(no subject)
Waiting on the Road to Nowhere, Rose/Eleven, Rose/Ten II, PG-13, 2134 words
Author's Notes: Spoilers up to "The Impossible Astronaut".
A run-down car in the middle of some desert isn’t the weirdest place one of these dreams has landed us. That’d probably be that one time when I stumbled across him in the middle of town in 20th century Casablanca, playing the piano for tips while stark naked except for a strategically placed fez, of all things. It’s still unexpected, though, especially since there’s no sign of him anywhere nearby.
I used to have an almost even mix of chilling nightmares and dreams so close to perfection that I didn’t want to emerge from the warmth of my bed, even with all of time and space and him waiting out there for me. They were an unavoidable consequence of seeing so many wonderful and terrible things while on board the TARDIS.
Now there are only these.
A run-down car in the middle of some desert isn’t the weirdest place one of these dreams has landed us. That’d probably be that one time when I stumbled across him in the middle of town in 20th century Casablanca, playing the piano for tips while stark naked except for a strategically placed fez, of all things. It’s still unexpected, though, especially since there’s no sign of him anywhere nearby.
There’s nothing out here, and the vehicle’s probably not going to be much use to us. Even if it’s not too old to be capable of forward motion, I’m not even sure if he can drive, his doubtful TARDIS piloting skills aside. But I guess waiting for him in the middle of nowhere in a car that might never move is probably appropriate, all things considered.
Something about the old pickup truck reminds me of the TARDIS, and by extension him, though I can’t help but wonder why. It’s clearly not blue, and it looks like it’s been rescued from the scrap heap, and it’s unfortunately definitely not bigger on the inside. It’s ironic that it’s supposed to be a sort of symbol of freedom - the wide space of the open road - yet I have to drape myself across the whole width of the cab just to avoid ending up all cramped.
Still, I’ve been in worst places. At least it’s not like Mickey’s Mini or Pete’s old Jeep, where the gear stick would be jabbing up into my back right now. I’m comfortable enough to settle in for a while. He always tends to either keep me waiting or make me go searching for him. Unless he’s literally hiding behind a rock this time, it looks like I might be here for the long haul. I sigh.
I’m shouldn’t surprised, though, that he immediately does the exact opposite of what I’m expecting. That’s so him.
“Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth,” a voice greets me suddenly. He likes titles a lot more these days, I’ve noticed. It’s hardly his oddest new quirk.
A playful tug on the ends of my hair makes me tilt my head back to look up at him. Although I know he’ll be there, the sight of him still somehow shocks me every time. Perhaps it’s the different face. Intellectually I know what I’ll see in these dreams, since he first showed up all regenerated long ago. That doesn’t mean I don’t find myself half-expecting to open my eyes and see the same face I went to sleep beside.
Even if he hadn’t changed so radically, though, the face wouldn’t be quite the same. Too many years have passed for them to still be identical. The Doctor who spends his days by my side has aged gracefully, but still noticeably nonetheless.
This man I’m looking at right now will never look a day older until he abruptly looks like a different man altogether once again. Even then he might end up looking younger, like last time. That’s still weird for me; I look older than him now.
His regenerated face viewed upside down isn’t the only surprising sight this time, though.
“How comes you’ve got that on?” I ask.
“I wear a Stetson now,” he says with an air of self-satisfaction. “Or I will do, intend to, shortly. Funny thing, time. It’s a bit weird, even for a Time Lord, and especially in dreams. Anyway, not the point. So, Stetson. What’s wrong with that?”
I shake my head fondly. “I thought that truly hideous tie you wore that one time was the worst of it. Turns out maybe I was wrong.”
His hand leaps protectively to his neck and he looks ready to argue up a storm.
I grin. “Relax. I’m not havin’ a go at your precious bowties, all right? I didn’t mean you, exactly, I meant...”
I hesitate to say ‘my Doctor’. I’ve made that slip once before, and the hurt on his face was a lesson I only needed to learn once. He knows well enough with whom I spend my waking hours without me rubbing it in. I certainly don’t need to mention that the tie in question was worn to our wedding, or more specifically to the crazy comedy of errors that ended in a marriage certificate that I’m still not entirely convinced is legally binding, as if that really matters to either of us.
He still knows exactly what I mean without me voicing it, though. The silence between us is awkward, broken only by him eventually handing me a blue envelope through the open window. Puzzled, I turn it over to tear it open, only to see a number one on the back of it. I raise my eyebrows at him.
“It’s a bit complicated,” he explains (or non-explains, as per usual). “Let’s just say there’s somewhere I wish you could be. Except I don’t really want that at all, do I? No reason you should have to see it. That’s why I left the envelope empty. That’s a bit strange, isn’t it, some empty envelope with a random number on it? Only the number’s not random at all. It’s the same number as the one I’ll send myself once I wake you, since you can’t be there. But I wanted you to know. You, Rose Tyler, would be first on this list. Even though you can’t be there - even though there are whole universes between us - I think you still deserve this much from me. It’s about time I said it, before I can’t anymore, and this is the only way I can.”
“You’re makin’ even less sense than usual, and that’s sayin’ somethin’,” I say not quite teasingly. There’s something that makes this different from the type of rambling I’m used to deciphering, even if I can’t quite put my finger on what that is. That worries me.
The Doctor smiles. I’m getting used to seeing a deep sadness lurking behind those expressions of his - this version of the Doctor isn’t anywhere near as prone to unadulterated grins as either of the men he’d been before the most recent regeneration - but the seriousness of that smile still seems new. It makes me want to sit up and pay attention, literally, but as if he can read my intentions straight from my mind (it’s a dream, I remind myself, so he probably can), he orders, “Don’t move. I want to remember you just like this.”
“What, in a car?” I suggest, confused.
“Laid out like a willing sacrifice,” he corrects quietly.
I swallow, a rolling motion that seems to freeze at a lump in my throat that I wasn’t aware had formed. He’s never said anything like that to me before. Not this him, and certainly not with that sort of look in his eyes.
He circles the car and opens the door. I’m half-surprised that the rust hasn’t worn far enough through the hinges to make it come all the way off in his grip. He ducks through the opening and I’m stunned to watch (and feel) how he slinks forwards, over my body, in a way that seems a little too fluid for the slightly awkward man I’ve always know. The dream lends him a sort of grace that’s strange but exciting. The tweed of his jacket rubs along the leg I have propped against the steering wheel, and suddenly he’s right there between my thighs, leaning almost directly on top of me, breathing my air.
I’ve met him hundreds of times in hundreds of different places in these dreams. This, however, is completely novel.
“Um, hi there,” I rasp uncomfortably. I’d probably worry about the lack of cleverness there if that hat of his didn’t guarantee that he looks like a bit of an idiot as well. I reach up and pull the thing off, tossing it unceremoniously out the door behind him. Somehow he seems like an even larger presence without it, looming over me.
The Doctor hesitates, as if to take a moment to ask if this is all right. Suddenly I question whether it actually is, my mind finally processing what seems to be happening here.
I almost stop him as he bends to lay a kiss on my neck, but it feels so good. I stifle a moan, tilting my head further back so that the hair draped out the window teeters on the edge of flopping down into my face.
“Is this cheating?” I ask breathily, trying to get some control over myself. “Since it’s still you and all?”
“Only you can answer that,” he replies, his words muffled by my skin.
“I dunno. It’s all in my mind, right, but I don’t even know what that really means,” I admit.
He pulls away far enough to look at me. “It’s just as real as you want it to be,” he says.
It might be a dream, I think, but it certainly feels real, regardless of whether the Doctor from that other universe really is here or if he’s just a figment created by my mind because I fall asleep every night wondering what he’s out there doing and hoping he’s all right.
I’ll regret it later if I do this, when the Doctor wakes me with a light kiss to the jaw the way he’s taken to doing lately, when I have to look at those far more familiar brown eyes once again. Whether or not this is real, that pain will be. I can’t do that to myself or to him.
I press a hand to this Doctor’s chest just below the bow-tie, keeping him at a steady distance. He doesn’t seem surprised. The hand he isn’t using to hold himself up strokes my cheek tenderly, but he makes no further move to turn this into anything more.
“Rose,” he says. There’s a sort of resignation to his tone that seems far too final.
We’ve been through this far too many times for me not to recognise it when he’s planning on leaving me, even if I never seem to understand why.
I bend upwards enough to press a brief kiss against his lips, and then force a light smile.
“Doctor,” I reply, when the word I’m really saying is goodbye.
He draws away from me, the heavy press of him disappearing.
I sit up and peer past my feet out the car door. There’s nothing but empty desert out there now, as if he simply evaporated as he left the dream. If it wasn’t for the way the door still gapes open and the telling sight of that silly hat lying out in the dirt, there’d be no sign that he’d been here at all except for my slightly quickened heartbeat and tingling lips.
I fall back onto the seat, defeated, and close my eyes. I let the sun beat down on my face for a moment, pretending the moisture that gathers on my skin is only sweat caused by the sweltering heat.
The blue envelope, momentarily forgotten with his departure, falls from my slack fingers. With a sudden sense of desperation I snatch at it; it’s all I have left of him.
My reaching hand finds the Doctor’s shoulder instead, and grips hard enough that I wake him.
We blink tiredly at each other. As he manages to focus on me, a look of concern graces his face (so different from the one that had hovered just out of reach in my dream).
“You all right?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say. “It’s nothin’.”
He sees through me, of course, and I’m glad for the way he pulls me close, his warmth so much more welcome than the isolating heat of the desert.
Also unlike in the dream, there’s nothing chaste in the way I kiss him, even if it isn’t drawn out. He smiles sleepily at me just before I burrow my face into his neck. There’s no hint of sadness behind his contentment, and hasn’t been for a long time. Not like him.
It breaks some part of my heart to know that I’ll probably never see him again, but what I still have right here with me is so much better than the elusive dreams that are all the other Doctor could ever offer.
“I’m fine,” I repeat even as I’m drifting slowly back off towards sleep.
And I am.
~FIN~
Author's Notes: Spoilers up to "The Impossible Astronaut".
A run-down car in the middle of some desert isn’t the weirdest place one of these dreams has landed us. That’d probably be that one time when I stumbled across him in the middle of town in 20th century Casablanca, playing the piano for tips while stark naked except for a strategically placed fez, of all things. It’s still unexpected, though, especially since there’s no sign of him anywhere nearby.
I used to have an almost even mix of chilling nightmares and dreams so close to perfection that I didn’t want to emerge from the warmth of my bed, even with all of time and space and him waiting out there for me. They were an unavoidable consequence of seeing so many wonderful and terrible things while on board the TARDIS.
Now there are only these.
A run-down car in the middle of some desert isn’t the weirdest place one of these dreams has landed us. That’d probably be that one time when I stumbled across him in the middle of town in 20th century Casablanca, playing the piano for tips while stark naked except for a strategically placed fez, of all things. It’s still unexpected, though, especially since there’s no sign of him anywhere nearby.
There’s nothing out here, and the vehicle’s probably not going to be much use to us. Even if it’s not too old to be capable of forward motion, I’m not even sure if he can drive, his doubtful TARDIS piloting skills aside. But I guess waiting for him in the middle of nowhere in a car that might never move is probably appropriate, all things considered.
Something about the old pickup truck reminds me of the TARDIS, and by extension him, though I can’t help but wonder why. It’s clearly not blue, and it looks like it’s been rescued from the scrap heap, and it’s unfortunately definitely not bigger on the inside. It’s ironic that it’s supposed to be a sort of symbol of freedom - the wide space of the open road - yet I have to drape myself across the whole width of the cab just to avoid ending up all cramped.
Still, I’ve been in worst places. At least it’s not like Mickey’s Mini or Pete’s old Jeep, where the gear stick would be jabbing up into my back right now. I’m comfortable enough to settle in for a while. He always tends to either keep me waiting or make me go searching for him. Unless he’s literally hiding behind a rock this time, it looks like I might be here for the long haul. I sigh.
I’m shouldn’t surprised, though, that he immediately does the exact opposite of what I’m expecting. That’s so him.
“Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth,” a voice greets me suddenly. He likes titles a lot more these days, I’ve noticed. It’s hardly his oddest new quirk.
A playful tug on the ends of my hair makes me tilt my head back to look up at him. Although I know he’ll be there, the sight of him still somehow shocks me every time. Perhaps it’s the different face. Intellectually I know what I’ll see in these dreams, since he first showed up all regenerated long ago. That doesn’t mean I don’t find myself half-expecting to open my eyes and see the same face I went to sleep beside.
Even if he hadn’t changed so radically, though, the face wouldn’t be quite the same. Too many years have passed for them to still be identical. The Doctor who spends his days by my side has aged gracefully, but still noticeably nonetheless.
This man I’m looking at right now will never look a day older until he abruptly looks like a different man altogether once again. Even then he might end up looking younger, like last time. That’s still weird for me; I look older than him now.
His regenerated face viewed upside down isn’t the only surprising sight this time, though.
“How comes you’ve got that on?” I ask.
“I wear a Stetson now,” he says with an air of self-satisfaction. “Or I will do, intend to, shortly. Funny thing, time. It’s a bit weird, even for a Time Lord, and especially in dreams. Anyway, not the point. So, Stetson. What’s wrong with that?”
I shake my head fondly. “I thought that truly hideous tie you wore that one time was the worst of it. Turns out maybe I was wrong.”
His hand leaps protectively to his neck and he looks ready to argue up a storm.
I grin. “Relax. I’m not havin’ a go at your precious bowties, all right? I didn’t mean you, exactly, I meant...”
I hesitate to say ‘my Doctor’. I’ve made that slip once before, and the hurt on his face was a lesson I only needed to learn once. He knows well enough with whom I spend my waking hours without me rubbing it in. I certainly don’t need to mention that the tie in question was worn to our wedding, or more specifically to the crazy comedy of errors that ended in a marriage certificate that I’m still not entirely convinced is legally binding, as if that really matters to either of us.
He still knows exactly what I mean without me voicing it, though. The silence between us is awkward, broken only by him eventually handing me a blue envelope through the open window. Puzzled, I turn it over to tear it open, only to see a number one on the back of it. I raise my eyebrows at him.
“It’s a bit complicated,” he explains (or non-explains, as per usual). “Let’s just say there’s somewhere I wish you could be. Except I don’t really want that at all, do I? No reason you should have to see it. That’s why I left the envelope empty. That’s a bit strange, isn’t it, some empty envelope with a random number on it? Only the number’s not random at all. It’s the same number as the one I’ll send myself once I wake you, since you can’t be there. But I wanted you to know. You, Rose Tyler, would be first on this list. Even though you can’t be there - even though there are whole universes between us - I think you still deserve this much from me. It’s about time I said it, before I can’t anymore, and this is the only way I can.”
“You’re makin’ even less sense than usual, and that’s sayin’ somethin’,” I say not quite teasingly. There’s something that makes this different from the type of rambling I’m used to deciphering, even if I can’t quite put my finger on what that is. That worries me.
The Doctor smiles. I’m getting used to seeing a deep sadness lurking behind those expressions of his - this version of the Doctor isn’t anywhere near as prone to unadulterated grins as either of the men he’d been before the most recent regeneration - but the seriousness of that smile still seems new. It makes me want to sit up and pay attention, literally, but as if he can read my intentions straight from my mind (it’s a dream, I remind myself, so he probably can), he orders, “Don’t move. I want to remember you just like this.”
“What, in a car?” I suggest, confused.
“Laid out like a willing sacrifice,” he corrects quietly.
I swallow, a rolling motion that seems to freeze at a lump in my throat that I wasn’t aware had formed. He’s never said anything like that to me before. Not this him, and certainly not with that sort of look in his eyes.
He circles the car and opens the door. I’m half-surprised that the rust hasn’t worn far enough through the hinges to make it come all the way off in his grip. He ducks through the opening and I’m stunned to watch (and feel) how he slinks forwards, over my body, in a way that seems a little too fluid for the slightly awkward man I’ve always know. The dream lends him a sort of grace that’s strange but exciting. The tweed of his jacket rubs along the leg I have propped against the steering wheel, and suddenly he’s right there between my thighs, leaning almost directly on top of me, breathing my air.
I’ve met him hundreds of times in hundreds of different places in these dreams. This, however, is completely novel.
“Um, hi there,” I rasp uncomfortably. I’d probably worry about the lack of cleverness there if that hat of his didn’t guarantee that he looks like a bit of an idiot as well. I reach up and pull the thing off, tossing it unceremoniously out the door behind him. Somehow he seems like an even larger presence without it, looming over me.
The Doctor hesitates, as if to take a moment to ask if this is all right. Suddenly I question whether it actually is, my mind finally processing what seems to be happening here.
I almost stop him as he bends to lay a kiss on my neck, but it feels so good. I stifle a moan, tilting my head further back so that the hair draped out the window teeters on the edge of flopping down into my face.
“Is this cheating?” I ask breathily, trying to get some control over myself. “Since it’s still you and all?”
“Only you can answer that,” he replies, his words muffled by my skin.
“I dunno. It’s all in my mind, right, but I don’t even know what that really means,” I admit.
He pulls away far enough to look at me. “It’s just as real as you want it to be,” he says.
It might be a dream, I think, but it certainly feels real, regardless of whether the Doctor from that other universe really is here or if he’s just a figment created by my mind because I fall asleep every night wondering what he’s out there doing and hoping he’s all right.
I’ll regret it later if I do this, when the Doctor wakes me with a light kiss to the jaw the way he’s taken to doing lately, when I have to look at those far more familiar brown eyes once again. Whether or not this is real, that pain will be. I can’t do that to myself or to him.
I press a hand to this Doctor’s chest just below the bow-tie, keeping him at a steady distance. He doesn’t seem surprised. The hand he isn’t using to hold himself up strokes my cheek tenderly, but he makes no further move to turn this into anything more.
“Rose,” he says. There’s a sort of resignation to his tone that seems far too final.
We’ve been through this far too many times for me not to recognise it when he’s planning on leaving me, even if I never seem to understand why.
I bend upwards enough to press a brief kiss against his lips, and then force a light smile.
“Doctor,” I reply, when the word I’m really saying is goodbye.
He draws away from me, the heavy press of him disappearing.
I sit up and peer past my feet out the car door. There’s nothing but empty desert out there now, as if he simply evaporated as he left the dream. If it wasn’t for the way the door still gapes open and the telling sight of that silly hat lying out in the dirt, there’d be no sign that he’d been here at all except for my slightly quickened heartbeat and tingling lips.
I fall back onto the seat, defeated, and close my eyes. I let the sun beat down on my face for a moment, pretending the moisture that gathers on my skin is only sweat caused by the sweltering heat.
The blue envelope, momentarily forgotten with his departure, falls from my slack fingers. With a sudden sense of desperation I snatch at it; it’s all I have left of him.
My reaching hand finds the Doctor’s shoulder instead, and grips hard enough that I wake him.
We blink tiredly at each other. As he manages to focus on me, a look of concern graces his face (so different from the one that had hovered just out of reach in my dream).
“You all right?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say. “It’s nothin’.”
He sees through me, of course, and I’m glad for the way he pulls me close, his warmth so much more welcome than the isolating heat of the desert.
Also unlike in the dream, there’s nothing chaste in the way I kiss him, even if it isn’t drawn out. He smiles sleepily at me just before I burrow my face into his neck. There’s no hint of sadness behind his contentment, and hasn’t been for a long time. Not like him.
It breaks some part of my heart to know that I’ll probably never see him again, but what I still have right here with me is so much better than the elusive dreams that are all the other Doctor could ever offer.
“I’m fine,” I repeat even as I’m drifting slowly back off towards sleep.
And I am.
~FIN~