(no subject)
Jumping blind, Ten/Rose, Jackie, Pete, G, 1109 words
Excerpt: She wonders if she can turn this off once she finds him again. In a way, she’d regenerated herself-at least internally-and she had placed a rather large wager that her love for him could make her whole again, if she is indeed broken.
A/N: Post Doomsday, pre Stolen Earth.
Ten seconds ago…
The acrid taste swirls in her mouth as she bites back the nausea. Rose tries to breathe as she waits for her eyes to adjust and her ears to stop ringing. Damn, but ten seconds was too long to remain this vulnerable. She’d fix it once (if) she got back.
She steadies herself, willing her ears to come back first-and counts to ten before opening her eyes.
She could be absolutely anywhere.
4 years ago…
She goes back to school. She studies obsessively. She stays up all night reading. She carries around her journals, stuffed with equations and theorems and bits of quantum physics journal abstracts and article clippings. They are the only reality she believes in anymore. She is constantly writing things down. She forgets to eat. She forgets to sleep. Her mother finds her passed out at her desk more than she can count. She has terrible nightmares. She cries a lot, but she has a purpose. “Can’t” is not a word she believes in. She doesn’t need a fancy university to prove this. He taught her that.
Somehow, she prefers to believe that when he said, “you can’t” on the beach he meant not the way you are now. She also knows from experience that sometimes the Doctor is wrong. Her notebooks tell her he’s mistaken. She formulates her plan.
Pete hides from the arguments that follow. The angry, shrieking words are not absorbed by luxurious carpeting or fine soft furnishings. They ring off expensive marble tiles and land like tempered steel knives into the hearts of his girls; however in these moments he is never more keenly aware of how foreign they are-his never-was daughter and his other man’s wife. But even he can see how terrified they both are.
Six months ago…
She realises that she has become that sad alien hermit her mum once warned her about. Except the irony is that while she is in an alien world, she is still with her family. Jackie had not seen how being with the Doctor had made her more human, more alive. Just… more. Now she feels like a husk-like those ghosts that came on the last day she remembers being alive. She is only pressing herself into the surface of her world.
What was it he’d said, “A footprint doesn’t look like a boot”?
She fades with every failed attempt, every near miss, and every horrific experience. She experiences more than the Doctor ever showed her, and probably more than he ever wanted her to see. She learns there is something to be said for the guided tour. She is without her guide. The tour sucks. But she endures it, because every jump teaches her something that will eventually bring her closer.
She can almost smell him again, now, and that’s worth it. He becomes more real to her than she is to herself, and she wonders if it was always like this with him.
Twenty months ago…
They move to a larger estate. They needed the space for their “growing family” a.k.a. “Vitex” R&D. The fundamental argument between Jackie and Rose has never been settled, but has not been rekindled. There is an uneasy armistice between them when it comes to this subject. But it boils underneath, visible only in half-empty rooms and sideways glances. However Jackie guiltily feels her hypocrisy in every one of Pete’s embraces, and each time she kisses Tony. Finally it takes Mickey to convince Jackie that a life risking death is better than a death-like life. She stops arguing, but she never stops worrying.
Even though she may not be his, Rose seems more alike to Pete than he ever expected. He agrees to help her, for this is the universe of unlimited potential-at least it seems it is for the Tylers. But they have little time to become father and daughter, or even boss and employee. And while he only knew the Doctor for a short time, he understands her drive more than he can admit. He continues to trust her, like he did that day he met a temporary catering staffer who gave him champagne with some marital advice. One day he realises he is proud of her, and it is the first time he has ever allowed himself to feel like her father. He begins to viscerally understand Jackie’s fears, but part of him just really wants to see if Rose’s idea will work.
Instead, he fights with her over what she will wear. Pointless, really, after all of his other precautions, the pre-jump and post-jump medical checks, the inoculations, the training. They’ve learned so much in eighteen months, plus the patents will keep them funded into the millennia. Even without Cybermen, this world needs help, too. Although watching her jump one day he catches himself muttering, “There goes my amazing daughter, Rose Tyler,” after she disappears he turns away from the operatives, wiping the tears from his eyes. It surprises him. He doesn’t know why it should. But he knows that each time she goes she may never come back.
Ten days ago…
She knows she’s been hardened. The smallness of her guilt about using Donna tells her that much. She rationalizes it to herself that if she’d met the actual Donna-his Donna-she’d do it unquestioningly-because she has seen it so often. After all, she has seen countless strangers brave death just to help him over the years. Truth is, she wonders if she can turn this off once she finds him again. In a way, she’s regenerated herself-at least internally-and she placed a rather large wager that her love for him could make her whole again, if she is indeed broken.
She bet her soul. She tries not to think about what he’s bet, or if he’s bet at all.
Twenty seconds ago…
Static electricity causes her hair to halo as she activates the machine. The atmosphere crackles and sparks and all sound drops out around her. Pete and the operatives step back to a safe distance. In a blinding flash she is gone. In her place, she leaves behind a disturbance in the air that looks like a reverse lightning strike, or a small rocket blast, ripping through the fabric of space/time. It has turned the night sky the colour of algae.
Of course she leaves behind more than atmospheric excitation, but she doesn’t think about that anymore.
She used to see their faces. She doesn’t anymore. She only sees him.
Now…
She is counting.
The sound of her breath returns to her.
Before she even opens her eyes,
She knows she’s got it right…
Excerpt: She wonders if she can turn this off once she finds him again. In a way, she’d regenerated herself-at least internally-and she had placed a rather large wager that her love for him could make her whole again, if she is indeed broken.
A/N: Post Doomsday, pre Stolen Earth.
Ten seconds ago…
The acrid taste swirls in her mouth as she bites back the nausea. Rose tries to breathe as she waits for her eyes to adjust and her ears to stop ringing. Damn, but ten seconds was too long to remain this vulnerable. She’d fix it once (if) she got back.
She steadies herself, willing her ears to come back first-and counts to ten before opening her eyes.
She could be absolutely anywhere.
4 years ago…
She goes back to school. She studies obsessively. She stays up all night reading. She carries around her journals, stuffed with equations and theorems and bits of quantum physics journal abstracts and article clippings. They are the only reality she believes in anymore. She is constantly writing things down. She forgets to eat. She forgets to sleep. Her mother finds her passed out at her desk more than she can count. She has terrible nightmares. She cries a lot, but she has a purpose. “Can’t” is not a word she believes in. She doesn’t need a fancy university to prove this. He taught her that.
Somehow, she prefers to believe that when he said, “you can’t” on the beach he meant not the way you are now. She also knows from experience that sometimes the Doctor is wrong. Her notebooks tell her he’s mistaken. She formulates her plan.
Pete hides from the arguments that follow. The angry, shrieking words are not absorbed by luxurious carpeting or fine soft furnishings. They ring off expensive marble tiles and land like tempered steel knives into the hearts of his girls; however in these moments he is never more keenly aware of how foreign they are-his never-was daughter and his other man’s wife. But even he can see how terrified they both are.
Six months ago…
She realises that she has become that sad alien hermit her mum once warned her about. Except the irony is that while she is in an alien world, she is still with her family. Jackie had not seen how being with the Doctor had made her more human, more alive. Just… more. Now she feels like a husk-like those ghosts that came on the last day she remembers being alive. She is only pressing herself into the surface of her world.
What was it he’d said, “A footprint doesn’t look like a boot”?
She fades with every failed attempt, every near miss, and every horrific experience. She experiences more than the Doctor ever showed her, and probably more than he ever wanted her to see. She learns there is something to be said for the guided tour. She is without her guide. The tour sucks. But she endures it, because every jump teaches her something that will eventually bring her closer.
She can almost smell him again, now, and that’s worth it. He becomes more real to her than she is to herself, and she wonders if it was always like this with him.
Twenty months ago…
They move to a larger estate. They needed the space for their “growing family” a.k.a. “Vitex” R&D. The fundamental argument between Jackie and Rose has never been settled, but has not been rekindled. There is an uneasy armistice between them when it comes to this subject. But it boils underneath, visible only in half-empty rooms and sideways glances. However Jackie guiltily feels her hypocrisy in every one of Pete’s embraces, and each time she kisses Tony. Finally it takes Mickey to convince Jackie that a life risking death is better than a death-like life. She stops arguing, but she never stops worrying.
Even though she may not be his, Rose seems more alike to Pete than he ever expected. He agrees to help her, for this is the universe of unlimited potential-at least it seems it is for the Tylers. But they have little time to become father and daughter, or even boss and employee. And while he only knew the Doctor for a short time, he understands her drive more than he can admit. He continues to trust her, like he did that day he met a temporary catering staffer who gave him champagne with some marital advice. One day he realises he is proud of her, and it is the first time he has ever allowed himself to feel like her father. He begins to viscerally understand Jackie’s fears, but part of him just really wants to see if Rose’s idea will work.
Instead, he fights with her over what she will wear. Pointless, really, after all of his other precautions, the pre-jump and post-jump medical checks, the inoculations, the training. They’ve learned so much in eighteen months, plus the patents will keep them funded into the millennia. Even without Cybermen, this world needs help, too. Although watching her jump one day he catches himself muttering, “There goes my amazing daughter, Rose Tyler,” after she disappears he turns away from the operatives, wiping the tears from his eyes. It surprises him. He doesn’t know why it should. But he knows that each time she goes she may never come back.
Ten days ago…
She knows she’s been hardened. The smallness of her guilt about using Donna tells her that much. She rationalizes it to herself that if she’d met the actual Donna-his Donna-she’d do it unquestioningly-because she has seen it so often. After all, she has seen countless strangers brave death just to help him over the years. Truth is, she wonders if she can turn this off once she finds him again. In a way, she’s regenerated herself-at least internally-and she placed a rather large wager that her love for him could make her whole again, if she is indeed broken.
She bet her soul. She tries not to think about what he’s bet, or if he’s bet at all.
Twenty seconds ago…
Static electricity causes her hair to halo as she activates the machine. The atmosphere crackles and sparks and all sound drops out around her. Pete and the operatives step back to a safe distance. In a blinding flash she is gone. In her place, she leaves behind a disturbance in the air that looks like a reverse lightning strike, or a small rocket blast, ripping through the fabric of space/time. It has turned the night sky the colour of algae.
Of course she leaves behind more than atmospheric excitation, but she doesn’t think about that anymore.
She used to see their faces. She doesn’t anymore. She only sees him.
Now…
She is counting.
The sound of her breath returns to her.
Before she even opens her eyes,
She knows she’s got it right…