(no subject)
Recuerdame, Ten/Rose, pg-13
He has the memories, each of them lived through once and then hoarded jealously like dragon's gold in the cavernous recesses of his mind, that prove differently., 240 words
He can tell she's torn between coming with him, back to the TARDIS and to the permanent adrenaline rush that only running for one's life can bring, and staying here with her mother. However unwillingly she might have done it, she's chiselled a life for herself here; for all he knows, she has no wish to leave it.
He's not an idiot by any stretch of the imagination, no matter how clueless and gauche he might let himself appear to be, and he knows that if that were all he had to offer her then she might well have chosen, right then, to stay where she was.
But he knows differently. He has the memories, each of them lived through once and then hoarded jealously like dragon's gold in the cavernous recesses of his mind, that prove differently.
Each longing look, each slide of fingers along skin, each whispered syllable of countless billets-doux never committed to paper but repeatedly gasped into a lover's ear at the moment of ecstasy. Each slide of him in her and her on him.
All of it remains with him. It sleeps from necessity, because he had to either block his mind a little from the pain of it or go mad from grief, but it awaits only lips and fingers, bodies and tongues, minds and voices to coax it back into glorious life.
And all he has to do is make her remember.