Fic: From here on Blind
Title: From here on Blind
Summary: When did everything become so confusing?
Fandom(s): Doctor Who
Characters: Ten/Rose
Spoilers: Set after 4x13 Journey's End
Rating/Warnings: None
Word count: 1404
Notes: Thanks to xwingace for her excellent beta job. Yes, I write post finale Ten/Rose. Don't ask, I don't even know myself why. Comments are love.
Fic Masterlist: Here
who_daily: a href=http://dune-drd.livejournal.com/277342.html>From here on Blind by lj user=dune_DRD> (Ten/Rose| No rating | Spoilers: Journey's End)
I can't go further
Alone I'm walking blind
I can't go further
Out of my mind
- Wir sind Helden
---
She clings to his hand until the blue police box has faded from view. She's been left behind on a godforsaken beach in the middle of nowhere once again, and her heart breaks.
"I'll need money," the man next to her frowns, sniffing the air as if to make sense of this world. He looks so lost, she thinks, so much like her Doctor. "Where do you get money again?" he asks her, and she kisses him out of reflex, trying to chase that deep frown from his forehead.
He is as lost as she is, and she clings to this last link to the life she left behind forever. A life she didn't say goodbye to this time.
But still the Doctor is standing next to her, his hair flopping in the breeze. She sighs. They'll work something out.
---
He kisses her gently, licking her tears away and idly stroking her back as she lies next to him in the small hotel room just a few miles from the Norwegian beach that changed her life forever. Twice.
His skin is warm to the touch, and she listens to his single heartbeat, slowing now after the rapid staccato it beat in their throes of passion. So human, she thinks. She inhales his unique scent, so familiar that she wants to cry even harder.
It feels like a betrayal, it feels like coming home. When did everything become so confusing?
---
She is not the girl she once was, and he was technically only born a week ago, but still she is shocked to see him grab a weapon after the briefing of his first Torchwood mission.
He raises his brow questioningly when she hesitates, watching him while coldness forms in her stomach. It's wrong to see him wielding a weapon. He doesn't stop, handling the gun like it's a part of his arm, and she suddenly understands how different this man is to the Time Lord she loved.
*
"Help it," he begs her, his eyes so dark and pleading that she wants to hug him, lead him away from everything that can hurt him like this. But this is Torchwood, and the gun in his hands is still glowing softly from the single shot that felled this Weevil.
The creature breathes heavily, its breath condensing in the cold night air. Unwavering it looks at the man standing above it.
A man, she thinks, he's just a man who had never looked his prey in the eye before. Before this, he'd always run away. She notices that he is still clutching his gun, his fingers gripping it so tight it must hurt. The turmoil in his eyes doesn't fade when she calls his name, he barely acknowledges her presence as she takes the weapon from him.
They watch together as the Weevil shudders its last breath, and she understands what the Doctor - the real Doctor - meant when he said this one needed help. She's just not too sure she is the right person to give it.
She can't feel pity for this creature at her feet. It slaughtered its way through a night club before they found it. She has changed since their - her - travels, she knows.
He hides the guilt away, his eyes growing hard when she tells him it was him or the creature. Of course he knows that. He nods to himself, and wordlessly strides off into the night.
*
"I'm not him," he yells at her when she finally finds him atop a skyscraper, staring at the stars as if they hold all the answers.
He reminds her of Donna in that moment, screaming at creation to make sense. There is no answer. The stars stay quiet as they did so many nights for her, too.
Of course he's not him. If he was, he'd have been insane by now, trapped in one time, on one world. She wonders if he knows how human he looks right now.
She simply nods as he stares silently into the night, kisses him, guides him away from the sheer drop into darkness. He has no concept of mortality, has never cared much about it before.
He has to start living soon, she knows, and she isn't helping.
---
"You can't be sure," he growls at her father. "Their entire race lives to a code of war and honour." He jabs at the latest readings of the Sycorax ship angrily. "How do you know they're not meaning us when they ask to trade for cattle?" He waves her hand away, ignoring her messages to cool down. "You should fire now, before they pass Jupiter. Just in case."
The board room is silent, the members of Torchwood One digesting the intel of their alien expert. What shocks her isn't his willingness to wipe the approaching ship out of the sky. It is the simple word 'us' that gets to her. She leaves the room, his continued rant about hostile races muffled by the door.
His knowledge was totally based on their data, not one spark of useless information that the old him would've thrown in that could've been useful, nothing about swordfights, honour and the power of a word given.
He forgot.
She makes it to the toilet before she breaks down and sobs uncontrollably.
He forgot. She cries even harder, muffles the sounds with her hand. Her Doctor is truly gone.
---
They agree to call him John Smith, for no one dares to mention the other part of him, the alien part that travels the stars, always alone, always hurting. That's not him, not anymore.
He makes mistakes, forgets to lock his door, loses his keys, can't program his VCR. It's so human she wants to scream.
And there's so much wrath beneath that thin body, always wearing t-shirts and a blue suit. He can't stand brown.
On a rainy Saturday, his face crunches up with disgust at the taste of edible ball bearings and tea. She suddenly realizes that not only the memories, but the entire Time Lord persona must be fading, leaving the human brain behind, angry at everything, feeling empty and alone.
The Doctor's most prominent emotions.
The wrath will soon be forgotten, too, but it's not her doing. She's not sure if she wants to laugh or weep. He needed her innocence, but all he got was a girl with a gun and an organization that protects his favourite planet by any means necessary.
If she doesn't destroy him with the memories of a man he can never be, the life at Torchwood certainly will.
He prefers coffee, he tells her, absentmindedly staring at the rain outside as she drops a Retcon pill into his cup. He stumbles over his words when she asks him if he'd like to stay with her, nodding drowsily instead.
He's unconscious before he can form any words.
He's just a man, she knows, and she quietly cries as she calls a clean-up team. She left her old life behind when she crossed the Void, and now she's leaving the Doctor. Again.
It shouldn't still hurt so much.
---
John Smith sips his coffee, gazing at the London skyline. It was a great idea to buy this flat, he thinks, the sunlight and the panorama just perfect for his muse.
Two more paintings done today, so he can keep the promise he gave Lindsey's art gallery. It's not much, but he'll get there eventually. They love his mind, they tell him, but only Rose loves him for himself. That's all that counts.
"I was thinking about holidays," he turns to watch her, and she smiles at him in delight. She's working too hard in that law firm, he thinks. A holiday would be the perfect solution. Lindsey's paid in advance, too. His treat, for a change.
"I was thinking Venice, perhaps?" he ventures. His car might not make it, but he'd love to traverse Europe with her. And his old girl the blue Ford has seen worse than Italian motorways.
She squeals with delight, hugging him tight. He thinks he loves this girl and her wanderlust.
*
She smiles and kisses John Smith, enjoying the sound of his lonely heart beneath her hand.
He's not the Doctor, and she's not his companion, they still have a long way to go. But they'll make it, one step at a time.
Summary: When did everything become so confusing?
Fandom(s): Doctor Who
Characters: Ten/Rose
Spoilers: Set after 4x13 Journey's End
Rating/Warnings: None
Word count: 1404
Notes: Thanks to xwingace for her excellent beta job. Yes, I write post finale Ten/Rose. Don't ask, I don't even know myself why. Comments are love.
Fic Masterlist: Here
who_daily: a href=http://dune-drd.livejournal.com/277342.html>From here on Blind by lj user=dune_DRD> (Ten/Rose| No rating | Spoilers: Journey's End)
I can't go further
Alone I'm walking blind
I can't go further
Out of my mind
- Wir sind Helden
---
She clings to his hand until the blue police box has faded from view. She's been left behind on a godforsaken beach in the middle of nowhere once again, and her heart breaks.
"I'll need money," the man next to her frowns, sniffing the air as if to make sense of this world. He looks so lost, she thinks, so much like her Doctor. "Where do you get money again?" he asks her, and she kisses him out of reflex, trying to chase that deep frown from his forehead.
He is as lost as she is, and she clings to this last link to the life she left behind forever. A life she didn't say goodbye to this time.
But still the Doctor is standing next to her, his hair flopping in the breeze. She sighs. They'll work something out.
---
He kisses her gently, licking her tears away and idly stroking her back as she lies next to him in the small hotel room just a few miles from the Norwegian beach that changed her life forever. Twice.
His skin is warm to the touch, and she listens to his single heartbeat, slowing now after the rapid staccato it beat in their throes of passion. So human, she thinks. She inhales his unique scent, so familiar that she wants to cry even harder.
It feels like a betrayal, it feels like coming home. When did everything become so confusing?
---
She is not the girl she once was, and he was technically only born a week ago, but still she is shocked to see him grab a weapon after the briefing of his first Torchwood mission.
He raises his brow questioningly when she hesitates, watching him while coldness forms in her stomach. It's wrong to see him wielding a weapon. He doesn't stop, handling the gun like it's a part of his arm, and she suddenly understands how different this man is to the Time Lord she loved.
*
"Help it," he begs her, his eyes so dark and pleading that she wants to hug him, lead him away from everything that can hurt him like this. But this is Torchwood, and the gun in his hands is still glowing softly from the single shot that felled this Weevil.
The creature breathes heavily, its breath condensing in the cold night air. Unwavering it looks at the man standing above it.
A man, she thinks, he's just a man who had never looked his prey in the eye before. Before this, he'd always run away. She notices that he is still clutching his gun, his fingers gripping it so tight it must hurt. The turmoil in his eyes doesn't fade when she calls his name, he barely acknowledges her presence as she takes the weapon from him.
They watch together as the Weevil shudders its last breath, and she understands what the Doctor - the real Doctor - meant when he said this one needed help. She's just not too sure she is the right person to give it.
She can't feel pity for this creature at her feet. It slaughtered its way through a night club before they found it. She has changed since their - her - travels, she knows.
He hides the guilt away, his eyes growing hard when she tells him it was him or the creature. Of course he knows that. He nods to himself, and wordlessly strides off into the night.
*
"I'm not him," he yells at her when she finally finds him atop a skyscraper, staring at the stars as if they hold all the answers.
He reminds her of Donna in that moment, screaming at creation to make sense. There is no answer. The stars stay quiet as they did so many nights for her, too.
Of course he's not him. If he was, he'd have been insane by now, trapped in one time, on one world. She wonders if he knows how human he looks right now.
She simply nods as he stares silently into the night, kisses him, guides him away from the sheer drop into darkness. He has no concept of mortality, has never cared much about it before.
He has to start living soon, she knows, and she isn't helping.
---
"You can't be sure," he growls at her father. "Their entire race lives to a code of war and honour." He jabs at the latest readings of the Sycorax ship angrily. "How do you know they're not meaning us when they ask to trade for cattle?" He waves her hand away, ignoring her messages to cool down. "You should fire now, before they pass Jupiter. Just in case."
The board room is silent, the members of Torchwood One digesting the intel of their alien expert. What shocks her isn't his willingness to wipe the approaching ship out of the sky. It is the simple word 'us' that gets to her. She leaves the room, his continued rant about hostile races muffled by the door.
His knowledge was totally based on their data, not one spark of useless information that the old him would've thrown in that could've been useful, nothing about swordfights, honour and the power of a word given.
He forgot.
She makes it to the toilet before she breaks down and sobs uncontrollably.
He forgot. She cries even harder, muffles the sounds with her hand. Her Doctor is truly gone.
---
They agree to call him John Smith, for no one dares to mention the other part of him, the alien part that travels the stars, always alone, always hurting. That's not him, not anymore.
He makes mistakes, forgets to lock his door, loses his keys, can't program his VCR. It's so human she wants to scream.
And there's so much wrath beneath that thin body, always wearing t-shirts and a blue suit. He can't stand brown.
On a rainy Saturday, his face crunches up with disgust at the taste of edible ball bearings and tea. She suddenly realizes that not only the memories, but the entire Time Lord persona must be fading, leaving the human brain behind, angry at everything, feeling empty and alone.
The Doctor's most prominent emotions.
The wrath will soon be forgotten, too, but it's not her doing. She's not sure if she wants to laugh or weep. He needed her innocence, but all he got was a girl with a gun and an organization that protects his favourite planet by any means necessary.
If she doesn't destroy him with the memories of a man he can never be, the life at Torchwood certainly will.
He prefers coffee, he tells her, absentmindedly staring at the rain outside as she drops a Retcon pill into his cup. He stumbles over his words when she asks him if he'd like to stay with her, nodding drowsily instead.
He's unconscious before he can form any words.
He's just a man, she knows, and she quietly cries as she calls a clean-up team. She left her old life behind when she crossed the Void, and now she's leaving the Doctor. Again.
It shouldn't still hurt so much.
---
John Smith sips his coffee, gazing at the London skyline. It was a great idea to buy this flat, he thinks, the sunlight and the panorama just perfect for his muse.
Two more paintings done today, so he can keep the promise he gave Lindsey's art gallery. It's not much, but he'll get there eventually. They love his mind, they tell him, but only Rose loves him for himself. That's all that counts.
"I was thinking about holidays," he turns to watch her, and she smiles at him in delight. She's working too hard in that law firm, he thinks. A holiday would be the perfect solution. Lindsey's paid in advance, too. His treat, for a change.
"I was thinking Venice, perhaps?" he ventures. His car might not make it, but he'd love to traverse Europe with her. And his old girl the blue Ford has seen worse than Italian motorways.
She squeals with delight, hugging him tight. He thinks he loves this girl and her wanderlust.
*
She smiles and kisses John Smith, enjoying the sound of his lonely heart beneath her hand.
He's not the Doctor, and she's not his companion, they still have a long way to go. But they'll make it, one step at a time.