(no subject)
endings, Ten/Rose, pg-13
The stars were out in the sky, but they both made a habit of not looking up at them. They were different, foreign, he told her when she asked. They looked different; they looked strange, all in the wrong place in the sky., 4139 words
a/n: A sort of AU of Doomsday. I've been working on it ages and I'm still not sure it works, but I had to get it out there.
Don’t leave now that you’re here-
Stay. So the world may become like itself again
He had called her name.
It wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t a memory. He was calling to her, his whisper so loud in her ears it was almost screaming; a voice that sounded almost lost. It was deep and pleading and asking and wanting all at once.
She was sure of it. She knew it. She wasn’t sure what would happen; standing on a deserted beach in Norway. Not entirely. She was waiting for that familiar sound though - that beautiful sound of time and the vortex. He’ll come. He brought her here. He’ll come.
The sea looked calm and gentle and a dull grey as she stared out at it. It calmed the nerves and the excitement plaguing her. Though the dim blue reminded her of the TARDIS, managing both to choke her and make her smile at the same time.
She sensed him rather than heard him. Turning to her left, he stood meters away from her, looking as much the same as he ever did. Her memories of him were cruel, but as she walked closer to him, she saw they did him no justice at all. His hair flew in the wind, a bolder chestnut than she remembered; his eyes were radiant, warm and deep, and she tried to ignore the darkness and sadness she saw linger in them. His suit looked the same as ever, his hands buried deep inside his trouser pockets; she’d almost forgotten that habit. It had been too long.
Her hand reached out to meet his arm. It was real, solid. He was real. She almost broke right there. “You’re here,” she whispered.
Before she could say another word, his arms were wrapping themselves around her. He smelt just like he always did, of vanilla and books and rain, and as she breathed him in she almost choked on the lump that formed in her throat.
When they finally broke free and he pulled back to look at her, really look at her, his eyes were shining and wide with something she recognised as pain; pain and happiness, and maybe a little bit of fear.
“How are you here?” she asked quietly. She said forever, but he said impossible; this shouldn’t really be happening, she knew that - it is though. God, it is - and as much as she just wanted to grab him and hold him close forever, the questions wouldn’t leave her alone.
When he finally spoke, something in his voice shook. His eyes looked as though he’d been to hell and back. “There was one little gap in the universe,” he said. “I was able to send myself through, but there wasn’t enough energy for the TARDIS to...” He swallowed. “They’ll be just enough power to send me back again. I’m on a kind of…” he frowned and gestured his hand in such a familiar way, “ a kind of timer, if you like. The TARDIS will pull me back… soon.”
“Back?” she whispered. Her voice sounded delicate, trembling, but she forced herself not to give in to the pressure behind her eyes and constructing her throat.
He nodded, tiny dips of the head.
“Can you…” she hesitated, swallowed, “can you pull me back with you?” she asked, only half hopeful. It would kill her mum, Mickey and her new father, but she knew she would embrace her life back on the TARDIS with him in a heartbeat.
The sorrow in his eyes was enough to answer her question, though. “There’s not enough power. I… I can’t,” he said, voice thick with regret.
She nodded, eyes dipping down to the sand. “How long do you have?”
“Twelve hours,” he half whispered. “Twelve hours, I think. If I got the settings right.”
Rose looked up. It was longer than she expected, the best she could hope for under the circumstances. She pretended it was enough, nodding and giving him a weak smile.
He took a deep breath, looked around the beach. “You can show me what you’ve been doing,” he told her. “Show me the influence Rose Tyler has made here.” He turned back to her and gave a smile, a tiny wink. “Must’ve been a big one.”
Rose laughed. She realised she hadn’t laughed like this in a long time; it felt good. “Don’t know about that. Think I can show you though. If you don’t mind flying all the way back to London.”
He frowned. “Where are we now?”
She tilted her head, still giggling slightly. “Norway,” she said as if he should know that already.
“Norway,” he repeated with a nod, apparently surprised. He looked at her, a small smile bridging his lips. “You travelled all the way to Norway.”
She nodded gently. “I heard you. Your voice,” she whispered. Then she looked away, his searing gaze breaking her just a little. “Wasn’t too difficult. Pete - I mean… my dad - he has a helicopter. They’re a bit quicker than the zeppelins.”
There was a tiny pause, in which nothing but the coarse sea wind and waves could be heard, whispering. Rose gazed up at the Doctor, drinking him in. “Back to London then?” he asked. “It’s a bit chilly out here.”
In all honestly Rose could feel no chill at all; watching him watch her warmed her up more than anything had in months. She nodded though; after all, if they had several hours, she didn’t fancy spending them all on a deserted beach. Her hand reached out for his and he grasped it tightly, almost protectively, in his own. His eyes caught sight of something over her shoulder as she was about to turn, and he frowned.
“It’s Mr Mickey,” he said, some fondness slipping into his tone. “And your mum, and Pete.” He smiled warmly over at them, and raised a hand to give a friendly wave.
Rose turned to see her family waiting by the car; in truth she’d almost forgotten they existed. “We better go,” she said softly. Hand still grasping his, she led him towards her family.
“There you are,” Jackie says as they reached them. Her voice was trying to be good-natured but her face was sombre as she asked with arms crossed, “Are you off already then? Where’s that ship of yours?” She was speaking to both of them, that much was clear.
Rose swallowed hard and took a steady breath. “It’s not here, mum.”
Jackie frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but the Doctor interrupted, pointing at the car behind them as his hand tightened around Rose’s. “You got enough gas for a trip back to London?”
“Yeah,” replied Pete with a frown. “Why?”
The Doctor gave a small sigh, a lighting smile curving his lips. “Because, Pete, we could do with a lift.”
Rose let the Doctor do the talking once they were seated in the car, his soft voice washing over her as her head lolled on his shoulder, her eyes closed. She didn’t plan on sleeping, certainly not anytime in the next twelve hours. If she only had a small amount of time left with him, she wasn’t about to let a second of it go to waste. Like now, listening to his voice.
She opened her eyes when a steady silence settled, the only sound the hum of the car. The Doctor was staring straight ahead, out of the front window. She squeezed his hand; neither had let go since she first took hold of his. He looked down at her, a dark pain shining in his eyes.
“You okay?” she whispered.
He nodded, frowning slightly as his eyes moved, distractedly, from hers. “’Of course I am.”
She frowned at him. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, the small roll of his eyes making her smile. “I’m a Time Lord, remember. I don’t get tired.”
Her gaze moved to the window and she watched for a moment as trees and fields rushed past them.
“So, what does the good ol’ London town of this universe have to offer then?” the Doctor interrupted her thoughts.
She smiled at him. “Not much more than the other to be honest. Pleanty of shops -”
“Oh no,” he said before she could get any further, “We are not going shopping! Last time we went shopping together, we went into Harrods and didn’t leave for five hours. That won’t happen again.”
Rose laughed at his horror-struck face. “Well, you shouldn’t have given me that credit card!”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. “I’m in luck then, because I don’t have it with me today. So no shopping.” His smile faded slightly though, as a fresh wave of silence settled. “We’ll have to think of something else to do,” he said then, much to loudly, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah,” Rose said quietly. “It’ll be an adventure.” Then she swallowed, whispering softly, “Our last adventure.”
She glanced up at him and felt her heart break a little. His expression was etched with something deeper than sadness; an emotion that looked like it was drowning him. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything the car had come to a stop.
“Here we are,” said Pete loudly from the front. “The ride to London shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”
Rose looked down at her watch. An entire hour had passed since she met the Doctor on that beach. She climbed out of the car, her head full of nothing but ticking clocks. Eleven more hours.
“You know, I don’t think we’ve rode in a helicopter together before,” the Doctor mentioned later, once they were in London.
Rose looked up at him. “No, we haven’t,” she acknowledged. They were walking down a London high street, where the Doctor was (surprisingly successfully) avoiding every shop they came across. Having left her parents and Mickey a little over half an hour ago, Rose was becoming conscious of the time again. She was trying very hard not to keep checking her watch.
“Good,” said the Doctor, a furrow in his brow. “That’s… good. What else haven’t we done?” he asked her.
“Quite a list, that,” Rose admitted. She glanced around at the city, at the cars and the people, and she wished they were somewhere else. She wished they were in the TARDIS. Sighing, she brought her eyes to the ground. If wishes were fishes… she heard her a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her Nan.
“Well,” he said slowly, “what about you? What do you want to do most right now?”
She looked up at him. He was watching her carefully, and she wasn’t entirely sure how long for. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something relaxed about his expression. She smiled a little sadly, quite sure neither could really have what they wanted most right then. She took his hand and swung it back and forth as they walked along the street, head on his shoulder. “Do you remember that planet we went to with the diamonds? We had ice cream under those flying leaves, and you took me on that little boat near the giant roses.”
The Doctor laughed softly. “You mean before they banished us because we laughed at those strange little hats they had.”
Rose brushed her shoulder hard against him, eyes falling to the ground and grinning. “You mean you laughed at their hats.” She was oblivious to the strange stares their conversation was arousing.
“Oh come on, they were a bit odd,” he insisted defensively. “Anyway,” he glanced at her, “you didn’t answer my question.”
Rose nodded. “I know.” Then she smiled. “I liked the ice cream,” she admitted quietly.
He smiled black at her then, eyes light. “I can give you ice cream.”
He dragged her over to an ice cream stand then. They shared one together, even though she knew they could have afforded two if he’d wanted. “I’m not hungry,” he insisted, shortly before taking several licks for himself.
They laughed on a bench together, eating their ice cream and impossibly relaxed, with people staring at them with furrows in their brows, and the world ticking by with movement and noise. The Doctor spilt some it down his tie, grumbling as Rose giggled into his arm, right up until he wiped the messy stuff on his finger and touched her once on the nose. Brow furrowing and nose wrinkling, Rose glared as the Doctor laughed.
For more than half an hour, Rose forgot to check her watch.
They went to her flat, though she wasn’t sure why. “I want to see it,” he’d insisted, as they got into the nearest taxi.
He was disappointed, but it was what she expected. The rooms were blank, bare, white. There wasn’t much furniture, but there were several bits of equipment and alien artefacts she had taken away from Torchwood to look at, but had then promptly forgotten to take back again.
It reminded her that she hadn’t exactly told him where she worked. “Where did you get one of these?” Slight disappointment at the lack of her flat’s character was replaced by the excitement layering his voice; he sounded like a small boy a Christmas. “I don’t even have one of these.” He was handling a small, lime coloured stone that glowed subtly when placed into someone’s hands.
“I’m looking after it,” she said after a moment, coming over to stand beside him. “It’s… part of my job.”
He looked up at her, frowning. “You… look after Grasfoh stones as part of your job?”
Her eyes widened in interest, and she walked over to take the stone from his hands. “That’s what it’s called?”
“Yes, commonly found on the Strainfjok planet. They came down to earth occasionally over a billion years ago- but wait, that’s not the point! Why do you have one?” He frowned at her, more curious than anything.
Unsure of his reaction, she bit on her lip, before saying quietly, “I work for Torchwood now.”
He only smiled, and there were a million emotions written all over his face, but above them all, the one she saw clearest was pride. “Defender of the Earth,” he told her, “That’s you.”
She reached out to touch his arm. His body was wrapped around hers in a second, the heavy beats of his hearts loud and wonderful against her. “Tell me what to do.”
He buried his face in her hair. “Come to dinner with me,” he whispered softly.
She looked herself up and down in the mirror. She couldn’t really see much; the mirror in her bedroom was small, and it was impossible to get a full view of herself. The dress she wore was the only formal one she had; whether it was flattering her or not, she had no idea. She was, however, very conscious of the time. If she didn’t hurry, dinner was all they’d be doing.
“Rose?” The Doctor’s voice called from behind the door. “You done yet?” He came in without waiting for an answer, something Rose was sure she’d berate him for, were they back on the TARDIS.
She looked up at him. “What d’you think? This okay?”
She saw him swallow; saw his eyes full of some desire he would never tell her of; his mouth opened, before abruptly closing again. He tried to clear his throat. “Yes! Uhm, fabulous is… You - you - look…” He couldn’t quite seem to finish.
Rose smiled gleefully. “In that case.” She held out her arm to him. “Come to dinner with me, Sir Doctor?”
He gathered enough air to his lungs to give a smile, his arm linking around hers. “I’d love to Dame Rose. Love to.”
“I was not being different just to be different or difficult,” he said, though of course he was, when he ordered them four deserts each instead of any main meal, flavours of strawberry and chocolate and date and banana placed in front of them by a curious and slightly confused waiter moments after.
Rose watched him; he put cherry sauce on his chocolate cheesecake, slowly and deliberately, then poured cream on top, before putting his spoon down to give her a long look back. He didn’t eat anything. “You’re not hungry?” he asked her, when she didn’t pick up her own spoon.
Rose tried to smile. Her eyes felt like someone was pricking pins in them, her throat felt like a narrow tube. Looking at him was beginning to hurt. “I…” She swallowed. Then, “What’ll you do when you’re gone?”
He looked down at their uneaten puddings. “It’ll be fine,” he said quietly. She couldn’t hear much belief in it; he seemed to be trying to convince himself. “I think when we get back to the flat, we’ll have to redecorate it or something. It’s very bare Rose, and… white. I thought you liked pink? And blue. You said, you told me once, one of your favourite colours is blue! Blue is a brilliant colour.”
She laughed, and as good as it felt, it still stung. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It was- it is. It’s great! I just… sometimes, white’s nice too.” She thought of white walls and white pain and the taste of salt. Sometimes she liked white though; it was something to remind her that the last two and half years had been real. “Sometimes.”
There was a silence. The Doctor stared down at his cheesecake; his mind looked a whole other place, and he was lost. She wanted then to reach out to him, to take his hand, pull him up, and run with him. Run somewhere, anywhere. A slow beating rhythm, a song she didn’t know, but somehow matched the bearing of her hearts, was beginning to play through the speakers. Not taking her eyes from him, Rose stood up and went up to him, holding out her hand. He met her gaze.
“Doctor,” she said. She touched his shoulder. “Come and dance with me?”
He didn’t need to answer. He stood, he took her arm and he led her away from the crowds of tables and people surrounding them. There was a balcony closed off, away from the rustle of dozens of voices and smells of hot food. The Doctor led her to the glass doors sealing it off; the buzzing of the sonic screwdriver came moments later. The sound made Rose swallow, another voice of her home long gone.
It was chilly outside. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the sky and making the air cool. The Doctor left the door ajar and the music, melancholy and quiet, whispered through. Slipping the screwdriver back into his pocket, he turned to her. She went over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and for some moments there were no words, only the gentle music as they swayed back and forth in a strange movement. It wasn’t really dancing at all.
“It’s been a while,” he whispered eventually.
“What has?”
There was a pause. “Since you were gone, since you fell,” he said.
Rose had a sudden vision of years passing, dozens of years and he’s rewiring things and fixing things in the hope of getting back to her. Then she frowned. No. That was not the Doctor. He wouldn’t do that. “How long?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation.
He breathed through his nose a few times before answering. “Eight months, seven days.” She looked up at him, and he gave a sad smile. “And sixteen hours and seven minutes.” He gave a shrug, clearly going for nonchalance. She wondered what he’d been doing in that time. Looking at him, she knew he’d never tell her. “How about you then?” he asked, trying to be light. “How long was it for you?”
“Just… a few months,” she said quietly. “A very long few months.”
He grinned cheekily then, though his eyes still had that look of sadness she would never get used to. “Enough time to miss me, then?”
She smiled back at him, head falling against his shoulder. “Maybe. But you never know, maybe I’ve been too busy to miss you.”
He chuckled softly, the sound soft by her ear. “Maybe so.”
“Promise me something,” she wondered after a moment.
“What’s that?”
She pulled away too look up at him. “Find someone.” He frowned at her, and her grip around him tightened. “Please. Don’t be alone.”
He smiled again, and it seemed to hurt. “Maybe,” he said. He nodded. “Maybe.”
They continued that slow dance that wasn’t a dance long after the music had faded away.
They walked through the park, night covering the city. The stars were out in the sky, but they both made a habit of not looking up at them. They were different, foreign, he told her when she asked. They looked different; they looked strange, all in the wrong place in the sky.
They talked about things unimportant; how much more houses cost here, what Rose did at Torchwood now, whether she had a car or how much her rent cost. Small things; things he wanted to know, things he felt he needed to know. He wanted to know she was happy, and she wasn’t sure what to tell him.
When they went back to the flat, only then did Rose check her watch. She felt her heart beat a little faster, fear licking against her throat. Time seemed to have sped up; it was as if someone had fixed the clocks to go extra fast.
They went into the bedroom, where the Doctor eyed the bed and the Torchwood uniform hung up by her wardrobe; he moved his eyes to the clothes littering the floor, the makeup on the bedside table. He turned to her, and there was something odd in his eyes. He swallowed. She sat down on the bed, and felt his weight next to her moments later. She looked up at him; the expression was still there.
“I’ll miss you,” he said abruptly, and god, it hurt to see him looking at her like that. To say goodbye, it would be like admitting defeat.
“Don’t,” she whispered through a closed throat. “Doctor, I-” She stopped, and couldn’t continue.
He took her hand, and brought her closer. They sat together on the bed she hated, in the room she hated, and she knew suddenly how cruel this was. A day wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough, and yet it was too much.
He breathed heavily next to her; the beat of his hearts on her shoulder was like a ticking clock. “It’s soon, Rose,” he whispered, and it was almost a plea. “It’s so soon.”
She looked up at him, knowing it was one of the last times she would see him. “Doctor, I love you,” she said suddenly.
It almost came from nowhere. Hours of bracing herself to say it, say it in the right way, at the right moment; but there was no special way, she realised. It was just him and her and the truth, sitting together in the room, and she just couldn’t stand it anymore.
She didn’t expect his reaction (though in all honesty she wasn’t sure what to expect); a hand wrapped around her waist, the other coming through her hair, his gaze burning into her with darkening eyes. Taking her cheek in his hand, his lips crashed into hers as they leant back on the bed. Their noses bumped awkwardly, and his hearts felt like running footsteps against her chest. She breathed into his mouth, and his lips grazed her cheek.
Letting out a heavy breath, she folded herself against him and not one more word was said for a long time.
They lay together later. In his arms, she holds on extra tight. Maybe if she doesn’t let go, he will never disappear. She can feel his eyes on her, and she wishes it wouldn’t hurt so much to look back at him. He leans down against her, breath in her hair, hearts beating by her hand. A kiss is pressed over her eye and she watches the curve of his jaw, the freckles on his cheeks, and suddenly she knows she can’t, she won’t, let the universes win so easily.
Gently, Rose pulls back and stares at him. “We’ll be okay, you know,” she says, “in the end.”
He swallows, looking up to meet her gaze. His hand lingers by her face and his eyes shine. “Doesn’t feel very okay,” he tells her, honesty clear in his expression.
Rose simply squeezes his hand tightly for one last time before she tells him with a spark of defiance in her eyes, “That’s because it’s not the end.”
He’s frowning, but before he can reply, time has crashed into them as it always must and she’s left holding hands with nothing but air.
fin
The stars were out in the sky, but they both made a habit of not looking up at them. They were different, foreign, he told her when she asked. They looked different; they looked strange, all in the wrong place in the sky., 4139 words
a/n: A sort of AU of Doomsday. I've been working on it ages and I'm still not sure it works, but I had to get it out there.
Don’t leave now that you’re here-
Stay. So the world may become like itself again
He had called her name.
It wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t a memory. He was calling to her, his whisper so loud in her ears it was almost screaming; a voice that sounded almost lost. It was deep and pleading and asking and wanting all at once.
She was sure of it. She knew it. She wasn’t sure what would happen; standing on a deserted beach in Norway. Not entirely. She was waiting for that familiar sound though - that beautiful sound of time and the vortex. He’ll come. He brought her here. He’ll come.
The sea looked calm and gentle and a dull grey as she stared out at it. It calmed the nerves and the excitement plaguing her. Though the dim blue reminded her of the TARDIS, managing both to choke her and make her smile at the same time.
She sensed him rather than heard him. Turning to her left, he stood meters away from her, looking as much the same as he ever did. Her memories of him were cruel, but as she walked closer to him, she saw they did him no justice at all. His hair flew in the wind, a bolder chestnut than she remembered; his eyes were radiant, warm and deep, and she tried to ignore the darkness and sadness she saw linger in them. His suit looked the same as ever, his hands buried deep inside his trouser pockets; she’d almost forgotten that habit. It had been too long.
Her hand reached out to meet his arm. It was real, solid. He was real. She almost broke right there. “You’re here,” she whispered.
Before she could say another word, his arms were wrapping themselves around her. He smelt just like he always did, of vanilla and books and rain, and as she breathed him in she almost choked on the lump that formed in her throat.
When they finally broke free and he pulled back to look at her, really look at her, his eyes were shining and wide with something she recognised as pain; pain and happiness, and maybe a little bit of fear.
“How are you here?” she asked quietly. She said forever, but he said impossible; this shouldn’t really be happening, she knew that - it is though. God, it is - and as much as she just wanted to grab him and hold him close forever, the questions wouldn’t leave her alone.
When he finally spoke, something in his voice shook. His eyes looked as though he’d been to hell and back. “There was one little gap in the universe,” he said. “I was able to send myself through, but there wasn’t enough energy for the TARDIS to...” He swallowed. “They’ll be just enough power to send me back again. I’m on a kind of…” he frowned and gestured his hand in such a familiar way, “ a kind of timer, if you like. The TARDIS will pull me back… soon.”
“Back?” she whispered. Her voice sounded delicate, trembling, but she forced herself not to give in to the pressure behind her eyes and constructing her throat.
He nodded, tiny dips of the head.
“Can you…” she hesitated, swallowed, “can you pull me back with you?” she asked, only half hopeful. It would kill her mum, Mickey and her new father, but she knew she would embrace her life back on the TARDIS with him in a heartbeat.
The sorrow in his eyes was enough to answer her question, though. “There’s not enough power. I… I can’t,” he said, voice thick with regret.
She nodded, eyes dipping down to the sand. “How long do you have?”
“Twelve hours,” he half whispered. “Twelve hours, I think. If I got the settings right.”
Rose looked up. It was longer than she expected, the best she could hope for under the circumstances. She pretended it was enough, nodding and giving him a weak smile.
He took a deep breath, looked around the beach. “You can show me what you’ve been doing,” he told her. “Show me the influence Rose Tyler has made here.” He turned back to her and gave a smile, a tiny wink. “Must’ve been a big one.”
Rose laughed. She realised she hadn’t laughed like this in a long time; it felt good. “Don’t know about that. Think I can show you though. If you don’t mind flying all the way back to London.”
He frowned. “Where are we now?”
She tilted her head, still giggling slightly. “Norway,” she said as if he should know that already.
“Norway,” he repeated with a nod, apparently surprised. He looked at her, a small smile bridging his lips. “You travelled all the way to Norway.”
She nodded gently. “I heard you. Your voice,” she whispered. Then she looked away, his searing gaze breaking her just a little. “Wasn’t too difficult. Pete - I mean… my dad - he has a helicopter. They’re a bit quicker than the zeppelins.”
There was a tiny pause, in which nothing but the coarse sea wind and waves could be heard, whispering. Rose gazed up at the Doctor, drinking him in. “Back to London then?” he asked. “It’s a bit chilly out here.”
In all honestly Rose could feel no chill at all; watching him watch her warmed her up more than anything had in months. She nodded though; after all, if they had several hours, she didn’t fancy spending them all on a deserted beach. Her hand reached out for his and he grasped it tightly, almost protectively, in his own. His eyes caught sight of something over her shoulder as she was about to turn, and he frowned.
“It’s Mr Mickey,” he said, some fondness slipping into his tone. “And your mum, and Pete.” He smiled warmly over at them, and raised a hand to give a friendly wave.
Rose turned to see her family waiting by the car; in truth she’d almost forgotten they existed. “We better go,” she said softly. Hand still grasping his, she led him towards her family.
“There you are,” Jackie says as they reached them. Her voice was trying to be good-natured but her face was sombre as she asked with arms crossed, “Are you off already then? Where’s that ship of yours?” She was speaking to both of them, that much was clear.
Rose swallowed hard and took a steady breath. “It’s not here, mum.”
Jackie frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but the Doctor interrupted, pointing at the car behind them as his hand tightened around Rose’s. “You got enough gas for a trip back to London?”
“Yeah,” replied Pete with a frown. “Why?”
The Doctor gave a small sigh, a lighting smile curving his lips. “Because, Pete, we could do with a lift.”
Rose let the Doctor do the talking once they were seated in the car, his soft voice washing over her as her head lolled on his shoulder, her eyes closed. She didn’t plan on sleeping, certainly not anytime in the next twelve hours. If she only had a small amount of time left with him, she wasn’t about to let a second of it go to waste. Like now, listening to his voice.
She opened her eyes when a steady silence settled, the only sound the hum of the car. The Doctor was staring straight ahead, out of the front window. She squeezed his hand; neither had let go since she first took hold of his. He looked down at her, a dark pain shining in his eyes.
“You okay?” she whispered.
He nodded, frowning slightly as his eyes moved, distractedly, from hers. “’Of course I am.”
She frowned at him. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, the small roll of his eyes making her smile. “I’m a Time Lord, remember. I don’t get tired.”
Her gaze moved to the window and she watched for a moment as trees and fields rushed past them.
“So, what does the good ol’ London town of this universe have to offer then?” the Doctor interrupted her thoughts.
She smiled at him. “Not much more than the other to be honest. Pleanty of shops -”
“Oh no,” he said before she could get any further, “We are not going shopping! Last time we went shopping together, we went into Harrods and didn’t leave for five hours. That won’t happen again.”
Rose laughed at his horror-struck face. “Well, you shouldn’t have given me that credit card!”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. “I’m in luck then, because I don’t have it with me today. So no shopping.” His smile faded slightly though, as a fresh wave of silence settled. “We’ll have to think of something else to do,” he said then, much to loudly, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah,” Rose said quietly. “It’ll be an adventure.” Then she swallowed, whispering softly, “Our last adventure.”
She glanced up at him and felt her heart break a little. His expression was etched with something deeper than sadness; an emotion that looked like it was drowning him. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything the car had come to a stop.
“Here we are,” said Pete loudly from the front. “The ride to London shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”
Rose looked down at her watch. An entire hour had passed since she met the Doctor on that beach. She climbed out of the car, her head full of nothing but ticking clocks. Eleven more hours.
“You know, I don’t think we’ve rode in a helicopter together before,” the Doctor mentioned later, once they were in London.
Rose looked up at him. “No, we haven’t,” she acknowledged. They were walking down a London high street, where the Doctor was (surprisingly successfully) avoiding every shop they came across. Having left her parents and Mickey a little over half an hour ago, Rose was becoming conscious of the time again. She was trying very hard not to keep checking her watch.
“Good,” said the Doctor, a furrow in his brow. “That’s… good. What else haven’t we done?” he asked her.
“Quite a list, that,” Rose admitted. She glanced around at the city, at the cars and the people, and she wished they were somewhere else. She wished they were in the TARDIS. Sighing, she brought her eyes to the ground. If wishes were fishes… she heard her a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her Nan.
“Well,” he said slowly, “what about you? What do you want to do most right now?”
She looked up at him. He was watching her carefully, and she wasn’t entirely sure how long for. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something relaxed about his expression. She smiled a little sadly, quite sure neither could really have what they wanted most right then. She took his hand and swung it back and forth as they walked along the street, head on his shoulder. “Do you remember that planet we went to with the diamonds? We had ice cream under those flying leaves, and you took me on that little boat near the giant roses.”
The Doctor laughed softly. “You mean before they banished us because we laughed at those strange little hats they had.”
Rose brushed her shoulder hard against him, eyes falling to the ground and grinning. “You mean you laughed at their hats.” She was oblivious to the strange stares their conversation was arousing.
“Oh come on, they were a bit odd,” he insisted defensively. “Anyway,” he glanced at her, “you didn’t answer my question.”
Rose nodded. “I know.” Then she smiled. “I liked the ice cream,” she admitted quietly.
He smiled black at her then, eyes light. “I can give you ice cream.”
He dragged her over to an ice cream stand then. They shared one together, even though she knew they could have afforded two if he’d wanted. “I’m not hungry,” he insisted, shortly before taking several licks for himself.
They laughed on a bench together, eating their ice cream and impossibly relaxed, with people staring at them with furrows in their brows, and the world ticking by with movement and noise. The Doctor spilt some it down his tie, grumbling as Rose giggled into his arm, right up until he wiped the messy stuff on his finger and touched her once on the nose. Brow furrowing and nose wrinkling, Rose glared as the Doctor laughed.
For more than half an hour, Rose forgot to check her watch.
They went to her flat, though she wasn’t sure why. “I want to see it,” he’d insisted, as they got into the nearest taxi.
He was disappointed, but it was what she expected. The rooms were blank, bare, white. There wasn’t much furniture, but there were several bits of equipment and alien artefacts she had taken away from Torchwood to look at, but had then promptly forgotten to take back again.
It reminded her that she hadn’t exactly told him where she worked. “Where did you get one of these?” Slight disappointment at the lack of her flat’s character was replaced by the excitement layering his voice; he sounded like a small boy a Christmas. “I don’t even have one of these.” He was handling a small, lime coloured stone that glowed subtly when placed into someone’s hands.
“I’m looking after it,” she said after a moment, coming over to stand beside him. “It’s… part of my job.”
He looked up at her, frowning. “You… look after Grasfoh stones as part of your job?”
Her eyes widened in interest, and she walked over to take the stone from his hands. “That’s what it’s called?”
“Yes, commonly found on the Strainfjok planet. They came down to earth occasionally over a billion years ago- but wait, that’s not the point! Why do you have one?” He frowned at her, more curious than anything.
Unsure of his reaction, she bit on her lip, before saying quietly, “I work for Torchwood now.”
He only smiled, and there were a million emotions written all over his face, but above them all, the one she saw clearest was pride. “Defender of the Earth,” he told her, “That’s you.”
She reached out to touch his arm. His body was wrapped around hers in a second, the heavy beats of his hearts loud and wonderful against her. “Tell me what to do.”
He buried his face in her hair. “Come to dinner with me,” he whispered softly.
She looked herself up and down in the mirror. She couldn’t really see much; the mirror in her bedroom was small, and it was impossible to get a full view of herself. The dress she wore was the only formal one she had; whether it was flattering her or not, she had no idea. She was, however, very conscious of the time. If she didn’t hurry, dinner was all they’d be doing.
“Rose?” The Doctor’s voice called from behind the door. “You done yet?” He came in without waiting for an answer, something Rose was sure she’d berate him for, were they back on the TARDIS.
She looked up at him. “What d’you think? This okay?”
She saw him swallow; saw his eyes full of some desire he would never tell her of; his mouth opened, before abruptly closing again. He tried to clear his throat. “Yes! Uhm, fabulous is… You - you - look…” He couldn’t quite seem to finish.
Rose smiled gleefully. “In that case.” She held out her arm to him. “Come to dinner with me, Sir Doctor?”
He gathered enough air to his lungs to give a smile, his arm linking around hers. “I’d love to Dame Rose. Love to.”
“I was not being different just to be different or difficult,” he said, though of course he was, when he ordered them four deserts each instead of any main meal, flavours of strawberry and chocolate and date and banana placed in front of them by a curious and slightly confused waiter moments after.
Rose watched him; he put cherry sauce on his chocolate cheesecake, slowly and deliberately, then poured cream on top, before putting his spoon down to give her a long look back. He didn’t eat anything. “You’re not hungry?” he asked her, when she didn’t pick up her own spoon.
Rose tried to smile. Her eyes felt like someone was pricking pins in them, her throat felt like a narrow tube. Looking at him was beginning to hurt. “I…” She swallowed. Then, “What’ll you do when you’re gone?”
He looked down at their uneaten puddings. “It’ll be fine,” he said quietly. She couldn’t hear much belief in it; he seemed to be trying to convince himself. “I think when we get back to the flat, we’ll have to redecorate it or something. It’s very bare Rose, and… white. I thought you liked pink? And blue. You said, you told me once, one of your favourite colours is blue! Blue is a brilliant colour.”
She laughed, and as good as it felt, it still stung. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It was- it is. It’s great! I just… sometimes, white’s nice too.” She thought of white walls and white pain and the taste of salt. Sometimes she liked white though; it was something to remind her that the last two and half years had been real. “Sometimes.”
There was a silence. The Doctor stared down at his cheesecake; his mind looked a whole other place, and he was lost. She wanted then to reach out to him, to take his hand, pull him up, and run with him. Run somewhere, anywhere. A slow beating rhythm, a song she didn’t know, but somehow matched the bearing of her hearts, was beginning to play through the speakers. Not taking her eyes from him, Rose stood up and went up to him, holding out her hand. He met her gaze.
“Doctor,” she said. She touched his shoulder. “Come and dance with me?”
He didn’t need to answer. He stood, he took her arm and he led her away from the crowds of tables and people surrounding them. There was a balcony closed off, away from the rustle of dozens of voices and smells of hot food. The Doctor led her to the glass doors sealing it off; the buzzing of the sonic screwdriver came moments later. The sound made Rose swallow, another voice of her home long gone.
It was chilly outside. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the sky and making the air cool. The Doctor left the door ajar and the music, melancholy and quiet, whispered through. Slipping the screwdriver back into his pocket, he turned to her. She went over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and for some moments there were no words, only the gentle music as they swayed back and forth in a strange movement. It wasn’t really dancing at all.
“It’s been a while,” he whispered eventually.
“What has?”
There was a pause. “Since you were gone, since you fell,” he said.
Rose had a sudden vision of years passing, dozens of years and he’s rewiring things and fixing things in the hope of getting back to her. Then she frowned. No. That was not the Doctor. He wouldn’t do that. “How long?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation.
He breathed through his nose a few times before answering. “Eight months, seven days.” She looked up at him, and he gave a sad smile. “And sixteen hours and seven minutes.” He gave a shrug, clearly going for nonchalance. She wondered what he’d been doing in that time. Looking at him, she knew he’d never tell her. “How about you then?” he asked, trying to be light. “How long was it for you?”
“Just… a few months,” she said quietly. “A very long few months.”
He grinned cheekily then, though his eyes still had that look of sadness she would never get used to. “Enough time to miss me, then?”
She smiled back at him, head falling against his shoulder. “Maybe. But you never know, maybe I’ve been too busy to miss you.”
He chuckled softly, the sound soft by her ear. “Maybe so.”
“Promise me something,” she wondered after a moment.
“What’s that?”
She pulled away too look up at him. “Find someone.” He frowned at her, and her grip around him tightened. “Please. Don’t be alone.”
He smiled again, and it seemed to hurt. “Maybe,” he said. He nodded. “Maybe.”
They continued that slow dance that wasn’t a dance long after the music had faded away.
They walked through the park, night covering the city. The stars were out in the sky, but they both made a habit of not looking up at them. They were different, foreign, he told her when she asked. They looked different; they looked strange, all in the wrong place in the sky.
They talked about things unimportant; how much more houses cost here, what Rose did at Torchwood now, whether she had a car or how much her rent cost. Small things; things he wanted to know, things he felt he needed to know. He wanted to know she was happy, and she wasn’t sure what to tell him.
When they went back to the flat, only then did Rose check her watch. She felt her heart beat a little faster, fear licking against her throat. Time seemed to have sped up; it was as if someone had fixed the clocks to go extra fast.
They went into the bedroom, where the Doctor eyed the bed and the Torchwood uniform hung up by her wardrobe; he moved his eyes to the clothes littering the floor, the makeup on the bedside table. He turned to her, and there was something odd in his eyes. He swallowed. She sat down on the bed, and felt his weight next to her moments later. She looked up at him; the expression was still there.
“I’ll miss you,” he said abruptly, and god, it hurt to see him looking at her like that. To say goodbye, it would be like admitting defeat.
“Don’t,” she whispered through a closed throat. “Doctor, I-” She stopped, and couldn’t continue.
He took her hand, and brought her closer. They sat together on the bed she hated, in the room she hated, and she knew suddenly how cruel this was. A day wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough, and yet it was too much.
He breathed heavily next to her; the beat of his hearts on her shoulder was like a ticking clock. “It’s soon, Rose,” he whispered, and it was almost a plea. “It’s so soon.”
She looked up at him, knowing it was one of the last times she would see him. “Doctor, I love you,” she said suddenly.
It almost came from nowhere. Hours of bracing herself to say it, say it in the right way, at the right moment; but there was no special way, she realised. It was just him and her and the truth, sitting together in the room, and she just couldn’t stand it anymore.
She didn’t expect his reaction (though in all honesty she wasn’t sure what to expect); a hand wrapped around her waist, the other coming through her hair, his gaze burning into her with darkening eyes. Taking her cheek in his hand, his lips crashed into hers as they leant back on the bed. Their noses bumped awkwardly, and his hearts felt like running footsteps against her chest. She breathed into his mouth, and his lips grazed her cheek.
Letting out a heavy breath, she folded herself against him and not one more word was said for a long time.
They lay together later. In his arms, she holds on extra tight. Maybe if she doesn’t let go, he will never disappear. She can feel his eyes on her, and she wishes it wouldn’t hurt so much to look back at him. He leans down against her, breath in her hair, hearts beating by her hand. A kiss is pressed over her eye and she watches the curve of his jaw, the freckles on his cheeks, and suddenly she knows she can’t, she won’t, let the universes win so easily.
Gently, Rose pulls back and stares at him. “We’ll be okay, you know,” she says, “in the end.”
He swallows, looking up to meet her gaze. His hand lingers by her face and his eyes shine. “Doesn’t feel very okay,” he tells her, honesty clear in his expression.
Rose simply squeezes his hand tightly for one last time before she tells him with a spark of defiance in her eyes, “That’s because it’s not the end.”
He’s frowning, but before he can reply, time has crashed into them as it always must and she’s left holding hands with nothing but air.
fin