Hullo, this is Rose. If you're from Torchwood, I've told you a million times, call the work number. Otherwise, leave a message. Except you, Mum. Stop leaving me messages.
And Doctor- if it takes more than six messages to say, it's gonna have to wait. Seven if the world's ending, eight if there's a sale.
Twenty New Messages!
✖ - Hate
♛ - Slight dislike
† - Wary
♧ - Neutral / Confused
★ - Friends
★★ - Good Friends
★★★ - Best Friends
♡ - Considers Family
£ - Interested In
❤ - Crush
❤❤ - Falling Hard
❤ - Love
codes by yuanru
Which, obviously, meant something had to go wrong.
It was late, they'd spent the evening flopped on Rose's overstuffed couch watching zombie movies, much to Castiel's confusion and amusement, and Rose was nearly ready to turn in.
Because some late night alone time was never a bad idea. She shifted up, caught his lips in a kiss, sprawled across his chest like some sort of chip-obsessed cat. Curled her fingers in his shirt, tilted her head in a bit further--
And then there was light. Bright and sudden, intense, and then gone.
Cas froze beneath her.
Well, someone did, anyway.
She told the Doctor, mostly. Told her story just as he told his, and he seemed to understand. Seemed to know, with a wisdom she always underestimated in him. A thousand years of life, a hundred companions and friends, people who loved him and loved others. He seemed to respect her even more for it, if that was possible, didn't judge her, silently encouraged her. Took it in the same stride he took everything else about her, as though she could do no wrong.
She appreciated him more than she'd ever tell him.
They traveled. He took her gentle places at first, and when he realized it was the running that freed her, if only temporarily, he took her to planets that needed saving. What frightened her, though, was the fact that she wasn't doing it to save them. Not now.
They didn't stop to examine their relationship, just as they never had. She didn't ask, he didn't offer. They picked back up as though she'd never even been gone, with grins and tea and understanding, and they just... worked. Together, as mates, and nothing more. He would probably be accepting, if she made any move to advance things, but she never did, and he didn't mind. Asexual, and an alien.
Now, though, was one of those down-times in between planetary distraction. He was working beneath the console, and she was sitting, quietly. Watching. Not thinking, just... sitting, listening to the TARDIS sing in her mind, and just... breathing.
When the Doctor left, she'd been shut down. Spent days, weeks, sobbing and immobile and useless, confined to her room. This was... different. Emptiness. She carried on, blankly, with no emotion behind her actions. For a week, she had no real, original thought. She woke up. Took a shower. Cleaned. Went to work. Ignored her coworkers. Went home. That's it. Talked to no one. Turned off her phone, turned off her T.V. She existed, the end.
There was no funeral- there was no body, no record of his existence. Nobody even knew him. She hadn't been able to get a hold of Dean and Sam. Well, that was a lie. She hadn't bothered to try. Didn't even think about it. Never even occurred to her to tell them. She would, eventually. Besides them, only her family knew him, and she shut them out. Ignored the pounding on her door, ignored Pete's voice, and Jackie's voice.
At night, there was pain. She'd lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Trying not to think, but failing. At night, the world was empty, and she had no distraction from it all. And she remembered everything. The good memories, the bad ones, short but passionate, she remembered, and it hurt. Every single day for a week.
Except, today was Sunday.
She woke up. He wouldn't want this. She couldn't... she couldn't give up like this. She couldn't tear down what he'd done like this.
Today was Sunday.
Today, she needed to feel.
Today, she went to the beach.
Things were going well. Really, really well. It was half passed eleven, and though she wasn't tipsy, she'd had a few, and so had everyone else. Half-priced drinks on holidays. They were brilliant. The music was good, everyone was happy, and the place was covered in streamers.
She pushed her silly giant, numbered 'sunglasses' back on her head to keep her hair out of her face, beaming at the sight of Mickey trying to do the robot across the way on the dance floor. Just... really, really brilliant all around, with a drink in one hand and Castiel's in the other.
It's horrendously, horrendously unlikely, but it never hurts to be prepared.
MERRY HOLIDAY OF YOUR PREFERENCE. \o/