(no subject)
forget me not, Ten/Rose, TenII/Rose, G.
Oh, he knows he won't really die, but he won't be him the way he is now. The nerves in his fingers won't recall warmth the exact same way, won't recall the ache., 698.
A/N: Wrote this in about ten minutes so it is super rushedddd. Sorry about that.
Before he dies, he travels the universe for one last time.
(Oh, he knows he won't really die, but he won't be him the way he is now. The nerves in his fingers won't recall warmth the exact same way, won't recall the ache.)
His time is short and growing ever shorter still, but when he lands in an untouchable universe centuries before it becomes untouchable, he spends a whole month there nonetheless. The Doctor does not enjoy living out his days in such a mundane and trite linear order and it shows when he snaps at his landlord and assistants at the university (they think he is a visiting Doctor / Professor from overseas, compliments of one psychic paper). He works like a madman on his project and disappears the day it is complete. There are whispers of controversy and murder, though none of it is ever confirmed - suicide becomes the topic of choice when they find a note stuck to the underside of his final (and first) act in this world.
"Please, name them as I have always wished. The Doctor."
Yes, they decide, it was suicide, and that does not much surprise anyone.
So where does the Doctor really go? He goes everywhere and everytime - to Mars and San Helios and every place in between. He breaks rules that are written in his own hand and sneaks looks at the humans who have given him hope. For Sarah Jane, he thinks that saving Luke Smith and summarily changing the course of that time line is more than worth it. For Martha and Mickey, he gets a fierce sense of pride that they have what they have, something strong and quiet that holds fast against the rapids of life. For Donna, who looks resplendent in her white dress and in her infectious joy.
For a girl that is all winter and hot chocolate, mittens and snow, he wishes her a fantastic year and he is secretly happy that she will be the last one he sees before he leaves.
--------------------- &
Precisely two hundred years in the future, he who is not he is walking down a street, groceries piled high in his arms. Most likely more than half of it they don't need, but it had looked interesting and strange. Some of the jams even fizzle - is that even a word? Well, it was a word on Planet Aremoxella Sigma 10 at least - and he had been forced to buy them when they had caught him sticking his fingers into the jars.
"They're brilliant jams," he mutters to himself, hair falling helplessly into his eyes.
"Rose'll love them," he reassures himself. But just incase. Just incase her eyes don't twinkle with good humor (and this has never scared him so much before, but somehow keeping Rose Tyler happy has become the most important thing to him), he buys her flowers.
Human girls love flowers, don't they?
"I want a dozen of the prettiest flowers," he asks very politely. The shopgirl looks at him oddly before blinking and grinning.
"Got in a row with the girl?"
"No," he says, startled. "No, not at all. Just thought she might like it." He silently adds that being half-human is harder than he thinks, all these tricky questions and busybodies everywhere. The world is ironic like that.
"Well, these are the best if you want to please a girl," she confides like it is a grand secret, whispering loudly over the riot of blossoms to hand him a bouquet. He instinctively leans forward too and bananas end up spilling over the wall of his arms while he grabs at them wildly, blindly pressing a random handful of bills into her hand.
That night he presents Rose with a surprisingly lasting clutch of hybrid flowers. They are every shade of the rainbow, yellow and green, white and blue, lavender and pink with a touch of gold. Their real name, their true name, in the language of science and Latin, is Forget me not, Rose.
Oh, he knows he won't really die, but he won't be him the way he is now. The nerves in his fingers won't recall warmth the exact same way, won't recall the ache., 698.
A/N: Wrote this in about ten minutes so it is super rushedddd. Sorry about that.
Before he dies, he travels the universe for one last time.
(Oh, he knows he won't really die, but he won't be him the way he is now. The nerves in his fingers won't recall warmth the exact same way, won't recall the ache.)
His time is short and growing ever shorter still, but when he lands in an untouchable universe centuries before it becomes untouchable, he spends a whole month there nonetheless. The Doctor does not enjoy living out his days in such a mundane and trite linear order and it shows when he snaps at his landlord and assistants at the university (they think he is a visiting Doctor / Professor from overseas, compliments of one psychic paper). He works like a madman on his project and disappears the day it is complete. There are whispers of controversy and murder, though none of it is ever confirmed - suicide becomes the topic of choice when they find a note stuck to the underside of his final (and first) act in this world.
"Please, name them as I have always wished. The Doctor."
Yes, they decide, it was suicide, and that does not much surprise anyone.
So where does the Doctor really go? He goes everywhere and everytime - to Mars and San Helios and every place in between. He breaks rules that are written in his own hand and sneaks looks at the humans who have given him hope. For Sarah Jane, he thinks that saving Luke Smith and summarily changing the course of that time line is more than worth it. For Martha and Mickey, he gets a fierce sense of pride that they have what they have, something strong and quiet that holds fast against the rapids of life. For Donna, who looks resplendent in her white dress and in her infectious joy.
For a girl that is all winter and hot chocolate, mittens and snow, he wishes her a fantastic year and he is secretly happy that she will be the last one he sees before he leaves.
--------------------- &
Precisely two hundred years in the future, he who is not he is walking down a street, groceries piled high in his arms. Most likely more than half of it they don't need, but it had looked interesting and strange. Some of the jams even fizzle - is that even a word? Well, it was a word on Planet Aremoxella Sigma 10 at least - and he had been forced to buy them when they had caught him sticking his fingers into the jars.
"They're brilliant jams," he mutters to himself, hair falling helplessly into his eyes.
"Rose'll love them," he reassures himself. But just incase. Just incase her eyes don't twinkle with good humor (and this has never scared him so much before, but somehow keeping Rose Tyler happy has become the most important thing to him), he buys her flowers.
Human girls love flowers, don't they?
"I want a dozen of the prettiest flowers," he asks very politely. The shopgirl looks at him oddly before blinking and grinning.
"Got in a row with the girl?"
"No," he says, startled. "No, not at all. Just thought she might like it." He silently adds that being half-human is harder than he thinks, all these tricky questions and busybodies everywhere. The world is ironic like that.
"Well, these are the best if you want to please a girl," she confides like it is a grand secret, whispering loudly over the riot of blossoms to hand him a bouquet. He instinctively leans forward too and bananas end up spilling over the wall of his arms while he grabs at them wildly, blindly pressing a random handful of bills into her hand.
That night he presents Rose with a surprisingly lasting clutch of hybrid flowers. They are every shade of the rainbow, yellow and green, white and blue, lavender and pink with a touch of gold. Their real name, their true name, in the language of science and Latin, is Forget me not, Rose.