists one last knob and away they go.
Finally he stops, directly opposite her but leaning so far over the console and around the time rotor that his face is quite close to her. “So, Rose Tyler,” he says breathlessly, “where to?”
It might be that restless quality in his voice or it might be the gleam in his eye that always seems to say I dare you or it might just be that she’s curious. “Take me somewhere…different,” she requests, biting her lip as she watches for his reaction.
If he is surprised he doesn’t show it. He studies her for a moment, eyes narrowed slightly, apparently in deep contemplation. “Hold that down,” he finally instructs, pointing to a large orange button to her right before moving to twist a few knobs, and away they go.
---
The TARDIS lands lacking much of her usual aplomb and Rose turns to the Doctor quizzically. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tilts his head toward the doors in response. “After you,” he says, watching her intently as she flings the door open and takes her first steps outside into a new world, eager as always.
However, after she slips through the door, there is no amazed rush of laughter, no gasp of wonderment. She does not call for him to join her, and when he finally does so she does not move to grab his arm. “Different,” he comments finally, gesturing at the landscape before them.
She remains quiet, but she does squeeze his hand when he reaches across the space between them to lace his fingers with hers. He waits patiently, brushing his thumb across her knuckle and watching her closely, until she closes her eyes, draws a long breath, and nods. “Different,” she agrees, her voice catching only slightly.
When she opens her eyes her stomach churns unpleasantly, and the Doctor notices that her heart rate picks up. “We can go,” he offers softly, moving to extricate his hand, but she catches the tips of his fingers and squeezes harder, opening her eyes to meet his.
“No we can’t,” she says crisply. “I asked for different. This is definitely different. So…show me.”
He rejoins their hands with a grin that looks more like a grimace and she holds on tight as he pulls her along. They walk in silence, the only sound his trainers and her sandals slapping dully against the gray sand. She doesn’t mention that his lack of a monologue is even more unnerving than the world around them.
---
Their surroundings look as though they have been pulled from an old black-and-white photograph. There is no vegetation visible as far as the eye can see; where there should be grass there is only miles of flat, gritty sand, apparently untouched by even the slightest breeze. There is no sun, but the gray sky also seems to be cloudless. In fact, no matter how she squints at the horizon, Rose cannot tell where the ground ends and the sky begins.
Worse than that, though, are the scenes scattered across the landscape. Their slow steps carry them past churches, homes, and what Rose can only assume must have once been pools or lakes-all blackened as if they have been coated in ash, and covered by what looks like cobwebs.
Each new sight makes her heart lurch and her eyes water, and she can feel the Doctor’s eyes on her, gauging how much he should let her see before he insists that it’s time to go. It feels like a challenge, like some sort of test, and she still remembers too clearly the sting of the words “stupid ape.” So she bites her tongue and forces herself forward, left foot, right foot, refusing to meet his gaze or to ask any of the questions that she feels clawing at her throat.
It is the piano that stops her in her tracks. About forty seats are set up in a half-circle, and a few of them are slightly tilted as though still wobbling under the weight of someone taking their seat for a concert. The piano, though completely wrapped in the cobwebs, looks to be completely free of dust. Rose is struck by a mad urge to move around it to see if there are keys half-depressed, but she finds herself rooted to the spot.
The tears welling in her eyes finally spill over as she opens her mouth to beg him to take her away, but she is cut off by his arms encircling her waist and his lips pressed gently to her temple. “Time to go, I think,” he says, and she is sure she has never felt more grateful to anyone.
---
“What was it?”
They have been back aboard the TARDIS for several hours. The Doctor didn’t follow Rose when she fled to her bedroom, deciding it would be better to give her some time. Now she was standing in the doorway of the control room, wringing her hands together in front of her, looking afraid of the answer to the question she had almost elected not to ask.
He extends his hand and she moves toward him to take it, joining him in leaning against the console. “Paivnet,” he answers, and she nods though it means nothing to her. “Formerly one of the foremost producers of art in the universe. Recently overtaken by the Apelfi, who outlawed everything Paivnet stood for: art, joy, beauty, love.”
Rose wonders for a moment whether the people of Paivnet left when the new laws were instated. The alternative makes her shudder and she hangs onto his hand more tightly rather than ask about their fate.
“I’m sorry I took you there,” he goes on softly. “A world without beauty and love…It’s certainly different, but it’s no place for you and me.”
This stirs something in her and she glances at him sharply. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well, look at me!” He grins when she laughs and pulls her into his arms, whispering his next statement in her ear. “And look at you, Rose Tyler. You could certainly not survive for long on a planet that doesn’t allow beauty.”
Her heart hammers against her ribcage and she buries her grin in the lapels of his jacket. “Then I suppose we should go somewhere a bit more welcoming, hm?” she replies at length, not sure of what else to say.
“Absolutely!” He holds her for another lingering moment before spinning away, pushing this and pulling that and rambling about how he had been thinking lately about the Olympics and how much she’d love seeing Britain’s performance in 2012. As she watches him a wave of relief floods through her, and as she lets go of a wild laugh his face lights up, and he twists one last knob and away they go.