(no subject)
remembrance. nine/rose, ten/rose, ten ii/rose. pg.
What Rose feels now is the furthest thing from the bittersweet relief she felt then. This is knowing that the Doctor is slipping away, that she can do nothing for him. So she waits, trying to see past the shadows. (1,061)
1.
She wakes choking, gasping for air. His name flies from her lips unbidden. Only after she steadies her breathing does Rose go to her window, fearing what she'll find on the streets below. But London is quiet. London is safe. Rose crawls back into her bed, but doesn't lay down. She draws her knees to her chest, covering them loosely with the sheets.
She stays this way for hours, staring into the shadows of her bedroom. This London is safe, but what about her London? What about her home? The air around Rose feels thin; it's as though the universe has been stretched and is about to snap. All around her, it's quiet. The city sleeps. But somewhere in time, the universe has fractured. Something has happened to the Doctor.
Once upon a time, in a different life, Rose had watched her father die. In the moment that he had given his life to save hers, the Doctor had appeared at her side. He had said “go to him” and she had. It had only been later, when her heartache had faded that she had realized what she felt when the Doctor had returned. The universe had righted itself and she had known. She had gone to him that night, long after they had said good night, and found him in the control room, staring into nothingness. He had opened his arms to her, no need for apologies to pass between them. She had stayed there for hours, trying to understand through kisses and caresses how she and the universe could deserve such a thing as him.
What Rose feels now is the furthest thing from the bittersweet relief she felt then. This is knowing that the Doctor is slipping away, that she can do nothing for him. So she waits, trying to see past the shadows.
She sleeps one hour. She dreams of regeneration and the sound of drums and thousands of people calling out: Doctor.
When she wakes, that dreadful feeling from the night before has been replaced with relief. As she leaves her flat, she doesn't see the crack along the front wall.
2.
Rose is violently ill the moment she gains her footing. She has acclimated to the sensation of jumping from one reality to the next by now, so she knows something has gone terribly awry.
Taking in her surroundings, she realizes she's near the Thames. There are UNIT soldiers everywhere, civilians in the streets. An ambulance drives away from the scene. From the crowd, a woman with red hair emerges. Rose asks, “Sorry, did they find someone?”
“I don't know. Bloke called the Doctor or something.”
Rose feels a surge of hope. “Well, where is he?”
The woman shakes her head, crippling Rose with her next words: “They took him away. He's dead.”
When she returns to Torchwood, Rose spends the night in her office. Over and over, she considers the woman's words-he's dead. he's dead. he's dead.-but it isn't right. It can't be. So she thinks about the woman, Donna Noble. Two things in that reality, the one that should have been home, are off. Donna Noble is the second.
So Rose returns to that world, time after time, and finds Donna Noble. She joins UNIT and finds the TARDIS.
Sometimes she stays with the TARDIS. They keep one another company, Rose and that ship, and it breaks her heart to see the TARDIS slowly dying.
3.
She turns twenty-five on a perfect Sunday in April. Spring has come to London at last, so her party guests are favored with a gentle afternoon sun and a flourishing garden.
Rose's table of gifts is overflowing and her guests are kind, but they aren't there for her. Not really. They've come to admire what the Tylers' estate, to enjoy finer things for a day. Rose has no interest in her gifts because none will suit her. No one knows her well enough to buy her the right presents.
Rose Tyler has always been strange: too quiet, too distant. Somehow never quite there. A hundred doctors have studied her, trying to name the source of the sorrow that's plagued her for years. None of the doctors have succeeded. Rose likes them all anyway; she's always had a certain fondness for doctors. Rose doesn't know why she's sad, but sometimes she'll wake in the night to the feeling that she's misplaced something. She'll tear her flat apart searching for it.
For her mother's sake, Rose smiles for her guests and makes a wish when she blows her candles out. She laughs at jokes and thanks the partygoers for the gifts. She's learned to pretend.
She comes home later to the lingering smell of coffee. She follows it the bedroom and discovers a pair of coffee mugs sitting on the bed, waiting. This is something she does too, makes or buys enough for two. She can't say why, but when she sees the two coffees, she knows she isn't crazy.
When she crawls into bed alone, she finds herself thinking, This isn't right. It's a thought Rose has had all her life, day after day and year after year. When she dreams, there are indescribable things, strange things that somehow comfort her.
As she falls asleep, she repeats her birthday wish over and over again. It's the same wish she's made every night for years. She doesn't know what it means, but it feels right.
“Come back,” she whispers. “Come back.”
-
“Wake up.” A hand strokes her face. “Rose. Wake up.”
Rose wakes in her bed. Her eyes find the Doctor's. “Doctor!” Rose cries, pulling the Doctor to her. “You were-and I was-and it-” She tries, but she can't say it.
“I know,” he says. “I know.”
Then she remembers: Torchwood and the cracks and the Doctor disappearing, how she hadn't realized how much she loved him until he had told her what would happen. Remember me, he had begged.
“I tried, Doctor. I tried to remember. In some ways I did.” He quiets her with kisses and the universe is right once more. “I love you,” she whispers against his neck, “I love you.”
What Rose feels now is the furthest thing from the bittersweet relief she felt then. This is knowing that the Doctor is slipping away, that she can do nothing for him. So she waits, trying to see past the shadows. (1,061)
1.
She wakes choking, gasping for air. His name flies from her lips unbidden. Only after she steadies her breathing does Rose go to her window, fearing what she'll find on the streets below. But London is quiet. London is safe. Rose crawls back into her bed, but doesn't lay down. She draws her knees to her chest, covering them loosely with the sheets.
She stays this way for hours, staring into the shadows of her bedroom. This London is safe, but what about her London? What about her home? The air around Rose feels thin; it's as though the universe has been stretched and is about to snap. All around her, it's quiet. The city sleeps. But somewhere in time, the universe has fractured. Something has happened to the Doctor.
Once upon a time, in a different life, Rose had watched her father die. In the moment that he had given his life to save hers, the Doctor had appeared at her side. He had said “go to him” and she had. It had only been later, when her heartache had faded that she had realized what she felt when the Doctor had returned. The universe had righted itself and she had known. She had gone to him that night, long after they had said good night, and found him in the control room, staring into nothingness. He had opened his arms to her, no need for apologies to pass between them. She had stayed there for hours, trying to understand through kisses and caresses how she and the universe could deserve such a thing as him.
What Rose feels now is the furthest thing from the bittersweet relief she felt then. This is knowing that the Doctor is slipping away, that she can do nothing for him. So she waits, trying to see past the shadows.
She sleeps one hour. She dreams of regeneration and the sound of drums and thousands of people calling out: Doctor.
When she wakes, that dreadful feeling from the night before has been replaced with relief. As she leaves her flat, she doesn't see the crack along the front wall.
2.
Rose is violently ill the moment she gains her footing. She has acclimated to the sensation of jumping from one reality to the next by now, so she knows something has gone terribly awry.
Taking in her surroundings, she realizes she's near the Thames. There are UNIT soldiers everywhere, civilians in the streets. An ambulance drives away from the scene. From the crowd, a woman with red hair emerges. Rose asks, “Sorry, did they find someone?”
“I don't know. Bloke called the Doctor or something.”
Rose feels a surge of hope. “Well, where is he?”
The woman shakes her head, crippling Rose with her next words: “They took him away. He's dead.”
When she returns to Torchwood, Rose spends the night in her office. Over and over, she considers the woman's words-he's dead. he's dead. he's dead.-but it isn't right. It can't be. So she thinks about the woman, Donna Noble. Two things in that reality, the one that should have been home, are off. Donna Noble is the second.
So Rose returns to that world, time after time, and finds Donna Noble. She joins UNIT and finds the TARDIS.
Sometimes she stays with the TARDIS. They keep one another company, Rose and that ship, and it breaks her heart to see the TARDIS slowly dying.
3.
She turns twenty-five on a perfect Sunday in April. Spring has come to London at last, so her party guests are favored with a gentle afternoon sun and a flourishing garden.
Rose's table of gifts is overflowing and her guests are kind, but they aren't there for her. Not really. They've come to admire what the Tylers' estate, to enjoy finer things for a day. Rose has no interest in her gifts because none will suit her. No one knows her well enough to buy her the right presents.
Rose Tyler has always been strange: too quiet, too distant. Somehow never quite there. A hundred doctors have studied her, trying to name the source of the sorrow that's plagued her for years. None of the doctors have succeeded. Rose likes them all anyway; she's always had a certain fondness for doctors. Rose doesn't know why she's sad, but sometimes she'll wake in the night to the feeling that she's misplaced something. She'll tear her flat apart searching for it.
For her mother's sake, Rose smiles for her guests and makes a wish when she blows her candles out. She laughs at jokes and thanks the partygoers for the gifts. She's learned to pretend.
She comes home later to the lingering smell of coffee. She follows it the bedroom and discovers a pair of coffee mugs sitting on the bed, waiting. This is something she does too, makes or buys enough for two. She can't say why, but when she sees the two coffees, she knows she isn't crazy.
When she crawls into bed alone, she finds herself thinking, This isn't right. It's a thought Rose has had all her life, day after day and year after year. When she dreams, there are indescribable things, strange things that somehow comfort her.
As she falls asleep, she repeats her birthday wish over and over again. It's the same wish she's made every night for years. She doesn't know what it means, but it feels right.
“Come back,” she whispers. “Come back.”
-
“Wake up.” A hand strokes her face. “Rose. Wake up.”
Rose wakes in her bed. Her eyes find the Doctor's. “Doctor!” Rose cries, pulling the Doctor to her. “You were-and I was-and it-” She tries, but she can't say it.
“I know,” he says. “I know.”
Then she remembers: Torchwood and the cracks and the Doctor disappearing, how she hadn't realized how much she loved him until he had told her what would happen. Remember me, he had begged.
“I tried, Doctor. I tried to remember. In some ways I did.” He quiets her with kisses and the universe is right once more. “I love you,” she whispers against his neck, “I love you.”