(no subject)
Fever Dream, Ten/Rose, PG
The medication they have her take gives her vivid dreams. 648w.
Beta: akkajemo
A/N: Post Doomsday. I've missed you guys!
Prompts:
Something of you still taut
still tugs still pulls,
a rope that trembled
hummed between us.
Hummed, love, didn't it.
Love, how it hummed.
The medication they have her take gives her vivid dreams.
“Rose…”
In her dreams, strands of him float back to her like seed pods in the air: His glowing smile when she’d figured something out he hadn’t, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes, the warm pressure of his hand in hers, the rustle of his coat as he wrapped his arms around her and the smell of cloves and oil that made her shiver when he was near.
In a Technicolor haze, he comes to her, brighter than anything she sees whilst awake. As she sleeps in the well-appointed guest room of Pete Tyler’s mansion, she dreams of the Doctor. Her entire family is together again, but all she wants is him.
She didn’t just lose him, she’s lost a part of herself.
He calls to her, and his voice awakens her need. In her dreams, she can afford to have hope, but it is the first thing she lost after finding herself here. It might be a defense, but it leaves her feeling numb.
She just feels safer that way.
But the sound he makes as he says her name-always her name-awakens things. Like the warm fingers of spring thawing the frozen winter of her despair.
No one else could ever say her name like him.
“Rose…”
In her dreams, his voice awakens her to herself. And she feels safe again.
The dreams only enhance the feeling of being linked to him. She thinks of a rope between them that’s stretched taut-they are connected, throughout time and place-two cheeks pressed against identical white walls. Like ribbons of milk in her tea, he is a part of her, and cannot be divided.
In her dreams, not even a universe can keep them apart. And the rope between them thrums as it keeps them in each other’s orbit, a world away.
Still, it’s that feeling of connection that keeps her alive, keeps her getting out of bed-not those stilly, stupid pills they give her.
Because she’d really rather just be asleep, living through her dreams, dreaming of him holding her hand, standing in front of her, calling her name…
“Rose…”
His voice makes her ache, makes her skin tingle, her breath quicken.
In her dreams, she wants to be kissing him, but kisses, like so many other declarations, are put off. There isn’t enough time. There never seemed to be enough time for them.
In her dreams-just like life-she is thwarted.
When she’s awake she counts the hours until she can sleep and be with him again…
Feel again…
Be alive…
She reaches out through the mist for him, reality stretches and bends for them, Time itself weeps for them. How can she ever put it right, again?
“Rose…”
The rope between them shudders.
His voice, through the fog resuscitates her.
In her dreams she has not forgotten how to fight for him.
He is her fever dream.
He is her lifeline-to madness or sanity is up for debate.
It makes no difference to her: a world with him in it is the only one that makes any sense to her.
“Rose…”
In her dreams, his voice calls her to life, to self-his voice calls her to him.
He calls to her and she listens, vibrating with expectation, because his ghost feels more real to her than her cold, harsh reality.
Maddeningly, she can never keep him long. She blinks and he is far away now.
In her dreams he is always walking away.
She chases him down a tunnel but he’s always several steps ahead of her.
In her dreams he always stands in front of a clock, a clock that ticks off time-time spent, time left, time winding down.
His mad, impossible, weathervane hair always points to ten.
Points to Ten...
She awakens and points her life to him.
Because dreams are not enough.
The medication they have her take gives her vivid dreams. 648w.
Beta: akkajemo
A/N: Post Doomsday. I've missed you guys!
Prompts:
Something of you still taut
still tugs still pulls,
a rope that trembled
hummed between us.
Hummed, love, didn't it.
Love, how it hummed.
The medication they have her take gives her vivid dreams.
“Rose…”
In her dreams, strands of him float back to her like seed pods in the air: His glowing smile when she’d figured something out he hadn’t, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes, the warm pressure of his hand in hers, the rustle of his coat as he wrapped his arms around her and the smell of cloves and oil that made her shiver when he was near.
In a Technicolor haze, he comes to her, brighter than anything she sees whilst awake. As she sleeps in the well-appointed guest room of Pete Tyler’s mansion, she dreams of the Doctor. Her entire family is together again, but all she wants is him.
She didn’t just lose him, she’s lost a part of herself.
He calls to her, and his voice awakens her need. In her dreams, she can afford to have hope, but it is the first thing she lost after finding herself here. It might be a defense, but it leaves her feeling numb.
She just feels safer that way.
But the sound he makes as he says her name-always her name-awakens things. Like the warm fingers of spring thawing the frozen winter of her despair.
No one else could ever say her name like him.
“Rose…”
In her dreams, his voice awakens her to herself. And she feels safe again.
The dreams only enhance the feeling of being linked to him. She thinks of a rope between them that’s stretched taut-they are connected, throughout time and place-two cheeks pressed against identical white walls. Like ribbons of milk in her tea, he is a part of her, and cannot be divided.
In her dreams, not even a universe can keep them apart. And the rope between them thrums as it keeps them in each other’s orbit, a world away.
Still, it’s that feeling of connection that keeps her alive, keeps her getting out of bed-not those stilly, stupid pills they give her.
Because she’d really rather just be asleep, living through her dreams, dreaming of him holding her hand, standing in front of her, calling her name…
“Rose…”
His voice makes her ache, makes her skin tingle, her breath quicken.
In her dreams, she wants to be kissing him, but kisses, like so many other declarations, are put off. There isn’t enough time. There never seemed to be enough time for them.
In her dreams-just like life-she is thwarted.
When she’s awake she counts the hours until she can sleep and be with him again…
Feel again…
Be alive…
She reaches out through the mist for him, reality stretches and bends for them, Time itself weeps for them. How can she ever put it right, again?
“Rose…”
The rope between them shudders.
His voice, through the fog resuscitates her.
In her dreams she has not forgotten how to fight for him.
He is her fever dream.
He is her lifeline-to madness or sanity is up for debate.
It makes no difference to her: a world with him in it is the only one that makes any sense to her.
“Rose…”
In her dreams, his voice calls her to life, to self-his voice calls her to him.
He calls to her and she listens, vibrating with expectation, because his ghost feels more real to her than her cold, harsh reality.
Maddeningly, she can never keep him long. She blinks and he is far away now.
In her dreams he is always walking away.
She chases him down a tunnel but he’s always several steps ahead of her.
In her dreams he always stands in front of a clock, a clock that ticks off time-time spent, time left, time winding down.
His mad, impossible, weathervane hair always points to ten.
Points to Ten...
She awakens and points her life to him.
Because dreams are not enough.