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Prompt:
Before beginning a Hunt, it is wise to ask someone what you are looking for before you begin looking for it.
A. A. Milne
Title: 1. The Wild Christmas Goose, and Chasings Thereof
Doctor: Ten II
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Rating: All ages
14:24, 25 December, 2012
Camden Market, London, NW1
"Not the best way to spend the holiday," the Doctor says as he trails along behind a purposefully-striding Rose. "What a shame."
"I volunteered to be on call, I knew this could happen. Besides, it's just saving me from another 3 hours of Tony hopped up on chocolate oranges." She pulls a complicated piece of equipment from the cargo pocket of her trousers. "I'm not detecting any sort of rift energy. Subject must have had some other means of transport."
"Interesting," muses the Doctor. "What about a warp signature?"
"Nothing. It's like it just appeared here."
The Doctor crouches down and inspects the grimy pavement, placing a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles on his nose. "I'm not sure how I feel about this Torchwood practice of referring to aliens as 'it.'"
"It is official Torchwood policy to use gender-neutral pronouns so as not to offend or otherwise incorrectly label said alien species. You know as well as I do that we cannot impose our human sex and gender assumptions on alien life forms."
"Indeed," he says, putting his glasses away again.
14:59, 25 December, 2012
Camden Market, London, NW1
Rose squints and briefly removes her mobile phone from here ear and looks at it, as if whatever has just been said by Torchwood dispatching is actually the fault of the phone.
"Harrod's?" she asks, incredulously. "It's Christmas Day! Yes... right. I see. We'll be there to meet him."
She rings off and looks at the Doctor, who is holding two paper cups of coffee.
"Sorry it's not Nero; everything's closed."
Rose takes a tentative sip. "So, apparently there's been some activity at Harrod's, of all places. We're to meet the security guard at the door in 20 minutes."
"Maybe our friend's got a taste for posh Christmas puddings. Or the little cakes with the lemon curd? I love those. Baked brie? The kind with the jam in? If aliens knew about baked brie, you lot would have no hope of fending off the invasion. I saw foie gras pasties there once. What's foie gras doing in a pasty? Or the pie with the Stilton and cranberries..."
15:25, 25 December, 2012
Knightsbridge, London, SW1
The Doctor puts on a disappointed face. "I notice we seem to be going up rather than down. Do you think that if we do enough derring they'll send us home with a hamper?"
A floor dings off on the lift and Rose smiles at him indulgently. "Here we are, then. Second floor: lingerie."
She points her torch around at the racks and racks of lacy, silky unmentionables. "The guard said he found this," she brandishes an unmistakably alien artefact in her free hand, "laying right over there."
"What would an alien want with ladies' knickers?" the Doctor asks, eyes wide.
She pauses in thought for a moment, then frowns. "Maybe it wants to bother human women."
"Shocking!" says the Doctor.
15:43, 25 December, 2012
Knightsbridge, London, SW1
Rose stands next to the open door of her company car, a black suitcase open on the seat. In her fingers she holds a glass slide, and over her shoulder peers the Doctor.
"What's it say?" he asks, anxiously.
"I haven't even put it in yet." She bends down and feeds the slide into a slot in her field kit, then turns her attention to a laptop sitting open on the floor of the vehicle.
"Analysing..." the Doctor says, reading off the laptop screen. "Analysing... analysing..."
"You're approaching Tony territory," Rose says, nonplussed. "Nice work finding the bio-traces, though. All right, what are you? Animal, vegetable or... what?"
"What what?" The Doctor cranes his neck and looks down at the computer. "Well that's not very helpful."
"What does that even mean, 'chimera'?"
"A chimera is a hybrid of two or more genetically distinct bits of biological material. Could be several different species all mushed up together."
Rose makes a face. "That doesn't sound very appetising. Like a sideshow freak, yeah?"
"I'm sure it's hideous," the Doctor says, a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth, which Rose does not see as she continues to tap away at the keyboard.
16:12, 25 December, 2012
Victoria Embankment, Westminster, London, SW1
A pink-cheeked Rose Tyler stands looking out over the Thames towards the Millennium Pier. She holds her phone up to her ear and shouts to be heard over the wind.
"Are you sure? I said, are you sure? Because I'm standing right here and there's nothing. No, not a thing. And nothing showing up on scanners, either. All right, I'll ask him. I said, I'll ask him."
"Ask him what?" the Doctor chirps, rocking back on his heels.
"Ask him to do a little jig and then turn water into wine," she says, sarcastically. "Ask you to help me scan for this whatever-this-is which is supposedly right here but can't be seen or detected."
"Well, what do we know about it already?" The Doctor holds his hand out and points to his index finger.
"Well, we know there was no rift activity or warp signature, so it got here through some other means."
The Doctor points to his middle finger, nodding. "And what else?"
"And that it's either a cross-dresser or fancies human women in lacy knickers."
The Doctor coughs, which could also be hiding a giggle, and the points to his ring-finger. "What else?"
"It's a chimera, some sort of hybrid creature, and nothing we've got in our database already." She stops and looks out over the river as the London Eye flashes purple and white lights through the gathering fog of dusk.
"Right, so it just appeared here out of nowhere, bothers human women, and is a one-of-a-kind hybrid."
Rose nods, her brow furrowed. "This isn't really helping."
The Doctor shuffles his feet and waggles his eyebrows. "I don't know any creatures like that at all. And certainly none that would want to have a Torchwood agent all to themselves for a couple hours on Christmas day."
"You!" Rose gasps, pointing at him accusingly.
"Me!" he says, grinning. "You'd be surprised what a box of chocolates will accomplish with Torchwood dispatching."
"You've had me out here for two hours chasing after nothing?"
"You can't say that it wasn't a little bit fun." He puts on a very contrite face, which he then spoils with a cheeky wink. "Besides, I didn't want anyone else around when I gave you this. They wouldn't understand."
She takes from him a small box, wrapped in festive paper and tied with a clumsy bow. Her hands tremble, either from cold or anticipation, as she unwraps it and removes the top.
"What is it?" she asks quietly, looking down at a small shiny square resting in a clear plastic case.
"A new chip for your field kit. I programmed it myself, with data on approximately five-hundred million alien life forms not currently in Torchwood's data base. And also some special customizations, which you'll have to discover on your own. Word to the wise, though: don't use it around any live chickens."
Rose replaces the box's lid and slides it carefully into her jacket pocket before being folded up into a great spine-cracking hug. "I love it!" she says, muffled by the Doctor's overcoat. "It must have taken you ages."
"Well, I figure, the faster you can solve your cases, the more time I get to spend with you. It was quite selfish of me, really. That's me all over, isn't it? But all the same, happy Christmas, Rose Tyler."
She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. "Happy Christmas, Doctor."
Title: 2. Thoughts Along the Way
Doctor: Nine, Ten, Ten II
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Through “Journey’s End”
Rating: PG-13
“Run!”
It’s always the easiest thing in the world to say. See someone in distress, tell them to run, then grab their hand and pull them along in case they’re too confused or too stupid to consider self-preservation. Picked up more than one stray in my time this way. Not any more, though. Don’t need any company, thank you very much. Doing just fine on my own.
I hadn’t counted on Rose.
“I did it again. I picked another stupid ape.”
I meant the words to hurt, angry with her, angry with myself for letting her inside. I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else. Bad enough being responsible for the universe without having keep chasing after some idiot human who had no concept of the laws of time and space.
But when she says she’s sorry, I can see it in her eyes and I can’t stay angry at her too long. Like it or not, it feels good to have someone else in the TARDIS again and I’m glad it’s her.
“Have a good life. Do that for me, Rose. Have a fantastic life.”
When - if - Emergency Programme One is activated, I knew she’d moan and carry on. She’d slap me, too, if I were within range. Sometimes Rose can be bit too much like her mother, if you know what I mean - and there was something to frighten almost any race in the universe with a bit of sense. Shouldn’t have surprised me she managed to find a way back, but I wasn’t prepared for to learn she’d had the brilliance and courage to swallow the heart of the TARDIS itself. No way she could have known what it would cost to pull it from her. Good thing, too; she would have tried to stop me, not knowing this wasn’t the end, even if it meant losing this daft old face.
“All those planets... creatures and horizons... I haven't seen them yet! Not with these eyes...”
She’s hesitating. I can see it in her eyes. Has to be the regeneration because I really didn’t get a chance to explain before things started happening. Maybe I need a handbook - “What a Companion Needs to Know About Their Time Lord.” That’s assuming, of course, she’d actually read it. Rose is wonderful, but not necessarily big on reading the directions before diving in.
But when I hold out my hand, she smiles, even if it’s still a bit tentative. I waggle my fingers and she giggles a bit before sliding her hand into my own. Funny I hadn’t even realized how much I missed having a hand to hold, but I still felt the lack.
I've seen fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods - out of all that - out of that whole pantheon - if I believe in one thing... just one thing...I believe in her.
The universe hates me, forcing me to chose between those I love and the fate of everything again and again and again. Oh, but even as I smash those vases, breaking whatever insane science or spell that suspended Kroptor beneath a black holes ages ago, I feel my hearts swell at the thought that if Rose were here, she’d be urging me on to do this.
But sometimes virtue has its rewards and even as the planet is torn apart by the forces of gravity, I find myself at the base of that beautiful blue box and know it won’t be long until I see her again.
You're dead, officially, back home.
When the Beast had said Rose would die in battle, I swore to her he lied. But here we are, her in one world and me in another and she’s a name on an official list. For once, the words don’t come easily, each syllable a second that ticks away our moments. She cries and I can’t pull her into my arms to comfort her. She tells me she loves me, and I can’t manage to speak a simple, straightforward sentence before the connection ends.
And the damn universe can’t even give me time to grieve before dropping Donna Noble in my lap.
Rose would know.
Perhaps not the most sensitive thing to say because I can see the signs Martha’s interested in something more than I want to give, but what surprises me is how much just the mention of her name still hurts. It’s been - well, I rattled around the universe hoping time would dull the ache. I didn’t want to forget her, just wanted not to hurt every moment of every day. That’s why I asked Martha along for a trip, figured maybe it was time to dip my toe back into the waters of not traveling alone.
I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Maybe it was a mistake; I’m not ready for this. Nothing against Martha because she’s got loads of things to recommend her, but she’s not Rose. That’s the problem; no one’s Rose except Rose.
She’s not just living on a parallel world, she’s trapped there.
Still hurts to say it. Martha coming along has helped because it’s nice having another voice around the TARDIS - and she’s been brilliant in her own way. But admitting to Jack she’s gone, there’s no way I can bring her back without ripping the worlds apart - it’s like the wounds have just been ripped open. What could be worse?
But... Rose is coming back. Isn't that good?
Donna has no idea. She doesn’t understand Bad Wolf, has no conception of what it takes to send that type of message through time and space or the power to find her in that strange pocket universe, move her to where - I don’t want to think about it.
But at the same time...Rose is coming back. The universe is about to be ripped apart but she’s coming back and I’ll walk through hell if that’s what’s necessary to be with her, because no matter what I face, it’s better with her at my side.
Yeah, it’s a good thing.
Does it need saying?
Of course it does, you twat! Can’t you see it? She crossed the bloody Void for you, was ready to leave home and family behind - again - because she loves you more than you have any right to expect. She’s everything you lost when our world was destroyed, everything you’ve been looking for even if you didn’t realize it.
That’s the problem, isn’t it? You do know, but you can’t let yourself unbend enough to take the prize now that what you’ve been longing for is in your grasp. Maybe it’s the metacrisis or the one heart or maybe that little bit of Donna who always has to shout and rage against the world, but I’m realizing that just possibly there’s not enough oxygen getting to that big Time Lord brain of yours.
She’s looking at me with eyes which warn her heart’s about to break and I play into the plan you devised, step forward and say exactly what I - you - really want to say: I love you.
For me, it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Title: 3. The Time-Traveller’s Lover
Doctor: Ten
Warnings: None
Spoilers: For Doomsday
Rating: Teen
His first trip across the Void lasts forty-seven seconds. It’s long enough for him to realise that he’s made it, that he’s accomplished the impossible, and long enough for him to see her, to realise how very much he’s missed her.
She’s sitting on her bed and painting her toenails - pink, which makes him smile - and she only catches sight of him the moment before he disappears. The look on her face is one of bright, intense surprise which colours her cheeks with delight, and he raises his hand like a bizarre sort of mime-artist, only to find himself back on the TARDIS and beaming at shadows.
*
The next time, he stretches his visit to three minutes and eleven seconds. This time, she’s in her kitchen, and she has bare feet and toenails which are now painted blue. He wonders how much time has passed between his visits - whether it’s been a week or a month or a decade - and he’s keenly aware that the clock is ticking, that his time here is all too short.
She takes a tentative step towards him, her eyes tracing his body like wind on a plain, light and ephemeral and intangible. She stretches a hand towards him and he feels the heat of her fingers through his shirt.
“I can touch you.” Her voice quivers, and it is like the first faltering note of a new violin.
“I’m real, this time.” He tries for a smile but it goes horribly wrong, and he has the disconcerting feeling he is grimacing. “Not an image. See?” He presses her hand harder against his chest, and he tells himself that it’s not an excuse to feel her against him.
“How...?”
“There’s not time.” He swallows. “I don’t know how long I’ve got, Rose. It’s a bit...” he gestures aimlessly, “hit and miss.”
“You’re not staying?” There are tears in her eyes now, tears that shine like shards of a shattered mirror, and he disappears before he can reply.
*
By the seventh try, he can stay three hours. He arrives in the middle of the night and finds her asleep, moonlight slanting through the window to cast her hair in a veil of pale luminescence. He doesn’t dare to sit beside her on the bed and he can’t bear to wake her, so he lowers himself quietly into the chair in the corner and watches her sleep.
As she dreams, he thinks. Why does he keep coming? Why does he drive himself to distraction trying to breach the Void, when he knows it will never be enough? What does he really want from this?
He remembers all the times she has cried as he has started to disappear, every time she watched him with betrayal. Is this what love is - constantly re-opening the wound before it has time to heal? He suddenly feels sick at what he’s doing to her and gets abruptly to his feet. He hovers by the bed for just a second, lets his fingers brush her cheek in the very faintest of touches, before he closes his eyes and lets the universe pull him back.
He decides he won’t come again.
*
It’s a year before he succumbs. He is tired and lonely and he misses her so much, and he moves around the console in a haze, scarcely noticing that for the first time, the TARDIS is willingly sending him across the Void.
He ends up in her bedroom again, and this time she has just finished blow-drying her hair. It frames her face like spun gold but it is longer than it was, darker, and she looks exhausted. She doesn’t seem surprised, but she doesn’t seem happy either, and when he takes a step towards her she doesn’t react.
“You’re back.” Her voice is toneless, and it makes him ache.
“I’m sorry.”
She looks at him, her eyes sad and lovely as a September moon, and shakes her head. “What for? For leaving or for coming back?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Both. I don’t...why do I need you, Rose?” He’s aware that he’s whining, that he sounds weak and helpless and needy, but he doesn’t understand this hold she has over him, this bond which drags them together. He should be able to move on.
She doesn’t answer. She just stands up and lets her dressing gown slip from her shoulders, and her naked body is white and young and soft in the starlight which plays like a lyre over her skin. She moves closer, wraps her arms around him and then kisses him, her lips so soft and forgiving that he weeps, though he doesn’t understand quite why.
She undresses him slowly, and every touch makes him want to shatter, to fracture into a thousand pieces which she can keep forever. He wishes he could give her something more than this, more than skin-on-skin and the age-old rhythm of two bodies rocking together in the night, but for now, it has to be enough.
He disappears before she awakes.
*
From then on, his visits are spent in a strange limbo between dreams and reality. Sometimes he accompanies her on errands - to the supermarket, to post letters - and at others they alternate between making love and talking, pointless conversations that mean so much.
“Will it always be like this?” she asks one evening, as his fingers draw Gallifreyan patterns on her bare hip. He doesn’t answer for a while, wonders whether he should tell her that the TARDIS has found a way for him to live here forever, and then decides it’s too much, too tempting.
So he doesn’t answer, not really, just rolls them over and kisses her until she’s forgotten her question, and he can hide them both in the cocoon of ignorance. He’s never there when she wakes up now, and she doesn’t ask anymore.
*
One day, she opens her eyes to find him watching her. He watches the sleep fade from her body, leaving her soft and drowsy and smiling, and then awareness steals over her face, and her eyes widen in surprise.
“You’re still here.”
He smiles at her, a long, slow smile that makes her smile too, and pulls her gently towards him. Her hand rises to cup his cheek and he leans into her touch, humming softly against her mouth and then trailing his lips tenderly across her face. He ends up at her ear, which he nips lightly, then soothes with his tongue.
“I am.”
“Why haven’t you disappeared?”
He strokes her hair back from her face and is suddenly glad he’s made this choice. He’s stuck here, for better or for worse, but he’s stuck with Rose, and that’s not so bad. All this time, he’s been on a journey without ever knowing the destination, but he knows now, and it’s good.
His destination is here, with Rose, for as long as she can give him, and whether they end up on the moon or in the queue at Sainsbury’s, it will be a journey nonetheless.
He smiles against her.
After all, he has always loved travelling. And for now, he has all the time in the world.
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Prompt:
Before beginning a Hunt, it is wise to ask someone what you are looking for before you begin looking for it.
A. A. Milne
Title: 1. The Wild Christmas Goose, and Chasings Thereof
Doctor: Ten II
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Rating: All ages
14:24, 25 December, 2012
Camden Market, London, NW1
"Not the best way to spend the holiday," the Doctor says as he trails along behind a purposefully-striding Rose. "What a shame."
"I volunteered to be on call, I knew this could happen. Besides, it's just saving me from another 3 hours of Tony hopped up on chocolate oranges." She pulls a complicated piece of equipment from the cargo pocket of her trousers. "I'm not detecting any sort of rift energy. Subject must have had some other means of transport."
"Interesting," muses the Doctor. "What about a warp signature?"
"Nothing. It's like it just appeared here."
The Doctor crouches down and inspects the grimy pavement, placing a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles on his nose. "I'm not sure how I feel about this Torchwood practice of referring to aliens as 'it.'"
"It is official Torchwood policy to use gender-neutral pronouns so as not to offend or otherwise incorrectly label said alien species. You know as well as I do that we cannot impose our human sex and gender assumptions on alien life forms."
"Indeed," he says, putting his glasses away again.
14:59, 25 December, 2012
Camden Market, London, NW1
Rose squints and briefly removes her mobile phone from here ear and looks at it, as if whatever has just been said by Torchwood dispatching is actually the fault of the phone.
"Harrod's?" she asks, incredulously. "It's Christmas Day! Yes... right. I see. We'll be there to meet him."
She rings off and looks at the Doctor, who is holding two paper cups of coffee.
"Sorry it's not Nero; everything's closed."
Rose takes a tentative sip. "So, apparently there's been some activity at Harrod's, of all places. We're to meet the security guard at the door in 20 minutes."
"Maybe our friend's got a taste for posh Christmas puddings. Or the little cakes with the lemon curd? I love those. Baked brie? The kind with the jam in? If aliens knew about baked brie, you lot would have no hope of fending off the invasion. I saw foie gras pasties there once. What's foie gras doing in a pasty? Or the pie with the Stilton and cranberries..."
15:25, 25 December, 2012
Knightsbridge, London, SW1
The Doctor puts on a disappointed face. "I notice we seem to be going up rather than down. Do you think that if we do enough derring they'll send us home with a hamper?"
A floor dings off on the lift and Rose smiles at him indulgently. "Here we are, then. Second floor: lingerie."
She points her torch around at the racks and racks of lacy, silky unmentionables. "The guard said he found this," she brandishes an unmistakably alien artefact in her free hand, "laying right over there."
"What would an alien want with ladies' knickers?" the Doctor asks, eyes wide.
She pauses in thought for a moment, then frowns. "Maybe it wants to bother human women."
"Shocking!" says the Doctor.
15:43, 25 December, 2012
Knightsbridge, London, SW1
Rose stands next to the open door of her company car, a black suitcase open on the seat. In her fingers she holds a glass slide, and over her shoulder peers the Doctor.
"What's it say?" he asks, anxiously.
"I haven't even put it in yet." She bends down and feeds the slide into a slot in her field kit, then turns her attention to a laptop sitting open on the floor of the vehicle.
"Analysing..." the Doctor says, reading off the laptop screen. "Analysing... analysing..."
"You're approaching Tony territory," Rose says, nonplussed. "Nice work finding the bio-traces, though. All right, what are you? Animal, vegetable or... what?"
"What what?" The Doctor cranes his neck and looks down at the computer. "Well that's not very helpful."
"What does that even mean, 'chimera'?"
"A chimera is a hybrid of two or more genetically distinct bits of biological material. Could be several different species all mushed up together."
Rose makes a face. "That doesn't sound very appetising. Like a sideshow freak, yeah?"
"I'm sure it's hideous," the Doctor says, a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth, which Rose does not see as she continues to tap away at the keyboard.
16:12, 25 December, 2012
Victoria Embankment, Westminster, London, SW1
A pink-cheeked Rose Tyler stands looking out over the Thames towards the Millennium Pier. She holds her phone up to her ear and shouts to be heard over the wind.
"Are you sure? I said, are you sure? Because I'm standing right here and there's nothing. No, not a thing. And nothing showing up on scanners, either. All right, I'll ask him. I said, I'll ask him."
"Ask him what?" the Doctor chirps, rocking back on his heels.
"Ask him to do a little jig and then turn water into wine," she says, sarcastically. "Ask you to help me scan for this whatever-this-is which is supposedly right here but can't be seen or detected."
"Well, what do we know about it already?" The Doctor holds his hand out and points to his index finger.
"Well, we know there was no rift activity or warp signature, so it got here through some other means."
The Doctor points to his middle finger, nodding. "And what else?"
"And that it's either a cross-dresser or fancies human women in lacy knickers."
The Doctor coughs, which could also be hiding a giggle, and the points to his ring-finger. "What else?"
"It's a chimera, some sort of hybrid creature, and nothing we've got in our database already." She stops and looks out over the river as the London Eye flashes purple and white lights through the gathering fog of dusk.
"Right, so it just appeared here out of nowhere, bothers human women, and is a one-of-a-kind hybrid."
Rose nods, her brow furrowed. "This isn't really helping."
The Doctor shuffles his feet and waggles his eyebrows. "I don't know any creatures like that at all. And certainly none that would want to have a Torchwood agent all to themselves for a couple hours on Christmas day."
"You!" Rose gasps, pointing at him accusingly.
"Me!" he says, grinning. "You'd be surprised what a box of chocolates will accomplish with Torchwood dispatching."
"You've had me out here for two hours chasing after nothing?"
"You can't say that it wasn't a little bit fun." He puts on a very contrite face, which he then spoils with a cheeky wink. "Besides, I didn't want anyone else around when I gave you this. They wouldn't understand."
She takes from him a small box, wrapped in festive paper and tied with a clumsy bow. Her hands tremble, either from cold or anticipation, as she unwraps it and removes the top.
"What is it?" she asks quietly, looking down at a small shiny square resting in a clear plastic case.
"A new chip for your field kit. I programmed it myself, with data on approximately five-hundred million alien life forms not currently in Torchwood's data base. And also some special customizations, which you'll have to discover on your own. Word to the wise, though: don't use it around any live chickens."
Rose replaces the box's lid and slides it carefully into her jacket pocket before being folded up into a great spine-cracking hug. "I love it!" she says, muffled by the Doctor's overcoat. "It must have taken you ages."
"Well, I figure, the faster you can solve your cases, the more time I get to spend with you. It was quite selfish of me, really. That's me all over, isn't it? But all the same, happy Christmas, Rose Tyler."
She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. "Happy Christmas, Doctor."
Title: 2. Thoughts Along the Way
Doctor: Nine, Ten, Ten II
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Through “Journey’s End”
Rating: PG-13
“Run!”
It’s always the easiest thing in the world to say. See someone in distress, tell them to run, then grab their hand and pull them along in case they’re too confused or too stupid to consider self-preservation. Picked up more than one stray in my time this way. Not any more, though. Don’t need any company, thank you very much. Doing just fine on my own.
I hadn’t counted on Rose.
“I did it again. I picked another stupid ape.”
I meant the words to hurt, angry with her, angry with myself for letting her inside. I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else. Bad enough being responsible for the universe without having keep chasing after some idiot human who had no concept of the laws of time and space.
But when she says she’s sorry, I can see it in her eyes and I can’t stay angry at her too long. Like it or not, it feels good to have someone else in the TARDIS again and I’m glad it’s her.
“Have a good life. Do that for me, Rose. Have a fantastic life.”
When - if - Emergency Programme One is activated, I knew she’d moan and carry on. She’d slap me, too, if I were within range. Sometimes Rose can be bit too much like her mother, if you know what I mean - and there was something to frighten almost any race in the universe with a bit of sense. Shouldn’t have surprised me she managed to find a way back, but I wasn’t prepared for to learn she’d had the brilliance and courage to swallow the heart of the TARDIS itself. No way she could have known what it would cost to pull it from her. Good thing, too; she would have tried to stop me, not knowing this wasn’t the end, even if it meant losing this daft old face.
“All those planets... creatures and horizons... I haven't seen them yet! Not with these eyes...”
She’s hesitating. I can see it in her eyes. Has to be the regeneration because I really didn’t get a chance to explain before things started happening. Maybe I need a handbook - “What a Companion Needs to Know About Their Time Lord.” That’s assuming, of course, she’d actually read it. Rose is wonderful, but not necessarily big on reading the directions before diving in.
But when I hold out my hand, she smiles, even if it’s still a bit tentative. I waggle my fingers and she giggles a bit before sliding her hand into my own. Funny I hadn’t even realized how much I missed having a hand to hold, but I still felt the lack.
I've seen fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods - out of all that - out of that whole pantheon - if I believe in one thing... just one thing...I believe in her.
The universe hates me, forcing me to chose between those I love and the fate of everything again and again and again. Oh, but even as I smash those vases, breaking whatever insane science or spell that suspended Kroptor beneath a black holes ages ago, I feel my hearts swell at the thought that if Rose were here, she’d be urging me on to do this.
But sometimes virtue has its rewards and even as the planet is torn apart by the forces of gravity, I find myself at the base of that beautiful blue box and know it won’t be long until I see her again.
You're dead, officially, back home.
When the Beast had said Rose would die in battle, I swore to her he lied. But here we are, her in one world and me in another and she’s a name on an official list. For once, the words don’t come easily, each syllable a second that ticks away our moments. She cries and I can’t pull her into my arms to comfort her. She tells me she loves me, and I can’t manage to speak a simple, straightforward sentence before the connection ends.
And the damn universe can’t even give me time to grieve before dropping Donna Noble in my lap.
Rose would know.
Perhaps not the most sensitive thing to say because I can see the signs Martha’s interested in something more than I want to give, but what surprises me is how much just the mention of her name still hurts. It’s been - well, I rattled around the universe hoping time would dull the ache. I didn’t want to forget her, just wanted not to hurt every moment of every day. That’s why I asked Martha along for a trip, figured maybe it was time to dip my toe back into the waters of not traveling alone.
I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Maybe it was a mistake; I’m not ready for this. Nothing against Martha because she’s got loads of things to recommend her, but she’s not Rose. That’s the problem; no one’s Rose except Rose.
She’s not just living on a parallel world, she’s trapped there.
Still hurts to say it. Martha coming along has helped because it’s nice having another voice around the TARDIS - and she’s been brilliant in her own way. But admitting to Jack she’s gone, there’s no way I can bring her back without ripping the worlds apart - it’s like the wounds have just been ripped open. What could be worse?
But... Rose is coming back. Isn't that good?
Donna has no idea. She doesn’t understand Bad Wolf, has no conception of what it takes to send that type of message through time and space or the power to find her in that strange pocket universe, move her to where - I don’t want to think about it.
But at the same time...Rose is coming back. The universe is about to be ripped apart but she’s coming back and I’ll walk through hell if that’s what’s necessary to be with her, because no matter what I face, it’s better with her at my side.
Yeah, it’s a good thing.
Does it need saying?
Of course it does, you twat! Can’t you see it? She crossed the bloody Void for you, was ready to leave home and family behind - again - because she loves you more than you have any right to expect. She’s everything you lost when our world was destroyed, everything you’ve been looking for even if you didn’t realize it.
That’s the problem, isn’t it? You do know, but you can’t let yourself unbend enough to take the prize now that what you’ve been longing for is in your grasp. Maybe it’s the metacrisis or the one heart or maybe that little bit of Donna who always has to shout and rage against the world, but I’m realizing that just possibly there’s not enough oxygen getting to that big Time Lord brain of yours.
She’s looking at me with eyes which warn her heart’s about to break and I play into the plan you devised, step forward and say exactly what I - you - really want to say: I love you.
For me, it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Title: 3. The Time-Traveller’s Lover
Doctor: Ten
Warnings: None
Spoilers: For Doomsday
Rating: Teen
His first trip across the Void lasts forty-seven seconds. It’s long enough for him to realise that he’s made it, that he’s accomplished the impossible, and long enough for him to see her, to realise how very much he’s missed her.
She’s sitting on her bed and painting her toenails - pink, which makes him smile - and she only catches sight of him the moment before he disappears. The look on her face is one of bright, intense surprise which colours her cheeks with delight, and he raises his hand like a bizarre sort of mime-artist, only to find himself back on the TARDIS and beaming at shadows.
*
The next time, he stretches his visit to three minutes and eleven seconds. This time, she’s in her kitchen, and she has bare feet and toenails which are now painted blue. He wonders how much time has passed between his visits - whether it’s been a week or a month or a decade - and he’s keenly aware that the clock is ticking, that his time here is all too short.
She takes a tentative step towards him, her eyes tracing his body like wind on a plain, light and ephemeral and intangible. She stretches a hand towards him and he feels the heat of her fingers through his shirt.
“I can touch you.” Her voice quivers, and it is like the first faltering note of a new violin.
“I’m real, this time.” He tries for a smile but it goes horribly wrong, and he has the disconcerting feeling he is grimacing. “Not an image. See?” He presses her hand harder against his chest, and he tells himself that it’s not an excuse to feel her against him.
“How...?”
“There’s not time.” He swallows. “I don’t know how long I’ve got, Rose. It’s a bit...” he gestures aimlessly, “hit and miss.”
“You’re not staying?” There are tears in her eyes now, tears that shine like shards of a shattered mirror, and he disappears before he can reply.
*
By the seventh try, he can stay three hours. He arrives in the middle of the night and finds her asleep, moonlight slanting through the window to cast her hair in a veil of pale luminescence. He doesn’t dare to sit beside her on the bed and he can’t bear to wake her, so he lowers himself quietly into the chair in the corner and watches her sleep.
As she dreams, he thinks. Why does he keep coming? Why does he drive himself to distraction trying to breach the Void, when he knows it will never be enough? What does he really want from this?
He remembers all the times she has cried as he has started to disappear, every time she watched him with betrayal. Is this what love is - constantly re-opening the wound before it has time to heal? He suddenly feels sick at what he’s doing to her and gets abruptly to his feet. He hovers by the bed for just a second, lets his fingers brush her cheek in the very faintest of touches, before he closes his eyes and lets the universe pull him back.
He decides he won’t come again.
*
It’s a year before he succumbs. He is tired and lonely and he misses her so much, and he moves around the console in a haze, scarcely noticing that for the first time, the TARDIS is willingly sending him across the Void.
He ends up in her bedroom again, and this time she has just finished blow-drying her hair. It frames her face like spun gold but it is longer than it was, darker, and she looks exhausted. She doesn’t seem surprised, but she doesn’t seem happy either, and when he takes a step towards her she doesn’t react.
“You’re back.” Her voice is toneless, and it makes him ache.
“I’m sorry.”
She looks at him, her eyes sad and lovely as a September moon, and shakes her head. “What for? For leaving or for coming back?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Both. I don’t...why do I need you, Rose?” He’s aware that he’s whining, that he sounds weak and helpless and needy, but he doesn’t understand this hold she has over him, this bond which drags them together. He should be able to move on.
She doesn’t answer. She just stands up and lets her dressing gown slip from her shoulders, and her naked body is white and young and soft in the starlight which plays like a lyre over her skin. She moves closer, wraps her arms around him and then kisses him, her lips so soft and forgiving that he weeps, though he doesn’t understand quite why.
She undresses him slowly, and every touch makes him want to shatter, to fracture into a thousand pieces which she can keep forever. He wishes he could give her something more than this, more than skin-on-skin and the age-old rhythm of two bodies rocking together in the night, but for now, it has to be enough.
He disappears before she awakes.
*
From then on, his visits are spent in a strange limbo between dreams and reality. Sometimes he accompanies her on errands - to the supermarket, to post letters - and at others they alternate between making love and talking, pointless conversations that mean so much.
“Will it always be like this?” she asks one evening, as his fingers draw Gallifreyan patterns on her bare hip. He doesn’t answer for a while, wonders whether he should tell her that the TARDIS has found a way for him to live here forever, and then decides it’s too much, too tempting.
So he doesn’t answer, not really, just rolls them over and kisses her until she’s forgotten her question, and he can hide them both in the cocoon of ignorance. He’s never there when she wakes up now, and she doesn’t ask anymore.
*
One day, she opens her eyes to find him watching her. He watches the sleep fade from her body, leaving her soft and drowsy and smiling, and then awareness steals over her face, and her eyes widen in surprise.
“You’re still here.”
He smiles at her, a long, slow smile that makes her smile too, and pulls her gently towards him. Her hand rises to cup his cheek and he leans into her touch, humming softly against her mouth and then trailing his lips tenderly across her face. He ends up at her ear, which he nips lightly, then soothes with his tongue.
“I am.”
“Why haven’t you disappeared?”
He strokes her hair back from her face and is suddenly glad he’s made this choice. He’s stuck here, for better or for worse, but he’s stuck with Rose, and that’s not so bad. All this time, he’s been on a journey without ever knowing the destination, but he knows now, and it’s good.
His destination is here, with Rose, for as long as she can give him, and whether they end up on the moon or in the queue at Sainsbury’s, it will be a journey nonetheless.
He smiles against her.
After all, he has always loved travelling. And for now, he has all the time in the world.