Touching; burning
I don't really know where this came from, other than my general Sunday-ness, apparently. I've not written anything for a really long time, and really miss Ten/Rose, which seems to have resulted in some angst.
This is basically a commentary on the Doctor's contact with Rose throughout Journey's End. This has probably, like so many things, been done before, but I hope you enjoy it!
He could still feel her warmth from their hug. Putting his arms around her familiar warmth and weight felt as though he'd finally set down a heavy burden that he'd been carrying for too long.
~
He can't resist touching her. As the lights dim and he leaps around the consol, hands flashing over various controls that show the cronon loop on the view screen, he can't resist resting his hands on her waist, just for a second, just to make sure she's really here. Even in that instant he can feel her warmth through his fingertips, hear her heart stutter as he nears.
~
She steps forward and grabs his hand - really grabs it, and its heat travels up into his heart, fanning the emotions burning there into a white flame. In that moment, at his weakest, the glorious knowledge that they still fit together fills him with a new determination. This cannot be the end, not when every fibre of him says it's a new beginning.
~
He draws her close at the sound of the gunshots, her fingers looping around his lapels. He lifts her off the floor as she rushes to Jack’s side, fearing the worst. He cannot let her go, even as they are ushered toward the Vault, his dark glare daring his enemies to try and take her from his grasp.
~
At the end of it all, he leans forward, gently grazing her elbow to draw her near to him. As he whispers the forbidden words, he can feel the softness of her cheek and the unsteadiness of her breath matching his own and it's her that moves first - she claims him. Her lips move in time with his as he always knew they would, breath catching altogether. They cling together as a single flame, perfect combustion, beautiful in their completeness.
Except it's not him, and his skin burns like ice as he watches his mirror move and embrace her in ways he will never know. He cannot touch her now. He turns, unable to endure and the torture any longer. He walks away, back into his magical machine, the white-hot flames swelling, burning through the last of him, as the doors close and the walls close behind him.
~
He remembers the heat of her nearness, a mere memory, but the wounds stinging and singing across his body, still. He will continue to burn until he blisters, then itch unquenchably until he scars. These alone will remain, an ever present reminder of the girl that burned through time and space. The girl whose fire consumed him.
Comments are appreciated!