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At Arm's Length, G, Nine/Rose, 550 words.
challenge 88, rewatch 1.6 "Dalek"
He needed her there, at arm's length, judging him, challenging him.
=?=
The Dalek imploded inside its force shield and faded to nothing. In the beam of sunlight where it had been, not even dust motes remained to mark its passing.
The Dalek had been tortured. So had the Doctor. The Doctor had abandoned Rose to certain death. The Dalek had spared her. The Dalek was a mutant, contaminated by Rose's DNA. The Doctor was the last lone member of a race of nigh-immortal telepaths. The Dalek had declared its life a sickness and wiped itself out. The Doctor lived on, yearning interminably for another mind to sing inside his own.
Now that the Dalek was gone, he was truly alone. Every other Gallifreyan and every mortal enemy of Gallifrey - all gone without a trace. But inside his head, the war never ended. He'd given her up to stop that Dalek - and he hadn't stopped it. She had.
From now on, his nightmares of the war would feature not just his planet in flames, but also a simple black key labeled 'Enter.'
He wrenched his gaze away from the emptiness that rang in his vision, so like the silence that echoed in his head.
Rose stood there beside him, heartbreaking, alive.
"Doctor?" she whispered, her brown eyes huge.
"Rose! Oh, Rose!" he said, and in the time it took for him to turn his head, she'd thrown herself into his arms.
She was like a tafelshrew, such delicate bones, that singular heartbeat, the heat of her body against his. He struggled not to crush her while pulling her against him as close as he could, as though he could imprint her onto himself in some way that might transcend time or space, life or death.
"I'm here, Doctor - I'm here," she murmured, soothing him with the tenderness of her hands, the kindness of her arms, the music of her voice in his ear, her living breath around him like a cloud. He could almost hear her thoughts - one touch and he would be inside her mind. What was to stop him? She'd welcome him there - gather him in - give him solace, forgiveness -
Forgiveness he didn't deserve.
"What are you changing into, Doctor?" he heard her say.
He needed her there, at arm's length, judging him, challenging him. He couldn't afford to blind her with the darknesses and glories she'd see inside him, as much as he longed for her presence there in the vacated chasms of his mind.
Trembling, he allowed himself to breathe in the fragrance of the top of her head.
He pressed a kiss there and felt the ocean of love she held just waiting for him to dive into, and he imagined himself as the contaminant, spreading through Rose until her shine was sullied.
He pushed her away, but only as far as arm's length, smiling at her through his burning eyes.
"Thank you, Rose," he said hoarsely.
"For what?" she asked. She really didn't know. He was glad for that small blessing.
"For everything," he said. He let go her arms, and her hand slid down to grasp his, warm and strong.
He wasn't strong enough, this time, to let it drop.
challenge 88, rewatch 1.6 "Dalek"
He needed her there, at arm's length, judging him, challenging him.
=?=
The Dalek imploded inside its force shield and faded to nothing. In the beam of sunlight where it had been, not even dust motes remained to mark its passing.
The Dalek had been tortured. So had the Doctor. The Doctor had abandoned Rose to certain death. The Dalek had spared her. The Dalek was a mutant, contaminated by Rose's DNA. The Doctor was the last lone member of a race of nigh-immortal telepaths. The Dalek had declared its life a sickness and wiped itself out. The Doctor lived on, yearning interminably for another mind to sing inside his own.
Now that the Dalek was gone, he was truly alone. Every other Gallifreyan and every mortal enemy of Gallifrey - all gone without a trace. But inside his head, the war never ended. He'd given her up to stop that Dalek - and he hadn't stopped it. She had.
From now on, his nightmares of the war would feature not just his planet in flames, but also a simple black key labeled 'Enter.'
He wrenched his gaze away from the emptiness that rang in his vision, so like the silence that echoed in his head.
Rose stood there beside him, heartbreaking, alive.
"Doctor?" she whispered, her brown eyes huge.
"Rose! Oh, Rose!" he said, and in the time it took for him to turn his head, she'd thrown herself into his arms.
She was like a tafelshrew, such delicate bones, that singular heartbeat, the heat of her body against his. He struggled not to crush her while pulling her against him as close as he could, as though he could imprint her onto himself in some way that might transcend time or space, life or death.
"I'm here, Doctor - I'm here," she murmured, soothing him with the tenderness of her hands, the kindness of her arms, the music of her voice in his ear, her living breath around him like a cloud. He could almost hear her thoughts - one touch and he would be inside her mind. What was to stop him? She'd welcome him there - gather him in - give him solace, forgiveness -
Forgiveness he didn't deserve.
"What are you changing into, Doctor?" he heard her say.
He needed her there, at arm's length, judging him, challenging him. He couldn't afford to blind her with the darknesses and glories she'd see inside him, as much as he longed for her presence there in the vacated chasms of his mind.
Trembling, he allowed himself to breathe in the fragrance of the top of her head.
He pressed a kiss there and felt the ocean of love she held just waiting for him to dive into, and he imagined himself as the contaminant, spreading through Rose until her shine was sullied.
He pushed her away, but only as far as arm's length, smiling at her through his burning eyes.
"Thank you, Rose," he said hoarsely.
"For what?" she asked. She really didn't know. He was glad for that small blessing.
"For everything," he said. He let go her arms, and her hand slid down to grasp his, warm and strong.
He wasn't strong enough, this time, to let it drop.