Rose Tyler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pinkandyellow) wrote2011-09-24 06:10 pm
pinkandyellow) wrote2011-09-24 06:10 pm
Entry tags:
In The Cold and the Dark.
Based on a recommendation by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
justprompts
Rose was used to walking.
That statement wasn't entirely accurate. Rose was used to running. The feeling of her muscles working beneath her, the fluid energy, the momentum as the tread of her trainers smacked the ground, gripped the pavement, projecting her forward faster, stronger, harder. What she was doing now was distinctly not running. It wasn't jogging, hurrying, bustling, or power walking.
If anything, it might've been considered ambling. The road was icy beneath her feet, and every other step, she had to thrust out her arms to keep her balance. Her right foot slid, and it took conscious effort not to lock up her stance. Bloody ice.
What she wasn't used to was walking (or running) alone.
Since she was nineteen, she'd always had a partner. Back then, he'd been distinctly more than a partner, of course, but that was the easiest label to assign to him. Considering his vast array of titles, she thought it safe enough. After him, there was Torchwood, and she'd had Mickey and Jake.
The three of them were best mates. Inseparable, really, despite her constantly diverted attention. It was only by their prompting that she ever got out, put down her work and properly got out. She'd spent so much time learning, trying to be better, cleverer, to solve the impossible problems facing their universe (and her own personal interest), she nearly forgot to live. It would have been a shame, and he would've been disappointed.
So, she let them drag her down to the pub for footie matches, or to parties, company picnics and movie night. She trusted them infinitely, her boys, and they hadn't disappointed. No facing the loneliness that threatened her.
And then the stars started going out. People forgot. Whole universes, whole star systems ceased to exist, were wiped from and space, their occupants absent, lifetimes reascended. And it would've gone unnoticed, really, if she hadn't been so keen on watching the stars.
She might be giving herself too much credit, after all, Mickey had traveled in the TARDIS and so had her mum. Imagine that, if the multiverse had been saved by Jackie Tyler. No matter what the Doctor would say (and she was certain he'd have a thing or two to say on the subject, bless him), she firmly believed her mum was capable. Except, her mum didn't know the faintest thing about astronomy, and probably hadn't poked her head out after nightfall in the last eight months.
There was always Mickey, though, and thank god for him, because without his backing, Torchwood might not've taken her seriously, despite her relationship with Pete. He managed to write a program depicting the original layout of the universe, and with the help of some of the most brilliant minds in physics, chart out with complete scientific backing how the universe was supposed to look, in comparison to the one they currently were exposed to.
Regardless, it was only thanks to the changes made by the TARDIS and the displacement instituted by being separated from most time lines that they managed to pick up on it at all. After then, as though she weren't already dedicated to her work, most of her hours went into the dimension cannon. Classes on physics and particle physics, theoretical physics and other types of physics that just... went completely over her head.
She was just a girl, just a chav from the Powell Estate, who dropped out and never got her A-levels. It had been impossible work. They had laughed, literally laughed in her face, at first, when she signed up for the class. Her bottle-blond hair and pink track suit clearly didn't mesh with the types of people actually suited for the class.
She didn't care. She bought a pair of brainy specs, learned terms like transversal fluctuation, and worked harder than anyone else in the class. Not because she was more determined, though she was, but because she had to, just to keep up. And when she'd learned enough to... loosely grasp the basic principals, she launched herself into field testing. Mickey never left her, though he did cast her mistrustful, tired glances.
And then the walls started breaking down. And she jumped. For over a year, she jumped. Contact managed to figure out a way to assign coordinates to universes, to speculate on things well over their heads about the relativity of universes, their metaphysical distances. Theories were... sketchy.
Bubble Theory, that the universes were pressed against each other like soapsuds, the walls were delicate, and pressure would cause the joining universes to pop, so one must ease one's self through, squeaked up like soap.
Layer theory, that all universes were stacked one on top of another, in the same physical place, but in another dimension, like a folded paper poked through with holes
Wheel-and-spoke theory, that universes were joined like spokes to a central hub (this one gave her a headache to think about).
Classroom theory, that each universe was a room with no doors or windows, side by side in the hallway that was existence, and in order to go from one room to another, a hole must be made, delicately so as not to cave in the rooms, a sort of doorway put in place to keep them separate, keep them from meshing.
She never learned which was correct. She didn't care. The Doctor would know, right off the top of his head, like a human knew immediately what six plus four equaled.
So, she jumped. Universe to universe, the easiest done to universes who had already started to bleed, who were connected to one another, their walls deteriorating. For once. It wasn't Torchwood's fault. The disintegration had started happening long before the Dimension Canon, and it was only because of the thinness of the walls that the technology actually worked.
She found him. After a hundred jumps, particle reformations, invasions and accidents, worlds and time lines, she found him. And they were together. And they were brilliant.
For a day.
And like a recurring nightmare, like a haunting dream, Déjà vu, a glitch in the matrix, she was standing in sand, her heart throbbing in pain and disbelief, watching him fade away. Everything she'd ever been afraid of had been proven, everything she had been convinced of proven wrong, everything... everything was... gone. The running and saving and forever faded away with him, and she felt... stupid. Naïve. He left her here for a reason. Moved on, and what did she do? Devote her life to tracking him down again, like a child, unable to let go.
Except, it was different. She turned her head, and there he was. Her heart gave a painful lurch at seeing his face. And his hand wrapped around hers, startlingly solid, unnaturally warm. A thousand thoughts raced through her. Was he real? Was he the Doctor, or a stranger with his face? A different person? Consolation prize? Clone? Madman?
He looked the same, the same eyes. Same thoughts, same memories, same everything, he'd said. If you had the same mind, you were the same person, right? Two hearts or one heart, that was just biological. What made him... him would be his brain. Would he still laugh the same? Get that crinkly-eyed smile when she said something that she'd nearly been too afraid to say? Grin manically, and ramble, and... love her? He'd said the words, but were they the Doctor's words?
Not that the Doctor would ever say those words- it wasn't possible for him, physically. She realized it. Not because he didn't, but because he couldn't. He'd rather watch himself like an out-of-body experience, kissing her, watching, observing, breaking, and leaving, than suffer through the pain of giving himself up completely and losing her after eighty years of the sort of love that was intended to last forever. That pain was unbearable. Not that she knew. Not that she had any capacity to understand just how painful it would be, but she could imagine, if she tried.
Did this... person beside her feel that? Did he feel that because he was the Doctor, or because he was created in the Doctor's image? She just... didn't know.
They went home. Quietly. She'd changed, and so had he. Two beaches, four years, and confusion made her distant. It was the same for him, only with about a hundred more years of it. Maybe. She didn't know. She didn't bother to ask.
She didn't rush to assumptions, accusing him of not being the Doctor. She didn't scream at him for leaving her, or for not saying goodbye, or for staying. She didn't think he needed a babysitter, or that he was unstable. He was neither worse or better than the Doctor, he was neither the same man nor a different man. He simply... was, because she didn't take the time to find out. Because they were out of practice with talking. To anyone, but most especially to each other. Their entire relationship, originally, had been about the lack of communication. Dancing. Always dancing.
They co-existed, distantly but peacefully, without pain but without happiness. The stress didn't gradually build on them, or drive them apart, but they didn't communicate, they didn't come any closer. There was no desire to make the first move, or run away. He didn't seem horribly bothered about starting up life as a human. Didn't seem to mind getting a job at Torchwood. Went through the motions without joy or complaint.
She stayed a field agent, he was assigned to the lab. Not by request, just... because. He lived in her flat. She didn't invite him to share her bed, nor did she dissuade him, but he slept on the couch. Fewer hours than an average human, but more than he'd done as a Time Lord.
And they carried on. Life carried on. Time passed. A month. She was assigned to missions in Glasgow, then Norway, France, Wales. She was never gone for long. She didn't miss him, but she didn't... not. She didn't anticipate any changes in this status-quo.
She wasn't Rose. Not like this. And he wasn't the Doctor. Not like this.
The universe stepped in. A ship crash-landed in on a farm in small town forty miles out of Belfast. In the middle of a bloody blizzard. Turns out, a group of sight-seeing aliens had decided that Glasmullagh was the best spot for a bit of a kip, and hadn't anticipated the flurrying Earth weather. She managed to establish communications, give them instructions for escaping the weather, and sent them on their way with the local delicacy as a gift given in peace- Earth's hot cocoa.
Except, now, she was stuck. The bus back to Londonderry was canceled for the weather, Contact couldn't get a lock on her because the transmat satellite couldn't see through the storm, and when she'd called a cab, the bloke had laughed for about six minutes, then hung up. Glasmullagh had a hotel, of course. Six years ago. The relic still stood on the outskirts of town, with a great, bold, no trespassing sign stamped on it.
She hadn't intended to call him. At least, not at first. She'd started... walking. It wasn't that she didn't want to see him, or that she did want to see him, or... anything, it was just... she didn't want to bother him. She didn't want to sit in a car with him for hours without speaking. She didn't want to be alone, and she was never more alone than she was when he was there, just like she'd been every day for the last month.
After the first mile, she felt fine, trudging through the gravel to the main road. As soon as her feet hit the pavement, though, her feet shot out from under her and she cracked her arse on the ice, letting out a cry that would've given a sailor cause to blush. She limped along for another half-mile, but by this time, her bum was numb and throbbing, her leg hurt, and her fingers were shivering with the cold.
She pulled out her phone. His voice picked up, sounding genuinely surprised. She hadn't called him. Not... ever. “Rose?”
She paused the stutter in her chest. “Sorry- I didn't know who else to call, I'm stuck in Glasmullagh, bout six miles out from Omagh. The weather's interfering with transmat, and the buses've stopped running. It's cold, and I-”
“I'll be there. Are you alright? You sound hurt.” The flash of concern went straight to her chest. She hadn't had any sort of situation, any sort of circumstance since this whole thing started, he'd had no reason to worry about her, until now. She felt a bit guilty.
“M'fine, just slipped on a bit of ice. Probably gonna have a bruise tomorrow. Nothing to do with the contact, though. They were lovely.”
“You should sit down. Honestly. I'm packing up, now. If you've fractured something-” She smiled at him, without even realizing it.
“Doctor. I'm fine. It's just... bloody freezing. If you can't come, I can just-” He cut her off, and she could practically see that little frowny-face he wore.
“Don't be ridiculous. I'm already on the way... And Rose?” He faltered, and she felt the nerves in her rise.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Be careful.” The sentiment was short and sweet, but she could hear the sincerity in his voice, something she hadn't heard since this fiasco. Her voice locked up, and she had to force her throat to unclench. She wanted to respond, but she heard the short snap signaling he'd shut the phone.
She hoped he'd be here soon. Her fingers had lost feeling, and the falling snow increased in intensity. Not knowing what else to do... she walked. Alone.
There was nothing to distract her. No work, or telly, or her mum. Nothing to keep her from thinking about him. A month since they'd... moved in together? She wasn't sure it could be called that, considering it wasn't really a romantic thing. It just... happened, as though it were a granted. A month of small-talk and nothing of importance, avoiding gazes and being impersonal, a month of not treading on each other's toes, of feeling each other out. A month of nothing fantastic.
He would be so disappointed. Probably was disappointed, really. An opportunity that she'd been squandering, a gift she'd been throwing away because she was frightened. Blimey was she frightened.
Every day, she was terrified that he'd say something, do something to prove he wasn't the Doctor. Every minute, she feared their conversation, that he'd let something slip that proved he was just a clone, a carbon-copy. That she'd been left with nothing.
Or, maybe, that it really was him, and she'd get close. Get accustomed to him. Trust him, and fall for him, and have everything perfect with him, and start a life. And he'd leave. Leave her, again, the third time as the charm. Leave her like his original body had done, because... same thoughts, same memories, same everything meant that he'd have the desire to flee, or he'd want to be gone, too, just as the first him had done. Every single minute of every single day, she was afraid of him.
And she was going to lose him because of it.
It startled her to realize she was crying. Warm tears raced down her cheeks, cooling instantly in the low temperatures, leaving her deprived of any sense of warmth, leaving her shaking and trembling, and not just because of the cold.
She'd sat down, at some point, apparently, though didn't realize it, because her bum was in the snow, and her arms were wrapped around herself, and she was sobbing into her knees.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed that way, only that at some point, a hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up at him, his eyes touched with concern, and recognition, and fondness, and love, just as they always had been, back when he had two hearts. The only difference between then and now was the warmth that his hands carried, and considering the coldness of everything around her, the freezing snow and icy void in her heart, she considered it an improvement.
“I'm sorry- I didn't realize- I was terrified. I kept thinkin' that one day, you'd just leave me, and I'd be alone all over again, 'cos you got left here with me and shunted off the TARDIS so you- him- he wouldn't feel guilty about not havin' me on, and I just- I didn't want it to hurt when it happened- I didn't want it to not be you, but it is. You didn't leave, you've been here all along, and I've just been-” Maybe she was rambling like a hysterical madwoman. She'd rather not acknowledge it, though.
He didn't seem to care. His face dawned a look of firmness and understanding, disapproval and sympathy, and regret.
He tugged her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest. “Rose Tyler. Don't you understand? I wasn't shunted off. I had a choice. The only time in my life I've ever had one, really, and frankly, the easiest choice I've ever had to make. I chose you.” He tugged back, and directed her eyes to his with a touch of his finger on her chin. “Not because of guilt, or obligation, but because in all of my lives, in nine hundred years of living, I've never wanted anyone or anything as much as you. You were a reward, Rose. The only question was whether or not you'd have me. I was afraid... still am afraid that you chose no. That I'd mucked it up one too many times. That you didn't-...”
Her face flushed with heat, and her heart tightened in her chest like a vice. She wanted to cry, and laugh, break down and jump and shout and run and a hundred other things. She didn't. Her chest gave a sharp jerk, the onslaught of a sob just barely suppressed by willpower and the freezing cold.
“I love you.”
This time, he kissed her. They held hands as they walked, together, to the car, and she felt warmth spread through her for the first time in a long, long time.
justpromptsRose was used to walking.
That statement wasn't entirely accurate. Rose was used to running. The feeling of her muscles working beneath her, the fluid energy, the momentum as the tread of her trainers smacked the ground, gripped the pavement, projecting her forward faster, stronger, harder. What she was doing now was distinctly not running. It wasn't jogging, hurrying, bustling, or power walking.
If anything, it might've been considered ambling. The road was icy beneath her feet, and every other step, she had to thrust out her arms to keep her balance. Her right foot slid, and it took conscious effort not to lock up her stance. Bloody ice.
What she wasn't used to was walking (or running) alone.
Since she was nineteen, she'd always had a partner. Back then, he'd been distinctly more than a partner, of course, but that was the easiest label to assign to him. Considering his vast array of titles, she thought it safe enough. After him, there was Torchwood, and she'd had Mickey and Jake.
The three of them were best mates. Inseparable, really, despite her constantly diverted attention. It was only by their prompting that she ever got out, put down her work and properly got out. She'd spent so much time learning, trying to be better, cleverer, to solve the impossible problems facing their universe (and her own personal interest), she nearly forgot to live. It would have been a shame, and he would've been disappointed.
So, she let them drag her down to the pub for footie matches, or to parties, company picnics and movie night. She trusted them infinitely, her boys, and they hadn't disappointed. No facing the loneliness that threatened her.
And then the stars started going out. People forgot. Whole universes, whole star systems ceased to exist, were wiped from and space, their occupants absent, lifetimes reascended. And it would've gone unnoticed, really, if she hadn't been so keen on watching the stars.
She might be giving herself too much credit, after all, Mickey had traveled in the TARDIS and so had her mum. Imagine that, if the multiverse had been saved by Jackie Tyler. No matter what the Doctor would say (and she was certain he'd have a thing or two to say on the subject, bless him), she firmly believed her mum was capable. Except, her mum didn't know the faintest thing about astronomy, and probably hadn't poked her head out after nightfall in the last eight months.
There was always Mickey, though, and thank god for him, because without his backing, Torchwood might not've taken her seriously, despite her relationship with Pete. He managed to write a program depicting the original layout of the universe, and with the help of some of the most brilliant minds in physics, chart out with complete scientific backing how the universe was supposed to look, in comparison to the one they currently were exposed to.
Regardless, it was only thanks to the changes made by the TARDIS and the displacement instituted by being separated from most time lines that they managed to pick up on it at all. After then, as though she weren't already dedicated to her work, most of her hours went into the dimension cannon. Classes on physics and particle physics, theoretical physics and other types of physics that just... went completely over her head.
She was just a girl, just a chav from the Powell Estate, who dropped out and never got her A-levels. It had been impossible work. They had laughed, literally laughed in her face, at first, when she signed up for the class. Her bottle-blond hair and pink track suit clearly didn't mesh with the types of people actually suited for the class.
She didn't care. She bought a pair of brainy specs, learned terms like transversal fluctuation, and worked harder than anyone else in the class. Not because she was more determined, though she was, but because she had to, just to keep up. And when she'd learned enough to... loosely grasp the basic principals, she launched herself into field testing. Mickey never left her, though he did cast her mistrustful, tired glances.
And then the walls started breaking down. And she jumped. For over a year, she jumped. Contact managed to figure out a way to assign coordinates to universes, to speculate on things well over their heads about the relativity of universes, their metaphysical distances. Theories were... sketchy.
Bubble Theory, that the universes were pressed against each other like soapsuds, the walls were delicate, and pressure would cause the joining universes to pop, so one must ease one's self through, squeaked up like soap.
Layer theory, that all universes were stacked one on top of another, in the same physical place, but in another dimension, like a folded paper poked through with holes
Wheel-and-spoke theory, that universes were joined like spokes to a central hub (this one gave her a headache to think about).
Classroom theory, that each universe was a room with no doors or windows, side by side in the hallway that was existence, and in order to go from one room to another, a hole must be made, delicately so as not to cave in the rooms, a sort of doorway put in place to keep them separate, keep them from meshing.
She never learned which was correct. She didn't care. The Doctor would know, right off the top of his head, like a human knew immediately what six plus four equaled.
So, she jumped. Universe to universe, the easiest done to universes who had already started to bleed, who were connected to one another, their walls deteriorating. For once. It wasn't Torchwood's fault. The disintegration had started happening long before the Dimension Canon, and it was only because of the thinness of the walls that the technology actually worked.
She found him. After a hundred jumps, particle reformations, invasions and accidents, worlds and time lines, she found him. And they were together. And they were brilliant.
For a day.
And like a recurring nightmare, like a haunting dream, Déjà vu, a glitch in the matrix, she was standing in sand, her heart throbbing in pain and disbelief, watching him fade away. Everything she'd ever been afraid of had been proven, everything she had been convinced of proven wrong, everything... everything was... gone. The running and saving and forever faded away with him, and she felt... stupid. Naïve. He left her here for a reason. Moved on, and what did she do? Devote her life to tracking him down again, like a child, unable to let go.
Except, it was different. She turned her head, and there he was. Her heart gave a painful lurch at seeing his face. And his hand wrapped around hers, startlingly solid, unnaturally warm. A thousand thoughts raced through her. Was he real? Was he the Doctor, or a stranger with his face? A different person? Consolation prize? Clone? Madman?
He looked the same, the same eyes. Same thoughts, same memories, same everything, he'd said. If you had the same mind, you were the same person, right? Two hearts or one heart, that was just biological. What made him... him would be his brain. Would he still laugh the same? Get that crinkly-eyed smile when she said something that she'd nearly been too afraid to say? Grin manically, and ramble, and... love her? He'd said the words, but were they the Doctor's words?
Not that the Doctor would ever say those words- it wasn't possible for him, physically. She realized it. Not because he didn't, but because he couldn't. He'd rather watch himself like an out-of-body experience, kissing her, watching, observing, breaking, and leaving, than suffer through the pain of giving himself up completely and losing her after eighty years of the sort of love that was intended to last forever. That pain was unbearable. Not that she knew. Not that she had any capacity to understand just how painful it would be, but she could imagine, if she tried.
Did this... person beside her feel that? Did he feel that because he was the Doctor, or because he was created in the Doctor's image? She just... didn't know.
They went home. Quietly. She'd changed, and so had he. Two beaches, four years, and confusion made her distant. It was the same for him, only with about a hundred more years of it. Maybe. She didn't know. She didn't bother to ask.
She didn't rush to assumptions, accusing him of not being the Doctor. She didn't scream at him for leaving her, or for not saying goodbye, or for staying. She didn't think he needed a babysitter, or that he was unstable. He was neither worse or better than the Doctor, he was neither the same man nor a different man. He simply... was, because she didn't take the time to find out. Because they were out of practice with talking. To anyone, but most especially to each other. Their entire relationship, originally, had been about the lack of communication. Dancing. Always dancing.
They co-existed, distantly but peacefully, without pain but without happiness. The stress didn't gradually build on them, or drive them apart, but they didn't communicate, they didn't come any closer. There was no desire to make the first move, or run away. He didn't seem horribly bothered about starting up life as a human. Didn't seem to mind getting a job at Torchwood. Went through the motions without joy or complaint.
She stayed a field agent, he was assigned to the lab. Not by request, just... because. He lived in her flat. She didn't invite him to share her bed, nor did she dissuade him, but he slept on the couch. Fewer hours than an average human, but more than he'd done as a Time Lord.
And they carried on. Life carried on. Time passed. A month. She was assigned to missions in Glasgow, then Norway, France, Wales. She was never gone for long. She didn't miss him, but she didn't... not. She didn't anticipate any changes in this status-quo.
She wasn't Rose. Not like this. And he wasn't the Doctor. Not like this.
The universe stepped in. A ship crash-landed in on a farm in small town forty miles out of Belfast. In the middle of a bloody blizzard. Turns out, a group of sight-seeing aliens had decided that Glasmullagh was the best spot for a bit of a kip, and hadn't anticipated the flurrying Earth weather. She managed to establish communications, give them instructions for escaping the weather, and sent them on their way with the local delicacy as a gift given in peace- Earth's hot cocoa.
Except, now, she was stuck. The bus back to Londonderry was canceled for the weather, Contact couldn't get a lock on her because the transmat satellite couldn't see through the storm, and when she'd called a cab, the bloke had laughed for about six minutes, then hung up. Glasmullagh had a hotel, of course. Six years ago. The relic still stood on the outskirts of town, with a great, bold, no trespassing sign stamped on it.
She hadn't intended to call him. At least, not at first. She'd started... walking. It wasn't that she didn't want to see him, or that she did want to see him, or... anything, it was just... she didn't want to bother him. She didn't want to sit in a car with him for hours without speaking. She didn't want to be alone, and she was never more alone than she was when he was there, just like she'd been every day for the last month.
After the first mile, she felt fine, trudging through the gravel to the main road. As soon as her feet hit the pavement, though, her feet shot out from under her and she cracked her arse on the ice, letting out a cry that would've given a sailor cause to blush. She limped along for another half-mile, but by this time, her bum was numb and throbbing, her leg hurt, and her fingers were shivering with the cold.
She pulled out her phone. His voice picked up, sounding genuinely surprised. She hadn't called him. Not... ever. “Rose?”
She paused the stutter in her chest. “Sorry- I didn't know who else to call, I'm stuck in Glasmullagh, bout six miles out from Omagh. The weather's interfering with transmat, and the buses've stopped running. It's cold, and I-”
“I'll be there. Are you alright? You sound hurt.” The flash of concern went straight to her chest. She hadn't had any sort of situation, any sort of circumstance since this whole thing started, he'd had no reason to worry about her, until now. She felt a bit guilty.
“M'fine, just slipped on a bit of ice. Probably gonna have a bruise tomorrow. Nothing to do with the contact, though. They were lovely.”
“You should sit down. Honestly. I'm packing up, now. If you've fractured something-” She smiled at him, without even realizing it.
“Doctor. I'm fine. It's just... bloody freezing. If you can't come, I can just-” He cut her off, and she could practically see that little frowny-face he wore.
“Don't be ridiculous. I'm already on the way... And Rose?” He faltered, and she felt the nerves in her rise.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Be careful.” The sentiment was short and sweet, but she could hear the sincerity in his voice, something she hadn't heard since this fiasco. Her voice locked up, and she had to force her throat to unclench. She wanted to respond, but she heard the short snap signaling he'd shut the phone.
She hoped he'd be here soon. Her fingers had lost feeling, and the falling snow increased in intensity. Not knowing what else to do... she walked. Alone.
There was nothing to distract her. No work, or telly, or her mum. Nothing to keep her from thinking about him. A month since they'd... moved in together? She wasn't sure it could be called that, considering it wasn't really a romantic thing. It just... happened, as though it were a granted. A month of small-talk and nothing of importance, avoiding gazes and being impersonal, a month of not treading on each other's toes, of feeling each other out. A month of nothing fantastic.
He would be so disappointed. Probably was disappointed, really. An opportunity that she'd been squandering, a gift she'd been throwing away because she was frightened. Blimey was she frightened.
Every day, she was terrified that he'd say something, do something to prove he wasn't the Doctor. Every minute, she feared their conversation, that he'd let something slip that proved he was just a clone, a carbon-copy. That she'd been left with nothing.
Or, maybe, that it really was him, and she'd get close. Get accustomed to him. Trust him, and fall for him, and have everything perfect with him, and start a life. And he'd leave. Leave her, again, the third time as the charm. Leave her like his original body had done, because... same thoughts, same memories, same everything meant that he'd have the desire to flee, or he'd want to be gone, too, just as the first him had done. Every single minute of every single day, she was afraid of him.
And she was going to lose him because of it.
It startled her to realize she was crying. Warm tears raced down her cheeks, cooling instantly in the low temperatures, leaving her deprived of any sense of warmth, leaving her shaking and trembling, and not just because of the cold.
She'd sat down, at some point, apparently, though didn't realize it, because her bum was in the snow, and her arms were wrapped around herself, and she was sobbing into her knees.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed that way, only that at some point, a hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up at him, his eyes touched with concern, and recognition, and fondness, and love, just as they always had been, back when he had two hearts. The only difference between then and now was the warmth that his hands carried, and considering the coldness of everything around her, the freezing snow and icy void in her heart, she considered it an improvement.
“I'm sorry- I didn't realize- I was terrified. I kept thinkin' that one day, you'd just leave me, and I'd be alone all over again, 'cos you got left here with me and shunted off the TARDIS so you- him- he wouldn't feel guilty about not havin' me on, and I just- I didn't want it to hurt when it happened- I didn't want it to not be you, but it is. You didn't leave, you've been here all along, and I've just been-” Maybe she was rambling like a hysterical madwoman. She'd rather not acknowledge it, though.
He didn't seem to care. His face dawned a look of firmness and understanding, disapproval and sympathy, and regret.
He tugged her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest. “Rose Tyler. Don't you understand? I wasn't shunted off. I had a choice. The only time in my life I've ever had one, really, and frankly, the easiest choice I've ever had to make. I chose you.” He tugged back, and directed her eyes to his with a touch of his finger on her chin. “Not because of guilt, or obligation, but because in all of my lives, in nine hundred years of living, I've never wanted anyone or anything as much as you. You were a reward, Rose. The only question was whether or not you'd have me. I was afraid... still am afraid that you chose no. That I'd mucked it up one too many times. That you didn't-...”
Her face flushed with heat, and her heart tightened in her chest like a vice. She wanted to cry, and laugh, break down and jump and shout and run and a hundred other things. She didn't. Her chest gave a sharp jerk, the onslaught of a sob just barely suppressed by willpower and the freezing cold.
“I love you.”
This time, he kissed her. They held hands as they walked, together, to the car, and she felt warmth spread through her for the first time in a long, long time.
OOC
OOC