(no subject)
and the stars will guide you home Doctor/Rose, R
It surprises her, sometimes, how young she is. She stares at her hands and thinks: Twenty-three. I am twenty-three. (924 words)
and the stars will guide you home
I love him to hell and back and heaven and back, and have and do and will.
She takes hold of his hand in China.
It is the tail end of the Shang Dynasty, and the Doctor does not know who she is. He has blue eyes and wears leather and has never spoken the name Rose Tyler before.
There are oracle bones spread at their feet. He asks “What sort of man am I?”
Rose’s fingers tighten around his - this man who isn’t her Doctor. “He introduced us as Gidget and Moondoggie.”
“Ah.” The Doctor says. “That sort, then.”
-
“Drink this.”
Rose takes the glass from Pete. The yellow liquid burns her throat, settles uneasily in her stomach.
“Where’d I appear this time?”
“A department store in California. You were unconscious for a week.”
“Hmm.” Rose nods, scratches idly where the IV is attached to her arm. “You lot have any luck making the landing easier?”
Pete sighs. “You scared your mother.”
Chin raised, Rose says “I won’t stop. I can’t.”
“I know. I’m not asking you to.”
“Okay then.”
Pete leans back in his chair and silently regards Rose. She is another man’s daughter. A stranger’s daughter.
She has his smile.
“Okay.”
-
“Sarah Jane,” Rose breathes; she is standing beside a buffet table, a canapé half raised. The young girl turns to Rose, frowns.
“Do I know you?”
Rose ignores her, attention caught by the man who appears at Sarah Jane’s side. He smiles first at Sarah Jane, then her. He wears a ridiculously long scarf.
Rose swallows thickly; she manages to get out the following: “Young.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You’re so young.”
-
Rose comes to in Mickey’s kitchen. Her cheek rests on her hand; her back is pressed firmly against a cabinet door. Her whole being aches, straight down to the marrow.
“Morning,” Mickey greets. He is seated before her, legs crossed. He passes a lukewarm cup of tea her way. “You feeling alright?”
“Lovely,” Rose answers, wincing as she sits up.
“What was is this time?”
“Africa. 4572. I held his hand as he died.”
-
“No. No, no, no. You can’t be here. You can’t.”
“You know me?”
“You died. I watched you die. I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop it.”
“Oh. You love me.”
“No. Shut up. Stop it. Just. You’re not her. You’re not Rose.”
“I like the bowtie.”
-
Tony is the one to find Rose. She is covered in soot and lying beneath his bedroom window. He waits impatiently by her side, fidgets restlessly until the moment she opens her eyes.
“Did you find him?”
Rose blinks, turns her gaze away. “No.”
She recalls the shouts of the oppressed and the feel of warm blood pooling beneath her bare feet. She remembers the way a small child felt in her arms, their chest shuddering on a final breath. She still feels the twist of guilt, the deaths of so many her fault. Her decision. Her hand on the button.
“Lay with me?” Rose asks. Tony curls into her embrace, flinches against the smell of smoke and death clinging to his sister’s hair. It terrifies him, and he holds desperately to her.
“Rose, are you going to leave me?”
“Never.”
-
He looks the same.
It’s the same impossible hair and the same brown suit. He even sighs the same when she places her hand over his ribs.
“And I love you?”
Her mouth close to his, she answers “Yes.”
“I never said the words, did I?”
His hand is between her thighs and she chokes out “I knew. God, I knew.”
Over his shoulder the sky is black and starless.
-
Rose wakes alone.
She lifts her hands, examines the palms and fingers in the dim room. They have done so much, these hands. They have saved many, killed even more.
It surprises her, sometimes, how young she is. She stares at her hands and thinks: Twenty-three. I am twenty-three.
-
There’s a cramp in her wrist, and the gun is cold in her hands.
At her feet the Master is slowly bleeding from a chest wound. He laughs, sings “Qui a peur du grand méchant loup, méchant loup, méchant loup?”
(She becomes legend.
Of course she does. Rose Tyler, bound from the beginning to become a name both revered and feared.)
-
“They’re getting easier,” Rose says, fingertips tracing the stitching of her jeans. “The jumps. Torchwood’s managed to work out the kinks of landing, so. It doesn’t hurt as much.”
Jackie doesn’t reply.
“I’m so close, Mum. I just know it.”
Rose watches her mother’s retreating back, refuses to apologize for wanting something - someone - so much.
-
It feels right, this Earth beneath her feet. It feels more like home than any other Earth she’s been on these past few years.
“Listen,” a stranger says “There is this woman that’s going to come along. A tall blonde woman called Sylvia.”
Rose narrows her eyes, feels something inside her attempt to claw out.
“Tell her that bin there,” the stranger continues. “Right. It’ll all make sense. That bin there.”
-
Jackie carefully picks up her tea cup, looks at her daughter. “Do you know I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you?”
“Mum.”
“When I held you for the first time, you where so small. And I thought, oh, I thought that I knew what love was. I was crazy about your father. But you. You changed everything.”
Rose moves her gaze to the tabletop, chest tight and painful inside her.
“Promise me. Promise you’ll say goodbye first.”
“Yes,” Rose breathes. “I promise. I do. Yes.”
It surprises her, sometimes, how young she is. She stares at her hands and thinks: Twenty-three. I am twenty-three. (924 words)
and the stars will guide you home
I love him to hell and back and heaven and back, and have and do and will.
She takes hold of his hand in China.
It is the tail end of the Shang Dynasty, and the Doctor does not know who she is. He has blue eyes and wears leather and has never spoken the name Rose Tyler before.
There are oracle bones spread at their feet. He asks “What sort of man am I?”
Rose’s fingers tighten around his - this man who isn’t her Doctor. “He introduced us as Gidget and Moondoggie.”
“Ah.” The Doctor says. “That sort, then.”
-
“Drink this.”
Rose takes the glass from Pete. The yellow liquid burns her throat, settles uneasily in her stomach.
“Where’d I appear this time?”
“A department store in California. You were unconscious for a week.”
“Hmm.” Rose nods, scratches idly where the IV is attached to her arm. “You lot have any luck making the landing easier?”
Pete sighs. “You scared your mother.”
Chin raised, Rose says “I won’t stop. I can’t.”
“I know. I’m not asking you to.”
“Okay then.”
Pete leans back in his chair and silently regards Rose. She is another man’s daughter. A stranger’s daughter.
She has his smile.
“Okay.”
-
“Sarah Jane,” Rose breathes; she is standing beside a buffet table, a canapé half raised. The young girl turns to Rose, frowns.
“Do I know you?”
Rose ignores her, attention caught by the man who appears at Sarah Jane’s side. He smiles first at Sarah Jane, then her. He wears a ridiculously long scarf.
Rose swallows thickly; she manages to get out the following: “Young.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You’re so young.”
-
Rose comes to in Mickey’s kitchen. Her cheek rests on her hand; her back is pressed firmly against a cabinet door. Her whole being aches, straight down to the marrow.
“Morning,” Mickey greets. He is seated before her, legs crossed. He passes a lukewarm cup of tea her way. “You feeling alright?”
“Lovely,” Rose answers, wincing as she sits up.
“What was is this time?”
“Africa. 4572. I held his hand as he died.”
-
“No. No, no, no. You can’t be here. You can’t.”
“You know me?”
“You died. I watched you die. I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop it.”
“Oh. You love me.”
“No. Shut up. Stop it. Just. You’re not her. You’re not Rose.”
“I like the bowtie.”
-
Tony is the one to find Rose. She is covered in soot and lying beneath his bedroom window. He waits impatiently by her side, fidgets restlessly until the moment she opens her eyes.
“Did you find him?”
Rose blinks, turns her gaze away. “No.”
She recalls the shouts of the oppressed and the feel of warm blood pooling beneath her bare feet. She remembers the way a small child felt in her arms, their chest shuddering on a final breath. She still feels the twist of guilt, the deaths of so many her fault. Her decision. Her hand on the button.
“Lay with me?” Rose asks. Tony curls into her embrace, flinches against the smell of smoke and death clinging to his sister’s hair. It terrifies him, and he holds desperately to her.
“Rose, are you going to leave me?”
“Never.”
-
He looks the same.
It’s the same impossible hair and the same brown suit. He even sighs the same when she places her hand over his ribs.
“And I love you?”
Her mouth close to his, she answers “Yes.”
“I never said the words, did I?”
His hand is between her thighs and she chokes out “I knew. God, I knew.”
Over his shoulder the sky is black and starless.
-
Rose wakes alone.
She lifts her hands, examines the palms and fingers in the dim room. They have done so much, these hands. They have saved many, killed even more.
It surprises her, sometimes, how young she is. She stares at her hands and thinks: Twenty-three. I am twenty-three.
-
There’s a cramp in her wrist, and the gun is cold in her hands.
At her feet the Master is slowly bleeding from a chest wound. He laughs, sings “Qui a peur du grand méchant loup, méchant loup, méchant loup?”
(She becomes legend.
Of course she does. Rose Tyler, bound from the beginning to become a name both revered and feared.)
-
“They’re getting easier,” Rose says, fingertips tracing the stitching of her jeans. “The jumps. Torchwood’s managed to work out the kinks of landing, so. It doesn’t hurt as much.”
Jackie doesn’t reply.
“I’m so close, Mum. I just know it.”
Rose watches her mother’s retreating back, refuses to apologize for wanting something - someone - so much.
-
It feels right, this Earth beneath her feet. It feels more like home than any other Earth she’s been on these past few years.
“Listen,” a stranger says “There is this woman that’s going to come along. A tall blonde woman called Sylvia.”
Rose narrows her eyes, feels something inside her attempt to claw out.
“Tell her that bin there,” the stranger continues. “Right. It’ll all make sense. That bin there.”
-
Jackie carefully picks up her tea cup, looks at her daughter. “Do you know I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you?”
“Mum.”
“When I held you for the first time, you where so small. And I thought, oh, I thought that I knew what love was. I was crazy about your father. But you. You changed everything.”
Rose moves her gaze to the tabletop, chest tight and painful inside her.
“Promise me. Promise you’ll say goodbye first.”
“Yes,” Rose breathes. “I promise. I do. Yes.”