my almost lover
my almost lover, 10.5/Rose, G
The Doctor who was left with her on that godforsaken beach…him, she didn’t know at all., 1173
It was hard for them. Hard for them to pick up where they left off. She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be. In all the years she spent getting back to him, she hadn’t thought much past finally being with him.
She saw now that she was mistaken.
The Doctor she’d known was not the Doctor she met on that abandoned street. She’d glimpsed darkness in him, facing down the Daleks.
The Doctor who was left with her on that godforsaken beach…him, she didn’t know at all. All she’d been able to feel in that moment was that her Doctor was leaving her. Doing what he’d promised would never happen to her. She’d gone with impulse, listened to her impetuous heart and kissed the Doctor in the blue suit when he’d finally said the words she’d been hoping he would say. She flushed with shame remembering why she’d kissed him. Silly human, thinking this pettiness would make an ancient Time Lord jealous. He’d just left. No goodbye.
When the sounds of the TARDIS had faded, she’d realized he’d grabbed her hand and had instinctively let go. This hand was only for the Doctor. She’d realized how that had come off only after it was too late. This space between her and the half-human Doctor grew cold as they made their way to the pick-up point for one of Pete’s zeppelins.
She’d tried to make some sort of conversation, but after meeting a solid wall of monosyllabic answers, she’d given up. Jackie remained quiet, letting them sort it out themselves. When they’d gotten back to the mansion, Pete had set him up in his own room after he’d quietly asked for a place to rest. She’d left him alone, noting the tiredness in his face that she’d never seen in her Doctor. She’d gone to sleep that night feeling awful and wanting to make amends.
The next morning he was gone.
*
The days following the mending of the rifts of reality were vague to Rose. She’d been so one-track minded for so long that not thinking about getting back to the Doctor and dedicating every moment to it was so foreign that she felt adrift.
She moved through Torchwood labs in a haze of unreality. She oversaw the disassembly of the Cannon, a feeling of grief gripping her as she watched her last link to her Doctor being taken away. Still, she knew it was for the best. They hadn’t saved all of creation for nothing.
She took to exploring the city and its surrounding areas. Whereas before she’d thought of this alternate reality as nothing more than a launch point to get back to her home universe, now she knew she would have to make her home here.
The familiar sights mixed in with the out-of-place and incongruous stirred a bit of curiosity in her, but also weighed her. She didn’t realize how much it wore on her until she stood across from the London Eye and noticed it was a docking station for zeppelins. The tears came without volition and she bent over in pain, hidden within a doorway.
*
A month passed and a letter arrived for Rose at the mansion. The utilitarian brown of the envelope had seen its share of coffee and cramped spaces. It was postmarked from Czechoslovakia. The handwriting on the front looked vaguely familiar.
Sitting on the edge of her bed she opened it, anxiety in the shaking of her fingers. She paused before opening the battered letter, sternly ordering herself to calm down.
Opening it slowly and taking in the words, she felt a silent sigh sweep through her.
Rose,
I’m writing because I hope this letter finds you I don’t even know if you’ll How many ways can I start this letter? I don’t even know if I’ll post this once I’m done writing but I had to write down something. Even if I’m using this ancient device called a PEN of all things. (If you haven’t noticed by now, I’m going to blather on a bit, I’ve got the tenth incarnation of me AND Donna Noble running through me-you can imagine how that might turn out.)
I left to try to find myself. I’m not your Doctor. I’m not human. I’m not a Time Lord. I don’t know what I am. It’s like that feeling I have each time I’ve-or I guess, he’s-regenerated. Except a thousand fold.
Now, don’t be reading this part and feeling all bad about yourself, Rose. I know you didn’t exactly mean to treat me the way you did on the beach. I mean, you did, but you, like myself, were just getting used to the enormous change our lives had taken. So I understand. Don’t beat yourself up about it.
Rose sniffed at this. He knew her.
I don’t think I’ve found myself yet, but I do feel like I’ve discovered a little about who I am, this metacrisis self of mine. I know I still like to travel, that I’m curious about other people. (Notice that I’m in Czechoslovakia right now! Czechoslovakia! We don’t have that back in our universe anymore!)
I get tired. I have to sleep, Rose! Sleep for HOURS on end on a regular basis! Okay, maybe not “hours on end” but definitely at least five, which is more than I’ve ever had to do before.
I’m still brilliant. Don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s just a fact, not stroking my ego. (Though I could use a bit of that.) The other day, I was able to fix my landlady’s broken air conditioner with no more than a toothpick and some toilet paper (don’t ask how because I’m still trying to figure it out-apparently I can know these things but not really know them-which doesn’t make any sense, but oh, well).
I know I still I miss you. It was hard when I was still my full Time Lord self, but now I don’t have the control garnered over hundreds of years, I’ve only got a few weeks worth developed. And it hurts. This human heart, even if it’s only one, seems to experience a lot of emotion. More than I’m used to.
Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate. I know that you’re still finding your own footing, too. I just thought that, maybe, if you want, you could be my friend. I need a friend.
I don’t even know how to sign this.
The letter ended abruptly.
For long moments, she sat staring at the paper, fingers absently tracing the lines of his words, stopping at friend. Tears gathered in her eyes as she realized that she badly needed a friend, too. While he may not be the Doctor she thought she would end up with, he was still someone who knew her and who cared for her. The least she could do was try.
Making her way to her desk, she pulled out a sheet of paper and put pen to it.
Dear Mr. Trying to Find Himself…
The Doctor who was left with her on that godforsaken beach…him, she didn’t know at all., 1173
It was hard for them. Hard for them to pick up where they left off. She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be. In all the years she spent getting back to him, she hadn’t thought much past finally being with him.
She saw now that she was mistaken.
The Doctor she’d known was not the Doctor she met on that abandoned street. She’d glimpsed darkness in him, facing down the Daleks.
The Doctor who was left with her on that godforsaken beach…him, she didn’t know at all. All she’d been able to feel in that moment was that her Doctor was leaving her. Doing what he’d promised would never happen to her. She’d gone with impulse, listened to her impetuous heart and kissed the Doctor in the blue suit when he’d finally said the words she’d been hoping he would say. She flushed with shame remembering why she’d kissed him. Silly human, thinking this pettiness would make an ancient Time Lord jealous. He’d just left. No goodbye.
When the sounds of the TARDIS had faded, she’d realized he’d grabbed her hand and had instinctively let go. This hand was only for the Doctor. She’d realized how that had come off only after it was too late. This space between her and the half-human Doctor grew cold as they made their way to the pick-up point for one of Pete’s zeppelins.
She’d tried to make some sort of conversation, but after meeting a solid wall of monosyllabic answers, she’d given up. Jackie remained quiet, letting them sort it out themselves. When they’d gotten back to the mansion, Pete had set him up in his own room after he’d quietly asked for a place to rest. She’d left him alone, noting the tiredness in his face that she’d never seen in her Doctor. She’d gone to sleep that night feeling awful and wanting to make amends.
The next morning he was gone.
*
The days following the mending of the rifts of reality were vague to Rose. She’d been so one-track minded for so long that not thinking about getting back to the Doctor and dedicating every moment to it was so foreign that she felt adrift.
She moved through Torchwood labs in a haze of unreality. She oversaw the disassembly of the Cannon, a feeling of grief gripping her as she watched her last link to her Doctor being taken away. Still, she knew it was for the best. They hadn’t saved all of creation for nothing.
She took to exploring the city and its surrounding areas. Whereas before she’d thought of this alternate reality as nothing more than a launch point to get back to her home universe, now she knew she would have to make her home here.
The familiar sights mixed in with the out-of-place and incongruous stirred a bit of curiosity in her, but also weighed her. She didn’t realize how much it wore on her until she stood across from the London Eye and noticed it was a docking station for zeppelins. The tears came without volition and she bent over in pain, hidden within a doorway.
*
A month passed and a letter arrived for Rose at the mansion. The utilitarian brown of the envelope had seen its share of coffee and cramped spaces. It was postmarked from Czechoslovakia. The handwriting on the front looked vaguely familiar.
Sitting on the edge of her bed she opened it, anxiety in the shaking of her fingers. She paused before opening the battered letter, sternly ordering herself to calm down.
Opening it slowly and taking in the words, she felt a silent sigh sweep through her.
Rose,
I’m writing because I hope this letter finds you I don’t even know if you’ll How many ways can I start this letter? I don’t even know if I’ll post this once I’m done writing but I had to write down something. Even if I’m using this ancient device called a PEN of all things. (If you haven’t noticed by now, I’m going to blather on a bit, I’ve got the tenth incarnation of me AND Donna Noble running through me-you can imagine how that might turn out.)
I left to try to find myself. I’m not your Doctor. I’m not human. I’m not a Time Lord. I don’t know what I am. It’s like that feeling I have each time I’ve-or I guess, he’s-regenerated. Except a thousand fold.
Now, don’t be reading this part and feeling all bad about yourself, Rose. I know you didn’t exactly mean to treat me the way you did on the beach. I mean, you did, but you, like myself, were just getting used to the enormous change our lives had taken. So I understand. Don’t beat yourself up about it.
Rose sniffed at this. He knew her.
I don’t think I’ve found myself yet, but I do feel like I’ve discovered a little about who I am, this metacrisis self of mine. I know I still like to travel, that I’m curious about other people. (Notice that I’m in Czechoslovakia right now! Czechoslovakia! We don’t have that back in our universe anymore!)
I get tired. I have to sleep, Rose! Sleep for HOURS on end on a regular basis! Okay, maybe not “hours on end” but definitely at least five, which is more than I’ve ever had to do before.
I’m still brilliant. Don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s just a fact, not stroking my ego. (Though I could use a bit of that.) The other day, I was able to fix my landlady’s broken air conditioner with no more than a toothpick and some toilet paper (don’t ask how because I’m still trying to figure it out-apparently I can know these things but not really know them-which doesn’t make any sense, but oh, well).
I know I still I miss you. It was hard when I was still my full Time Lord self, but now I don’t have the control garnered over hundreds of years, I’ve only got a few weeks worth developed. And it hurts. This human heart, even if it’s only one, seems to experience a lot of emotion. More than I’m used to.
Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate. I know that you’re still finding your own footing, too. I just thought that, maybe, if you want, you could be my friend. I need a friend.
I don’t even know how to sign this.
The letter ended abruptly.
For long moments, she sat staring at the paper, fingers absently tracing the lines of his words, stopping at friend. Tears gathered in her eyes as she realized that she badly needed a friend, too. While he may not be the Doctor she thought she would end up with, he was still someone who knew her and who cared for her. The least she could do was try.
Making her way to her desk, she pulled out a sheet of paper and put pen to it.
Dear Mr. Trying to Find Himself…