pinkandyellow: (Depressed Sadness)
 She lost track of how much time passed, and not just because she was in a time machine. Some days, it felt like years, like she'd been passed it all and moved on but still carried the grief like a widow. Some days, it felt fresh and sharp, like it was only yesterday, last week, some time recent. She couldn't tell. She didn't ask, she didn't want to know. 

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. 

pinkandyellow: (Default)

Mechanical.

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. 

pinkandyellow: (Beanie - Smiling - Snowing)
In her quest to expose Castiel to every possible happy human experience, she's spent ages figuring out the best place to attend New Year's Eve. After a week of waffling between her mum and dad's shwanky political bash and the rowdy pub down the block from her flat, she finally decided on the pub. Coming from an estate, she spent much of her time in tiny little everyone-knows-everyone pubs, had a lot of brilliant times with Mickey and the boys, catching matches. It was a lot more... familiar than the ritzy things her parents put on, and she decided she'd really like to experience it with him. Not to mention he hadn't yet met Mickey or Jake, and considering she worked with them, she thought it might be nice.

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. 
pinkandyellow: (Grin - Beaming - Utterly Happy)
Rose is just a ball of holiday cheer, and is therefor outside the door, after knocking, propping up a lovely Christmas tree.
pinkandyellow: (Bad news - Badwolfbay - Listening)
Rose finds a rather strange guy on a beach.

Yeah, turns out he's an angel.

Mind = Blown.

With [livejournal.com profile] rebelledforyou

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pinkandyellow: (Default)
Rose Tyler

November 2015

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