Fic: Unsent 1/?
Title: Unsent
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Big ones!
Disclaimer: My sister bought me 10's sonic for my birthday. Best sister ever.
Summary: Rose's declaration of love soon leads to her departure from the TARDIS, and not everything is as it seems on Earth. "'We need to talk,' she says, brushing her blonde hair away from her eyes."
1
"Basically, she said she wants somebody who doesn't just live in the moment, but who considers the future. What's wrong with the moment?"
"Nothing."
"But?"
"But it's nice, every once in a while, to think about the future."
The TARDIS is dark.
Shadows fall ominously across alien metal, the only illumination the blue-green glow of the console pillar. He walks, his footfalls sounding in dull thuds as he circles the console. He looks, up and down and left to right and sees what is, what was, and what ever could be.
So many possibilities - the walls are bursting with them. Memories, of laughter and death and loneliness, they too seem to rise and linger in the air. Then he brings himself back to the present, and nothing is there except stillness.
There is a sound. He looks up to see her standing in the doorway.
"We need to talk," she says, brushing her blonde hair away from her eyes.
0000
The kitchen is bright, the not-quite-fluorescent lights a stark contrast to the console room's gloom. He sits, the unstable folding chair wobbling from the new weight. She sits, too, and stares at him from across the table.
Now, in the light, he is able to see the details. Rose's eyes are puffy and have dark circles, and her nose is red. She's been crying. Right now, however, her expression is even and somber.
"I love you." The words slip from her mouth so easily, too easily, and the Doctor wonders if he's imagined them.
"What?"
"I love you. Romantically. And now it's time to talk." Rose looks at him, expectant.
He doesn't know what to say. Obviously, having a relationship with a human is impossible, so the only answer is no. But somehow, it's not a human. It's Rose
"I can't." The answer is rather automatic. A sort of fire flares in Rose, and she leans into the table, her expression now accusing.
"You can. I know, Doctor, that I'm a human. I'm only gonna live for another fifty years or whatever, and you're gonna be sad when I'm gone. But why does that stop you? I know I'm just a moment that's gonna past, but why can't you just let us be? Live in the moment, for awhile, okay?"
It's a well-constructed argument, complete with a metaphor and a condescending tone. Well-constructed, of course, by a human's standards.
He closes his eyes, remembering what was, envisioning the day when Rose Tyler's hair was longer, the day when shop-window dummies attacked London, and the moment when he had no worries in the world as he ran with her. He thinks of the day she met Sarah Jane, the day she accused him of eventually leaving her, thinks of the moment when he saw her realize that this was the way it had to be. He opens his eyes, and sees her, all pink and yellow, and sees what could be.
"Moments pass," he says abruptly. He does not allow himself to think about what it would be like to not hold anything back from her.
"Then there's a new moment," she replies, not missing a beat, her tone a valiant attempt at reassurance.
The Doctor shakes his head, unable to meet her eyes and almost chuckling at his patheticness. "No. There's not going to be a new moment when you pass. My other companions, they passed because I let them. You-Rose, you're different."
From the silence, he can tell that he's awed her. He knows that she's become used to the idea that he is nearly eternal. To discover that the Doctor wouldn't allow himself to move on from her - he imagines the thought to be groundbreaking.
"Good different or bad different?"
He smiles. She's trying to be clever, to trick him into happiness. It's not going to work, and he doesn't look at her.
Eight seconds pass before she speaks again.
"Well, I'm not just going to sit here and ignore everything we've said. If you can't love me, then I have to leave, right?"
She's rather practical, he notices, for someone with tears streaming down their face. Still, he can't say anything. He can hear her crying as she stands up and leaves.
0000
He sets the coordinates for Earth. For a moment, he pretends that today is like any other day. Rose has convinced him to bring her home to see Jackie. He'll grumble and she'll joke and Jackie will be far too…Jackie for his tastes and then they'll walk back to the TARDIS laughing all the way.The fantasy passes, and he sees Rose, holding her rucksack in one hand, and a suitcase he bought her in New Ternocht in the other. The Doctor the pulls the lever, and within seconds they are outside the Powell Estates on Earth.
This is it.
Rose walks, sniffing, toward the TARDIS doors but stops, just before the ramp. "Doctor…" she falters.
For once, he has no idea what she could possibly say.
"I…I need…" she stumbles. "Say goodbye to me."
"What?"
"Just…say goodbye. I'm leaving, you have to say goodbye." Rose looks at him. She just looks at him.
"I can't."
She breaks her gaze. "I am a moment...or whatever," she says, in way of someone that hadn't though this conversation through. He doesn't blame her. "I come, I stay, and I pass. Living in the moment - it's fun and all, but eventually you have to just let it go. I don't want to be with you if you're just going to kill yourself or something after I'm dead. That's not - you're just better than that sort of thing."
She doesn't understand. He's saved many lives, sacrificed so much for the universe, that it almost doesn't mean anything anymore if there isn't anyone by his side. And why should he curse himself with the eventual pain if he could just die when she does?
He could tell her this. He knows it wouldn't change anything.
"I don't suppose I could just promise to not kill myself and you'd stay?"
"It's better this way."
His brow furrows, and he exhales. He wishes this were a dream. It's not.
"You said you'd stay with me forever."
The Doctor watches Rose's expression. He can only see resignation - the kind of resignation he's experienced each time he's left something behind.
"I lied," she says, and steps through the TARDIS doors for the last time.
He doesn't dematerialize immediately. He stops, and looks: up and down and left to right. He sees what was, what is, and what might've happened if he just said those three words back and left everything unsaid. He tries, but to no avail. No color of possibility explodes in his mind; no bright memory resurfaces.
The TARDIS is dark.
"So let me get this straight. To be together, then it has to be all about the future?"
"Yeah."
"So, this, right now, this isn't together?"
"It was a moment. A great moment, but like all great moments, it passed."
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Big ones!
Disclaimer: My sister bought me 10's sonic for my birthday. Best sister ever.
Summary: Rose's declaration of love soon leads to her departure from the TARDIS, and not everything is as it seems on Earth. "'We need to talk,' she says, brushing her blonde hair away from her eyes."
1
"Basically, she said she wants somebody who doesn't just live in the moment, but who considers the future. What's wrong with the moment?"
"Nothing."
"But?"
"But it's nice, every once in a while, to think about the future."
The TARDIS is dark.
Shadows fall ominously across alien metal, the only illumination the blue-green glow of the console pillar. He walks, his footfalls sounding in dull thuds as he circles the console. He looks, up and down and left to right and sees what is, what was, and what ever could be.
So many possibilities - the walls are bursting with them. Memories, of laughter and death and loneliness, they too seem to rise and linger in the air. Then he brings himself back to the present, and nothing is there except stillness.
There is a sound. He looks up to see her standing in the doorway.
"We need to talk," she says, brushing her blonde hair away from her eyes.
0000
The kitchen is bright, the not-quite-fluorescent lights a stark contrast to the console room's gloom. He sits, the unstable folding chair wobbling from the new weight. She sits, too, and stares at him from across the table.
Now, in the light, he is able to see the details. Rose's eyes are puffy and have dark circles, and her nose is red. She's been crying. Right now, however, her expression is even and somber.
"I love you." The words slip from her mouth so easily, too easily, and the Doctor wonders if he's imagined them.
"What?"
"I love you. Romantically. And now it's time to talk." Rose looks at him, expectant.
He doesn't know what to say. Obviously, having a relationship with a human is impossible, so the only answer is no. But somehow, it's not a human. It's Rose
"I can't." The answer is rather automatic. A sort of fire flares in Rose, and she leans into the table, her expression now accusing.
"You can. I know, Doctor, that I'm a human. I'm only gonna live for another fifty years or whatever, and you're gonna be sad when I'm gone. But why does that stop you? I know I'm just a moment that's gonna past, but why can't you just let us be? Live in the moment, for awhile, okay?"
It's a well-constructed argument, complete with a metaphor and a condescending tone. Well-constructed, of course, by a human's standards.
He closes his eyes, remembering what was, envisioning the day when Rose Tyler's hair was longer, the day when shop-window dummies attacked London, and the moment when he had no worries in the world as he ran with her. He thinks of the day she met Sarah Jane, the day she accused him of eventually leaving her, thinks of the moment when he saw her realize that this was the way it had to be. He opens his eyes, and sees her, all pink and yellow, and sees what could be.
"Moments pass," he says abruptly. He does not allow himself to think about what it would be like to not hold anything back from her.
"Then there's a new moment," she replies, not missing a beat, her tone a valiant attempt at reassurance.
The Doctor shakes his head, unable to meet her eyes and almost chuckling at his patheticness. "No. There's not going to be a new moment when you pass. My other companions, they passed because I let them. You-Rose, you're different."
From the silence, he can tell that he's awed her. He knows that she's become used to the idea that he is nearly eternal. To discover that the Doctor wouldn't allow himself to move on from her - he imagines the thought to be groundbreaking.
"Good different or bad different?"
He smiles. She's trying to be clever, to trick him into happiness. It's not going to work, and he doesn't look at her.
Eight seconds pass before she speaks again.
"Well, I'm not just going to sit here and ignore everything we've said. If you can't love me, then I have to leave, right?"
She's rather practical, he notices, for someone with tears streaming down their face. Still, he can't say anything. He can hear her crying as she stands up and leaves.
0000
He sets the coordinates for Earth. For a moment, he pretends that today is like any other day. Rose has convinced him to bring her home to see Jackie. He'll grumble and she'll joke and Jackie will be far too…Jackie for his tastes and then they'll walk back to the TARDIS laughing all the way.The fantasy passes, and he sees Rose, holding her rucksack in one hand, and a suitcase he bought her in New Ternocht in the other. The Doctor the pulls the lever, and within seconds they are outside the Powell Estates on Earth.
This is it.
Rose walks, sniffing, toward the TARDIS doors but stops, just before the ramp. "Doctor…" she falters.
For once, he has no idea what she could possibly say.
"I…I need…" she stumbles. "Say goodbye to me."
"What?"
"Just…say goodbye. I'm leaving, you have to say goodbye." Rose looks at him. She just looks at him.
"I can't."
She breaks her gaze. "I am a moment...or whatever," she says, in way of someone that hadn't though this conversation through. He doesn't blame her. "I come, I stay, and I pass. Living in the moment - it's fun and all, but eventually you have to just let it go. I don't want to be with you if you're just going to kill yourself or something after I'm dead. That's not - you're just better than that sort of thing."
She doesn't understand. He's saved many lives, sacrificed so much for the universe, that it almost doesn't mean anything anymore if there isn't anyone by his side. And why should he curse himself with the eventual pain if he could just die when she does?
He could tell her this. He knows it wouldn't change anything.
"I don't suppose I could just promise to not kill myself and you'd stay?"
"It's better this way."
His brow furrows, and he exhales. He wishes this were a dream. It's not.
"You said you'd stay with me forever."
The Doctor watches Rose's expression. He can only see resignation - the kind of resignation he's experienced each time he's left something behind.
"I lied," she says, and steps through the TARDIS doors for the last time.
He doesn't dematerialize immediately. He stops, and looks: up and down and left to right. He sees what was, what is, and what might've happened if he just said those three words back and left everything unsaid. He tries, but to no avail. No color of possibility explodes in his mind; no bright memory resurfaces.
The TARDIS is dark.
"So let me get this straight. To be together, then it has to be all about the future?"
"Yeah."
"So, this, right now, this isn't together?"
"It was a moment. A great moment, but like all great moments, it passed."