Fic: And The Bud Bloomed
Title: And the Bud Bloomed
Rating: PG
Characters: Rose
Genre: angst, hurt/(self)comfort
Words: ~1200
Disclaimer: I think if I owned Rose, she'd be a lot more bearable to me. And hey! After this fic, she kinda is.
Summary: Rose Tyler reaches an enlightenment: she was the luckiest woman in the universe, and it took what felt like forever to even realize it.
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for TSE/JE. I try not to be my normal anti-Rose self here, but if it leaks out, my dearest apologies.
A/N: I usually don't write Rose (I don't even have a userpic for her!), mainly because I'm not the biggest Rose fan. But for some reason my muse is poking me all like "hey, hey, hey, why don't take the character you really don't like and write a fic all about her? That'd be cool, wouldn't it?" on my birthday, no less. But really, the real reason I wrote this was because I need to convince myself that she'd grow up and ten.5 would be in good hands. Also on another note, I like to press the theme that none of the companions need to be with the Doctor and all that comes with him forever to be happy, that there is still happiness in the simple things. Yeah that's just my denial speaking trying to let me cope with being a normal person
It wasn’t until the Doctor left on his TARDIS forever that she realized the reason why he didn’t say it was not because it didn’t need saying, but because it wouldn’t be true.
For Rose to accept that, however, that was another thing. That one would take her a long while.
After all that she did to find him, after all the work, after stumbling into universe after universe after bloody wrong universe to get back to his side where she was thoroughly convinced she belonged, he left her.
When she’d realized that the darkness was coming, she was more determined than ever. She needed to warn him. She needed to make sure he would save everyone like she believed he always did. But most of all, she needed to remind him of what he was with her. That he needed her, just like she needed him. That she was brilliant, and that she did it all for him.
And oh, it was looking so good, too. She was finally there, and the grin on his giddy face... she’d been waiting for that. After all, she’d come so far. But it all turned around on her. They were cornered. The Doctor was powerless, and worst of all, there was nothing she could do to help him.
In the end, it wasn’t even the Doctor who saved them all. It was Donna.
Rose saw the timelines. She got to be the Doctor for a year. And what she saw in every one was not the Doctor, but Donna. They all converged on her. She met Donna properly, when she was able to help her turn left, and she would admit it, she both liked and disliked her.
Why? It was simple. Rose envied Donna’s profound significance--she was the most important woman in the whole of creation. She couldn’t stand the Doctor needing someone else to be saved, much less the entire world needing her. (And she was guilty, so, so entirely guilty, of not feeling nearly a fraction of the anguish the Doctor was put through when Donna and the TARDIS were thrown into the Crucible core.)
But she was also sorrowful for her. She could be told so many times what she meant to the universe, but she would never, ever, for a moment, believe it. Her potential skyrocketed through the stars, but all Donna ever saw was a woman in a cubicle.
”I’m not even that. I’m nothing.”
And even to Rose, that was horrible. She realized that Donna needed the Doctor, too.
In retrospect, Rose could see the Doctor leaving her in square one to be with Donna. She couldn’t compare now to someone who was so, so brilliant, and now knew it without a doubt. She would be able to say that things were in a state of flux and actually know what it meant. She would know how to fix that darn chameleon circuit. She would do all the things that even the Doctor wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to do. Moreover, she would understand him, more than anyone. More than Rose. She probably already did understand him more than she did before she became the Doctor-Donna. Imagine that, Rose Tyler. Imagine that.
And then another revelation came to her, one that took a year of sulking at night, staring into her human Doctor’s eyes and seeing the ones that abandoned her, up and downs in their relationship, and more. If she had truly loved the Doctor, if she meant every word she had said the first time they were there on Bad Wolf Bay, she’d want him to be happy.
But that was a nonsense revelation. Of course she’d want him to be happy. That was the easy part. The rock in the pavement was that she always wanted him to be happy with her. But it had to be otherwise.
And he did love her. Maybe not the last time they were together but he did at one point. And who was she, to bind him to her when he didn’t anymore? Rose would be in a scramble of thoughts on this one, because at the same time, who was he to decide who she stayed with? Who was he to bind her to a Doctor she did not love as she did him?
But it was to make sure she would be happy. She would have the best of both worlds. A life with the Doctor, and a normal, peaceful life with him. Rose was lucky.
That was the third revelation to her enlightenment period. She was really, really lucky.
A few years ago she would have loved her father to be with her again. It would’ve been her absolute wish come true, seeing Jackie happy again. She would even adore having a little brother, instead of barely acknowledging him, trying to lock away her guilt when he always asked why his sister Rose was always such a stranger. And her Doctor, John Noble Tyler, named accordingly to where his origins and heart lay, was exactly like the one she aimed to find this whole time, save for two differences: he could grow old with her, and he actually loved her.
At that, Rose was thick and ungrateful, blinded by her love--no, it was hardly that anymore--lust, for him, for making a difference for him, for being special to the universe like Donna Noble was easily so.
And then the fourth realization: the amount of pain she’d caused everyone. To her family, to John. The bitterness that was so visible, the sadness and longing for something that’d never come, overlooking the complete and utter gifts she had.
It was as if John knew she’d come around this way, because he’d been waiting the whole time. For Rose. He stuck through being overshadowed by essentially himself, through losing Donna (and never telling anyone, harboring the pain completely alone), because he knew Rose was brilliant and even if she were so misguided now, she’d find her way, however long it took.
And Rose instantly hated herself for taking that for granted. She’d stormed into his room in a flurry, drenched in her tears of regret and guilt and god, why’d I have to be so stupid, apologizing incessantly, shaking in his arms and asking for forgiveness and telling him over and over, I love you, I love you, I love you.
It was surprising. Because then she actually meant it.
The fifth revelation. The one that came after having hallmark moments with her family. That she could be forgiven, and most of all, that she too needed to forgive. The Doctor, for whatever reason pre-illuminated Rose had; and of course, pre-illuminated Rose herself.
And so the bud bloomed. She’d hold on to that, to that awareness of herself, of everyone around her. She thought she needed the Doctor to keep her eyes open when instead they were open the whole time, she just didn’t know what she should’ve been looking at.
She wouldn’t be perfect. Rose had thorns, but now this time she’d grasped them by the hand, so that no one else had to.
Rating: PG
Characters: Rose
Genre: angst, hurt/(self)comfort
Words: ~1200
Disclaimer: I think if I owned Rose, she'd be a lot more bearable to me. And hey! After this fic, she kinda is.
Summary: Rose Tyler reaches an enlightenment: she was the luckiest woman in the universe, and it took what felt like forever to even realize it.
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for TSE/JE. I try not to be my normal anti-Rose self here, but if it leaks out, my dearest apologies.
A/N: I usually don't write Rose (I don't even have a userpic for her!), mainly because I'm not the biggest Rose fan. But for some reason my muse is poking me all like "hey, hey, hey, why don't take the character you really don't like and write a fic all about her? That'd be cool, wouldn't it?" on my birthday, no less. But really, the real reason I wrote this was because I need to convince myself that she'd grow up and ten.5 would be in good hands. Also on another note, I like to press the theme that none of the companions need to be with the Doctor and all that comes with him forever to be happy, that there is still happiness in the simple things. Yeah that's just my denial speaking trying to let me cope with being a normal person
It wasn’t until the Doctor left on his TARDIS forever that she realized the reason why he didn’t say it was not because it didn’t need saying, but because it wouldn’t be true.
For Rose to accept that, however, that was another thing. That one would take her a long while.
After all that she did to find him, after all the work, after stumbling into universe after universe after bloody wrong universe to get back to his side where she was thoroughly convinced she belonged, he left her.
When she’d realized that the darkness was coming, she was more determined than ever. She needed to warn him. She needed to make sure he would save everyone like she believed he always did. But most of all, she needed to remind him of what he was with her. That he needed her, just like she needed him. That she was brilliant, and that she did it all for him.
And oh, it was looking so good, too. She was finally there, and the grin on his giddy face... she’d been waiting for that. After all, she’d come so far. But it all turned around on her. They were cornered. The Doctor was powerless, and worst of all, there was nothing she could do to help him.
In the end, it wasn’t even the Doctor who saved them all. It was Donna.
Rose saw the timelines. She got to be the Doctor for a year. And what she saw in every one was not the Doctor, but Donna. They all converged on her. She met Donna properly, when she was able to help her turn left, and she would admit it, she both liked and disliked her.
Why? It was simple. Rose envied Donna’s profound significance--she was the most important woman in the whole of creation. She couldn’t stand the Doctor needing someone else to be saved, much less the entire world needing her. (And she was guilty, so, so entirely guilty, of not feeling nearly a fraction of the anguish the Doctor was put through when Donna and the TARDIS were thrown into the Crucible core.)
But she was also sorrowful for her. She could be told so many times what she meant to the universe, but she would never, ever, for a moment, believe it. Her potential skyrocketed through the stars, but all Donna ever saw was a woman in a cubicle.
”I’m not even that. I’m nothing.”
And even to Rose, that was horrible. She realized that Donna needed the Doctor, too.
In retrospect, Rose could see the Doctor leaving her in square one to be with Donna. She couldn’t compare now to someone who was so, so brilliant, and now knew it without a doubt. She would be able to say that things were in a state of flux and actually know what it meant. She would know how to fix that darn chameleon circuit. She would do all the things that even the Doctor wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to do. Moreover, she would understand him, more than anyone. More than Rose. She probably already did understand him more than she did before she became the Doctor-Donna. Imagine that, Rose Tyler. Imagine that.
And then another revelation came to her, one that took a year of sulking at night, staring into her human Doctor’s eyes and seeing the ones that abandoned her, up and downs in their relationship, and more. If she had truly loved the Doctor, if she meant every word she had said the first time they were there on Bad Wolf Bay, she’d want him to be happy.
But that was a nonsense revelation. Of course she’d want him to be happy. That was the easy part. The rock in the pavement was that she always wanted him to be happy with her. But it had to be otherwise.
And he did love her. Maybe not the last time they were together but he did at one point. And who was she, to bind him to her when he didn’t anymore? Rose would be in a scramble of thoughts on this one, because at the same time, who was he to decide who she stayed with? Who was he to bind her to a Doctor she did not love as she did him?
But it was to make sure she would be happy. She would have the best of both worlds. A life with the Doctor, and a normal, peaceful life with him. Rose was lucky.
That was the third revelation to her enlightenment period. She was really, really lucky.
A few years ago she would have loved her father to be with her again. It would’ve been her absolute wish come true, seeing Jackie happy again. She would even adore having a little brother, instead of barely acknowledging him, trying to lock away her guilt when he always asked why his sister Rose was always such a stranger. And her Doctor, John Noble Tyler, named accordingly to where his origins and heart lay, was exactly like the one she aimed to find this whole time, save for two differences: he could grow old with her, and he actually loved her.
At that, Rose was thick and ungrateful, blinded by her love--no, it was hardly that anymore--lust, for him, for making a difference for him, for being special to the universe like Donna Noble was easily so.
And then the fourth realization: the amount of pain she’d caused everyone. To her family, to John. The bitterness that was so visible, the sadness and longing for something that’d never come, overlooking the complete and utter gifts she had.
It was as if John knew she’d come around this way, because he’d been waiting the whole time. For Rose. He stuck through being overshadowed by essentially himself, through losing Donna (and never telling anyone, harboring the pain completely alone), because he knew Rose was brilliant and even if she were so misguided now, she’d find her way, however long it took.
And Rose instantly hated herself for taking that for granted. She’d stormed into his room in a flurry, drenched in her tears of regret and guilt and god, why’d I have to be so stupid, apologizing incessantly, shaking in his arms and asking for forgiveness and telling him over and over, I love you, I love you, I love you.
It was surprising. Because then she actually meant it.
The fifth revelation. The one that came after having hallmark moments with her family. That she could be forgiven, and most of all, that she too needed to forgive. The Doctor, for whatever reason pre-illuminated Rose had; and of course, pre-illuminated Rose herself.
And so the bud bloomed. She’d hold on to that, to that awareness of herself, of everyone around her. She thought she needed the Doctor to keep her eyes open when instead they were open the whole time, she just didn’t know what she should’ve been looking at.
She wouldn’t be perfect. Rose had thorns, but now this time she’d grasped them by the hand, so that no one else had to.