(no subject)
Just a little ficlet that demanded writing post-ep. It's nothing spectacular, but it is the first fanfic I've written in a good long while. It's title-less, un beta'd, and G rated. =)
He finds her on the roof, staring unseeing at the myriad of tiny earthbound stars that is London laid out below, her knees drawn up to her chin. Her face is dry in spite of the sadness she seems to radiate. Unease fills him; he's not at all sure what she's going to say to him, and there's a lurking fear somewhere in his stomach.
He sits down next to her, and she doesn't turn to look at him. There's a dwindling part of him that still thinks with a Northern accent that says he should stay silent. He obeys for a few minutes but it's not really him any more, he can't just sit and be there for her; he needs to talk. He needs to know if he's going to step over the threshold of the TARDIS alone, broken by a foolish human woman again, because he's too stupid to learn.
Have you known grief?
“Your mum's made a lasagne,” he offers, trying to sound as off-handed as possible.
Rose makes no sound but her lips compress slightly. He struggles to find something else to say, and fidgets slightly, deeply uncomfortable and feeling hopelessly inadequate. It's not a feeling he enjoys and underlying it is a stab of annoyance.
And rage?
“Shall I tell her to--”
“I still want to come with you,” she says, cutting across his second attempt at banality with a directness in the face of domesticity he might once have attributed to himself. Her voice is surprisingly light, no hint of tears. He doesn't marvel at the fact she knew exactly what he was fretting about, although there's a frisson of wry realisation that Rose knows him so well, without ever having to see inside his mind.... he pushes the memory away, it's still too close and all tangled up with Sarah-Jane and leaving Rose with five hours of horrible doubt that he was ever coming back.
And pain?
She turns to look at him at last, and something constricts in his chest. Her voice might not betray her, but he wishes he could take the terrible hurt that's palpable in her eyes away. But that's not how it works, he knows that.
I can set you free...
She has to deal with Mickey leaving in her own way. And it galls him, but there's nothing he can do. She ran to the arms of her mother and sought comfort there and he leant against the wall of his TARDIS and knew he was powerless.
A life without pain...
He'd dismissed it in an arrogant instant, but faced with a grieving Rose he wondered if his judgement had been a little hasty.
“I don't wanna stay here too long. Everythin...'” Her voice cracks slightly, the mask slipping, “Everythin' reminds me of Mickey, yeah? I - I'm not running away. Just... need to let it lie.” He wonders who she's trying to convince.
“We can leave when you want,” he replies, and her mouth turns up at the corners slightly, registering the concern in his voice and thanking him for it as much as she can, as much as she thinks he'll appreciate.
“After dinner then?”
“Yeah. Sure thing.”
He touches her hand where it rests on the concrete lightly with his own. She spreads her fingers and they interlock for a brief moment before she squeezes slightly, releases him and stands up.
She's strong, his Rose. And losing her father again, losing Mickey, that won't break her. He doesn't need to think like Lumic; he can't make the world right for her however much he might like to. She'll sort it out, all by herself. And that, he allows himself to think, is why he loves her.
He finds her on the roof, staring unseeing at the myriad of tiny earthbound stars that is London laid out below, her knees drawn up to her chin. Her face is dry in spite of the sadness she seems to radiate. Unease fills him; he's not at all sure what she's going to say to him, and there's a lurking fear somewhere in his stomach.
He sits down next to her, and she doesn't turn to look at him. There's a dwindling part of him that still thinks with a Northern accent that says he should stay silent. He obeys for a few minutes but it's not really him any more, he can't just sit and be there for her; he needs to talk. He needs to know if he's going to step over the threshold of the TARDIS alone, broken by a foolish human woman again, because he's too stupid to learn.
Have you known grief?
“Your mum's made a lasagne,” he offers, trying to sound as off-handed as possible.
Rose makes no sound but her lips compress slightly. He struggles to find something else to say, and fidgets slightly, deeply uncomfortable and feeling hopelessly inadequate. It's not a feeling he enjoys and underlying it is a stab of annoyance.
And rage?
“Shall I tell her to--”
“I still want to come with you,” she says, cutting across his second attempt at banality with a directness in the face of domesticity he might once have attributed to himself. Her voice is surprisingly light, no hint of tears. He doesn't marvel at the fact she knew exactly what he was fretting about, although there's a frisson of wry realisation that Rose knows him so well, without ever having to see inside his mind.... he pushes the memory away, it's still too close and all tangled up with Sarah-Jane and leaving Rose with five hours of horrible doubt that he was ever coming back.
And pain?
She turns to look at him at last, and something constricts in his chest. Her voice might not betray her, but he wishes he could take the terrible hurt that's palpable in her eyes away. But that's not how it works, he knows that.
I can set you free...
She has to deal with Mickey leaving in her own way. And it galls him, but there's nothing he can do. She ran to the arms of her mother and sought comfort there and he leant against the wall of his TARDIS and knew he was powerless.
A life without pain...
He'd dismissed it in an arrogant instant, but faced with a grieving Rose he wondered if his judgement had been a little hasty.
“I don't wanna stay here too long. Everythin...'” Her voice cracks slightly, the mask slipping, “Everythin' reminds me of Mickey, yeah? I - I'm not running away. Just... need to let it lie.” He wonders who she's trying to convince.
“We can leave when you want,” he replies, and her mouth turns up at the corners slightly, registering the concern in his voice and thanking him for it as much as she can, as much as she thinks he'll appreciate.
“After dinner then?”
“Yeah. Sure thing.”
He touches her hand where it rests on the concrete lightly with his own. She spreads her fingers and they interlock for a brief moment before she squeezes slightly, releases him and stands up.
She's strong, his Rose. And losing her father again, losing Mickey, that won't break her. He doesn't need to think like Lumic; he can't make the world right for her however much he might like to. She'll sort it out, all by herself. And that, he allows himself to think, is why he loves her.