(no subject)
the face that launched a thousand ships, Ten/Rose, g.
But it is worth the burning, so very worth it. It's that piece you're missing and seem to never find. If you found it, don't let it go. Fight for it, break all the rules if you must. But, please, don't ever let go. 997 words (!)
The Doctor had intended to take her to Greece. To show her magnificent sunsets on top of cliffs, visit beautiful islands and hidden sand beaches, have exotic drinks served in pineapples with little umbrellas on top. They had, instead, landed on Ancient Sparta, when little umbrellas and frilly bikinis hadn't even been invented yet.
Parties, thought, definitely existed, and he was in the middle of a huge one. Long tables were set on an outdoors courtyard, full of food and drinks and people and music. The sun was beginning to set, and at least that he had gotten right. Rose had gone with some locals to get into proper attire, and he was left (extremely bored) sitting as guest of honor near the boasting spartan king and some young prince from overseas.
The king was going on and on about how he had defeated a hundred of other suitors (he very much doubted) and this supposedly beautiful woman had chosen him as his husband (ha!) and how Sparta would rule the entire peninsula (which was a bit true, but wouldn't happen for another thousand years or so). The Doctor rolled his eyes for the eleventh time since arriving, not that he was counting, and rested his cheek on his hand, wondering why that girl always took so long to put on a piece of clothing.
He was on his third try of building a Parthenon with mashed peas when he noticed all the conversation in the courtyard had stopped. All the eyes were turned to the entrance, where a group of women had arrived. In the center, an interestingly pretty specimen of the human race, with dark locks in an elaborate braid and purple dress, and he could understand why the prince by his side had simply stopped breathing. Weeell, yes, maybe the woman was beyond gorgeous, but where - ah, there.
There was Rose.
His left heart skipped a beat when he saw her. But of course it was because he was worried if she was getting along with the time period, and was relieved to see it was not the case, of course. Her hair was up, held by wildflowers, and she wore a crimson gown down to her ankles. She was whispering at the woman's ear, giggling, and he could tell was planning something naughty by the way her right eyebrow crooked and her wide grin. He smiled fondly to himself, thinking about how easy to read she was, his adorable girl. Not that he payed much attention or anything.
"Sir," the prince by his side, who had been quiet the whole afternoon, startled him by calling. "Do you believe in this thing they call love?" His stare was fixed on the woman, who was blushing and making eyes back at him, while Rose looked at the Doctor and winked impishly. It all clicked and he smirked, crooking his own eyebrow. Leave it to Rose Tyler to play matchmaker on diplomatic parties. He played along.
"Ahh yes. Love! Looove, love, love" the word rolled around in his tongue, and his own stare fixed on Rose and her full red lips smiling back, his chest warming up strangely. "A gift from the gods, they say. Love... Love is a many splendored thing, love lift us up where we belong, all we need is - ah, no, that's Moulin Rouge. But that's what it is. Having a soulmate, a shine in your eyes, the other half of your apple. A beautiful thing, human love"
"But, do you think it's... safe?" said the man hauntedly, turning to him when the women left to find drinks. "I think it has gotten to me. It makes me want to do grand things, insane things." He paused, as if thinking, as if trying to stop it. "I think it will burn me alive," he finished, whispering.
The Doctor was firstly trying hard not to laugh, but ended up giving him a warm smile. It always came down to that, didn't it? A girl and a boy, in Ancient Greece or year 3.7/cloud/52, wanting to be together forever and ever and ever after. He held the man's shoulder firmly, wanting a happy ending for that tale. "Here, my boy - what was your name again?"
"Paris, sir"
"Yes, listen here, Paris." He knew he should know that name, but couldn't exactly place it. A thousand years and seven cups of wine made that to people... or Time Lords. He was getting old and soft and maybe a bit drunk. "It's not safe. Never is. It is utter madness!" the Doctor laughed, because, really, if you stopped to think, it was. "But it is worth the burning, so very worth it. It's that piece you're missing and seem to never find. If you found it, don't let it go. Fight for it, break all the rules if you must. But please, don't ever let go."
The prince nodded firmly, satisfied, turning to stare at his muse. The Doctor's eyes found Rose, mingling with the girls and deep in ancient gossip. His little human, so lovely, so young, so fragile. So bound to her emotions. He could almost see the day when she would leave him. Maybe she would wither and die, maybe she would find love somewhere else and leave by her own will. He didn't know which one would break his hearts more.
"She really is the most beautiful woman in the world," the man stated, his voice full of wonder.
Rose danced in the courtyard, spinning, smiling, making the universe make sense just by being there. Barefoot, her dress flowed with the wind and her hair glinted gold by the dying sunlight. She missed a step or two or all of them and laughed, closing her eyes, throwing her head back. Rose, his Rose, whom he had seen grow and blossom under his care.
"Yes," he whispered to himself. "Yes, she is."
His perfect Rose.
If only he could be with her forever.
But it is worth the burning, so very worth it. It's that piece you're missing and seem to never find. If you found it, don't let it go. Fight for it, break all the rules if you must. But, please, don't ever let go. 997 words (!)
The Doctor had intended to take her to Greece. To show her magnificent sunsets on top of cliffs, visit beautiful islands and hidden sand beaches, have exotic drinks served in pineapples with little umbrellas on top. They had, instead, landed on Ancient Sparta, when little umbrellas and frilly bikinis hadn't even been invented yet.
Parties, thought, definitely existed, and he was in the middle of a huge one. Long tables were set on an outdoors courtyard, full of food and drinks and people and music. The sun was beginning to set, and at least that he had gotten right. Rose had gone with some locals to get into proper attire, and he was left (extremely bored) sitting as guest of honor near the boasting spartan king and some young prince from overseas.
The king was going on and on about how he had defeated a hundred of other suitors (he very much doubted) and this supposedly beautiful woman had chosen him as his husband (ha!) and how Sparta would rule the entire peninsula (which was a bit true, but wouldn't happen for another thousand years or so). The Doctor rolled his eyes for the eleventh time since arriving, not that he was counting, and rested his cheek on his hand, wondering why that girl always took so long to put on a piece of clothing.
He was on his third try of building a Parthenon with mashed peas when he noticed all the conversation in the courtyard had stopped. All the eyes were turned to the entrance, where a group of women had arrived. In the center, an interestingly pretty specimen of the human race, with dark locks in an elaborate braid and purple dress, and he could understand why the prince by his side had simply stopped breathing. Weeell, yes, maybe the woman was beyond gorgeous, but where - ah, there.
There was Rose.
His left heart skipped a beat when he saw her. But of course it was because he was worried if she was getting along with the time period, and was relieved to see it was not the case, of course. Her hair was up, held by wildflowers, and she wore a crimson gown down to her ankles. She was whispering at the woman's ear, giggling, and he could tell was planning something naughty by the way her right eyebrow crooked and her wide grin. He smiled fondly to himself, thinking about how easy to read she was, his adorable girl. Not that he payed much attention or anything.
"Sir," the prince by his side, who had been quiet the whole afternoon, startled him by calling. "Do you believe in this thing they call love?" His stare was fixed on the woman, who was blushing and making eyes back at him, while Rose looked at the Doctor and winked impishly. It all clicked and he smirked, crooking his own eyebrow. Leave it to Rose Tyler to play matchmaker on diplomatic parties. He played along.
"Ahh yes. Love! Looove, love, love" the word rolled around in his tongue, and his own stare fixed on Rose and her full red lips smiling back, his chest warming up strangely. "A gift from the gods, they say. Love... Love is a many splendored thing, love lift us up where we belong, all we need is - ah, no, that's Moulin Rouge. But that's what it is. Having a soulmate, a shine in your eyes, the other half of your apple. A beautiful thing, human love"
"But, do you think it's... safe?" said the man hauntedly, turning to him when the women left to find drinks. "I think it has gotten to me. It makes me want to do grand things, insane things." He paused, as if thinking, as if trying to stop it. "I think it will burn me alive," he finished, whispering.
The Doctor was firstly trying hard not to laugh, but ended up giving him a warm smile. It always came down to that, didn't it? A girl and a boy, in Ancient Greece or year 3.7/cloud/52, wanting to be together forever and ever and ever after. He held the man's shoulder firmly, wanting a happy ending for that tale. "Here, my boy - what was your name again?"
"Paris, sir"
"Yes, listen here, Paris." He knew he should know that name, but couldn't exactly place it. A thousand years and seven cups of wine made that to people... or Time Lords. He was getting old and soft and maybe a bit drunk. "It's not safe. Never is. It is utter madness!" the Doctor laughed, because, really, if you stopped to think, it was. "But it is worth the burning, so very worth it. It's that piece you're missing and seem to never find. If you found it, don't let it go. Fight for it, break all the rules if you must. But please, don't ever let go."
The prince nodded firmly, satisfied, turning to stare at his muse. The Doctor's eyes found Rose, mingling with the girls and deep in ancient gossip. His little human, so lovely, so young, so fragile. So bound to her emotions. He could almost see the day when she would leave him. Maybe she would wither and die, maybe she would find love somewhere else and leave by her own will. He didn't know which one would break his hearts more.
"She really is the most beautiful woman in the world," the man stated, his voice full of wonder.
Rose danced in the courtyard, spinning, smiling, making the universe make sense just by being there. Barefoot, her dress flowed with the wind and her hair glinted gold by the dying sunlight. She missed a step or two or all of them and laughed, closing her eyes, throwing her head back. Rose, his Rose, whom he had seen grow and blossom under his care.
"Yes," he whispered to himself. "Yes, she is."
His perfect Rose.
If only he could be with her forever.