Doctor Who: Sparks [Ten II/Rose] (for Steff)
Title: “Sparks”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: End of Time
Summary: A small memory helps Rose understand. [Ten II/Rose, implied Rose/Ten; SPOILERS up to and including The End of Time. Part Two]
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. And RTD is a bloody genius.
Dedication: for industrialgirl1. Steff, darling, Happy New Year! <3 This is as close to Ten/Rose as I can get, but I hope you like it.
A/N: I rewatched TCI today and now I’m angsting about Ten all over again. XD
SPARKS
She giggles as he glides towards her over the frozen surface of the lake. Clumsily, he holds out his hands to keep balance; she clutches them into her own, and they spin. Just like the old song goes, they go about things spinning and grinning. Never mind that he looks like a disoriented goose on ice, and neither of them have skates on; they just glide and slip and stagger and laugh, their breath coming out in puffs of steam.
His hand around her waist, she tilts her head back and smiles. Watches streaks of light dribble down his face. He gives her one of his trademark grins. They bump into a tree eventually; of course, they do. They both burst out laughing when the trunk shakes and heaps of snow stored on the spreading branches pour all over them.
“How much have you had already?” she chuckles. His breath is permeated vaguely with alcohol. Mulled wine. Hot and homely.
“I honestly don’t know.”
They sink on the ground, and she’s dimly aware that her fingers sheathed in wet woolen gloves are getting chilled.
“We’re missing the countdown.”
“Let’s watch it from here,” he says and slips again and lies sprawled on the ice floor. A sigh that carries a mixture of surprise and hurt with a tinge of self-irony (he is incorrigibly optimistic) escapes his lips. He pulls up and places his head on her lap.
She bites at the tip of her glove finger and pulls the glove off. Buries her fingers in his hair that is powdered with crystals of snow. She can feel him smile. He never stops. Even when it annoys her. Even when it annoys her that it annoys her. And her thoughts go round and round until she starts thinking like him, looking at the world through his eyes and smiling and laughing at all her problems like he teaches her to do.
“Fireworks,” he murmurs. “Love fireworks. Bet we’re gonna have a brilliant year.”
This triggers something in her mind, something she wants to dismiss as a déjà vu, but can’t. She isn’t sure how exactly a mind works, but she knows that memory hasn’t always been there.
He’s, uh… John, she tells herself like she tells herself every day. It is strange that he should go by any name, but he’s not… not-really-the-Doctor anymore, what with one heart and all, and the happy life they have built here - but it doesn’t stop her mind from wandering at times back to the proper Doctor.
He squeezes her hand. “Rose?”
“I’m just-.” She struggles to smile. “It feels like a good-bye to something important.”
“Happy New Year,” he says when the time runs out. The date in the calendar has changed.
She remembers it from several years ago: a voice asking what year it is.
He sits up (she feels across the worlds, across the years), leans into her and captures her mouth in a soft kiss (something is changing). She answers desperately, an old fear gripping her and filling her up. She is afraid to let go of him because when she looks up, the face may not be his anymore.
He moves away gently, but persistently. He must be feeling it too, the change, because his eyes are dark and his face is all sharp angles and harsh lines, serious, too serious. She tries to force a smile, but tears well up in her eyes. A sight all too familiar. Sometimes when he is asleep, she looks at him and remembers more than she should, because while their appearance is the same, they are still different.
There is only one reason for that distant memory to resurface now: he’s gone. She gives vent to tears. She didn’t even see his face then properly, but she distinctly remembers the voice. He’s gone full circle. He came to see her.
Even if she ever gets back to her original world, he’s not there anymore. There is only a stranger with a face she will not recognize in the crowd.
“Rose,” John, not-really-the-Doctor, whispers. “Rose, I’m here. I’m still here.”
She smiles through the tears. She just hopes he wasn’t alone because God knows what could happen afterwards. But someone had to be there. Donna, perhaps. Definitely. He can’t be alone.
John interlaces his fingers through hers, reminding her that she is not alone either. She is with her Doctor.
January 5, 2010
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: End of Time
Summary: A small memory helps Rose understand. [Ten II/Rose, implied Rose/Ten; SPOILERS up to and including The End of Time. Part Two]
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. And RTD is a bloody genius.
Dedication: for industrialgirl1. Steff, darling, Happy New Year! <3 This is as close to Ten/Rose as I can get, but I hope you like it.
A/N: I rewatched TCI today and now I’m angsting about Ten all over again. XD
SPARKS
She giggles as he glides towards her over the frozen surface of the lake. Clumsily, he holds out his hands to keep balance; she clutches them into her own, and they spin. Just like the old song goes, they go about things spinning and grinning. Never mind that he looks like a disoriented goose on ice, and neither of them have skates on; they just glide and slip and stagger and laugh, their breath coming out in puffs of steam.
His hand around her waist, she tilts her head back and smiles. Watches streaks of light dribble down his face. He gives her one of his trademark grins. They bump into a tree eventually; of course, they do. They both burst out laughing when the trunk shakes and heaps of snow stored on the spreading branches pour all over them.
“How much have you had already?” she chuckles. His breath is permeated vaguely with alcohol. Mulled wine. Hot and homely.
“I honestly don’t know.”
They sink on the ground, and she’s dimly aware that her fingers sheathed in wet woolen gloves are getting chilled.
“We’re missing the countdown.”
“Let’s watch it from here,” he says and slips again and lies sprawled on the ice floor. A sigh that carries a mixture of surprise and hurt with a tinge of self-irony (he is incorrigibly optimistic) escapes his lips. He pulls up and places his head on her lap.
She bites at the tip of her glove finger and pulls the glove off. Buries her fingers in his hair that is powdered with crystals of snow. She can feel him smile. He never stops. Even when it annoys her. Even when it annoys her that it annoys her. And her thoughts go round and round until she starts thinking like him, looking at the world through his eyes and smiling and laughing at all her problems like he teaches her to do.
“Fireworks,” he murmurs. “Love fireworks. Bet we’re gonna have a brilliant year.”
This triggers something in her mind, something she wants to dismiss as a déjà vu, but can’t. She isn’t sure how exactly a mind works, but she knows that memory hasn’t always been there.
He’s, uh… John, she tells herself like she tells herself every day. It is strange that he should go by any name, but he’s not… not-really-the-Doctor anymore, what with one heart and all, and the happy life they have built here - but it doesn’t stop her mind from wandering at times back to the proper Doctor.
He squeezes her hand. “Rose?”
“I’m just-.” She struggles to smile. “It feels like a good-bye to something important.”
“Happy New Year,” he says when the time runs out. The date in the calendar has changed.
She remembers it from several years ago: a voice asking what year it is.
He sits up (she feels across the worlds, across the years), leans into her and captures her mouth in a soft kiss (something is changing). She answers desperately, an old fear gripping her and filling her up. She is afraid to let go of him because when she looks up, the face may not be his anymore.
He moves away gently, but persistently. He must be feeling it too, the change, because his eyes are dark and his face is all sharp angles and harsh lines, serious, too serious. She tries to force a smile, but tears well up in her eyes. A sight all too familiar. Sometimes when he is asleep, she looks at him and remembers more than she should, because while their appearance is the same, they are still different.
There is only one reason for that distant memory to resurface now: he’s gone. She gives vent to tears. She didn’t even see his face then properly, but she distinctly remembers the voice. He’s gone full circle. He came to see her.
Even if she ever gets back to her original world, he’s not there anymore. There is only a stranger with a face she will not recognize in the crowd.
“Rose,” John, not-really-the-Doctor, whispers. “Rose, I’m here. I’m still here.”
She smiles through the tears. She just hopes he wasn’t alone because God knows what could happen afterwards. But someone had to be there. Donna, perhaps. Definitely. He can’t be alone.
John interlaces his fingers through hers, reminding her that she is not alone either. She is with her Doctor.
January 5, 2010