![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabid1stNot that I know anything...this is only a spoiler in that I have seen the CIN clip for the 2008 Christmas Special
Kes had this idea and I liked it...and I have had such a dry spell in my writing...we should have no hopes of this going on...but it might...you never know. If you wish to encourage me with word and gesture (or icon or whatever) feel free. :wink:
LIKE GUM ON YOUR SHOE
by Rabid1st
Doctor Who
Rose/Ten - Post Journey's End
Rating: Adult
Beta Babe: None! Do I need one? Probably!
Spoilers: Not really...but there is an idea in this I got from my beta babe, Keswindhover today. Right after she saw the Children In Need clip for the 2008 Christmas Special. We don't know if it truly is a spoiler...if you know...don't spoil anyone else.
Summary: There's still one name with the power to wound. Still one person he can't out run.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to these characters. All belong to the BBC and Russell T. Davies and other production houses.
The blood remembers
What the mind forgets
The soul is a quiet animal
Given less to thought than memory
More to dreams than plan.
~from~The Quiet Animal by Julia Cameron
Part Zero
“I feel sorry for you, Doctor,” the man, an actor by trade, spoke with real sympathy. “I've lost the woman I loved, but you...you never allowed yourself to love at all. You've lived so long, seen so much, all those years of traveling, countless worlds and so many friends, yet, here you are...all alone on Christmas.”
“You're alone, too,” the Doctor countered.
The man shook his dark head. “Not by choice. And I still have my memories.”
“I have memories,” the Doctor squeaked, ashamed to sound so defensive.
“Of what? Of war? Of battles won? Of loss?” the actor sighed. “Where are your happy memories? All you have are new horizons, Doctor. Nothing else. What about coming home to welcoming arms?”
“I had that once...long ago...but...”
“Yes, yes,” the man interrupted. “I know the lines as well as you do. I've read your bio and the play.” He struck a dramatic pose and quoted, “'All gone now! My home. My family. You must live the life I can never have. Do this for me, Rosita!'” Returning to a more casual stance, the actor lifted an inquiring brow as he met the Doctor's eye. “But isn't that just...melodrama? What I'm wondering, from a motivational standpoint, is why?"
"Why?"
"Why you choose to suffer needlessly?”
The Doctor scowled fiercely, his upper lip curling. “Choose?,” he repeated. “Choose?” His voice cracked with a mixture of outrage and astonishment.
“I can process all of the tragedy beyond your control. All of your people gone. The ceaseless heartache of an entire world lost. But if you can love again...then I'm afraid I don't quite see why you can't have the life you long for so desperately.”
“Well, obviously,” The Doctor began, but he couldn't press on from there. He sputtered a bit. “I wouldn't say 'desperately'...”
“Oh? Hmmm, I certainly would.”
“Yes...well...don't. Just don't. I've got a job to do. I can't just stop.”
“A job that other people do when you're not around, yes?”
“Yes. Maybe. I suppose. But lives are lost.”
“Lives are lost either way, it seems.”
“Look, it's not a choice. What I want is not...What I mean to say is...I can't...because...it wouldn't be fair.”
“Fair to whom?”
The Doctor stared at the man for several long, silent moments. Then, he smiled quite brilliantly. “Rose,” he said.
“And there it is,” the man intoned, stepping closer. “The bit I kept stumbling over in the story. Why not Rosita? I mean, Rose?" He corrected himself, impatiently. "Why turn your back on so much love? So much promise? She was torn from your side, you struggled to reach her for years, and then, with happiness within your grasp, you just give her up to another?”
“He needed her.”
The man waved this excuse away with a weary hand. “Not good enough, I'm afraid. Is it death you fear? Would you rather see her unhappy...be unhappy yourself...just so you need never see her die?”
“I...don't...” the Doctor swallowed and started over, “I don't know what to say to that?”
“That's how I think I will play it, if you don't mind,” the man said.
“I thought we'd agreed you were to stop playing Time Lord,” the Doctor said.
The man smiled broadly and said, “Did we? I suppose it slipped my mind for a moment. There's so much more I can do with the role.” He glanced at the clouds overhead, squinting into the thickening downfall of snow as he turned up the collar of his coat. “And now, I think I must find a warm hearth and willing audience, one that can stand me a tankard of ale and a chunk of bread or cheese or both. This weather becomes too brutal for man or Time Lord.” He held out his hand. “It's been a pleasure meeting you, Doctor, invaluable to my craft.”
“Likewise, I think,” the Doctor said. “Though I never did get your name.”
“Nor I yours,” The man said, beaming as he backed away. He flourished his hand and took a small bow.
The Doctor returned the bow and smiled. He watched the man saunter away, his bright mustard-colored coat visible in the torchlight until a curtain of snowflakes fell between them.
“Happy Christmas, everyone,” the Doctor said, sighing as he inserted his key into the TARDIS door.
The ship enveloped him in welcoming heat. He wanted to believe she was glad to have him home. Certainly, the console room glowed with a festive, golden light. Humming a carol, he tossed his coat across a beam, strode to the console and set his ship in motion. As the rotor began to pulse and lift, the Doctor's eye fell on Martha's mobile in its little cradle. He could call someone and wish them a happy holiday. Martha? Mickey? Sarah Jane? Not Donna or her family. He felt the pang of loss again. Maybe Jack. Picking up the phone, he flipped it open so he could read the contacts list. There were so many names. He scrolled through them until one arrested his attention.
Rose Tyler.
Gone, he thought, gone forever. But his thumb circled the call button, teasing at it once, twice. What harm would it do? There would be nothing but static, of course. He pushed the key and the screen flashed a message at him.
Subwave Network Engaged
“Subwave?” he mused, recalling how he'd penetrated the fold in space/time.
This phone had helped him bridge the dimensions to find the stolen Earth and other planets. All the TARDIS needed was a steady signal, a billion voices ringing him or a fellow Time Lord to lock on to or someone like a Time Lord. Even as he had the thought, the console room filled with a ghastly red light and a distant gong sounded in the depths of the TARDIS.
The ship spun on her axis. The floor bucked, hurling him backward into the padded railing. As Martha's mobile went flying, a frightful grinding noise made the Doctor cover his ears. He cowered slightly. Something ripped reality in two. It sounded like all the glass in the universe was being crushed under God's heel. The Doctor squinted as everything blurred. There seemed to be a halo around the rotor and his chair, like the room was a double exposure. The view sharpened. The time rotor stopped. And the cloister bell fell ominously silent.
Nothing else happened. The Doctor drew a breath and then another, relaxing slightly. He straightened and was smoothing down his suit jacket when a voice spoke from the far side of the stalled time rotor.
“What took you so long? I thought you'd never call.”
He knew who it was. He could never forget that voice. But he didn't dare believe. Launching himself across the room, the Doctor skidded around the console and found he was facing a very real, very pregnant, Rose Marion Tyler.
The sight of her slammed him to a halt. He gasped, gaping like a startled cartoon character. They stared at one another, both afraid to break the spell. She moved first, taking a step toward him just as the time rotor started pumping regularly again. The floor lurched once more. Rose tumbled sideways and he leaped forward, catching her easily, pulling her into a hug. He buried his face in the natural curve of her. Kissed her shoulder, her neck, her hair. She smelled like heaven. No, Christmas. Like gingerbread and mistletoe and progesterone.
Rose. Rose. Rose. His hearts hammered her name as she very gently pushed against him in an effort to regain her balance.
“Whoa! Hello!” She grinned up at him, clutching his forearms when he settled her onto her feet.
“G-Guh-ah-I-wha-? You,” he managed in a gulping stammer.
“Me. Back again! Like gum on your shoe, yeah? But...here's the problem. You know that plan you had? The one where I make the other you all better, and then him and me live a happy life till we're old and gray? Well,” she wrinkled her nose, “That didn't work for us.”
Though it took a great deal of effort, the Doctor tore his gaze from her laughing eyes and her beautiful upturned face. He glanced down at her belly, made a tiny whimpering noise, and then said the only thing he was capable of saying at that exact moment. “What...?”
Rose grimaced as she followed his gaze. She patted her stomach. “Oh, this. It's not what you think. Or maybe it is. He does have your curiosity about things. I'll say that for him. And you can't expect to just dump us on some beach and say, have a nice life without some consequences, can you?”
To Be Continued...maybe...
Kes had this idea and I liked it...and I have had such a dry spell in my writing...we should have no hopes of this going on...but it might...you never know. If you wish to encourage me with word and gesture (or icon or whatever) feel free. :wink:
LIKE GUM ON YOUR SHOE
by Rabid1st
Doctor Who
Rose/Ten - Post Journey's End
Rating: Adult
Beta Babe: None! Do I need one? Probably!
Spoilers: Not really...but there is an idea in this I got from my beta babe, Keswindhover today. Right after she saw the Children In Need clip for the 2008 Christmas Special. We don't know if it truly is a spoiler...if you know...don't spoil anyone else.
Summary: There's still one name with the power to wound. Still one person he can't out run.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to these characters. All belong to the BBC and Russell T. Davies and other production houses.
The blood remembers
What the mind forgets
The soul is a quiet animal
Given less to thought than memory
More to dreams than plan.
~from~The Quiet Animal by Julia Cameron
Part Zero
“I feel sorry for you, Doctor,” the man, an actor by trade, spoke with real sympathy. “I've lost the woman I loved, but you...you never allowed yourself to love at all. You've lived so long, seen so much, all those years of traveling, countless worlds and so many friends, yet, here you are...all alone on Christmas.”
“You're alone, too,” the Doctor countered.
The man shook his dark head. “Not by choice. And I still have my memories.”
“I have memories,” the Doctor squeaked, ashamed to sound so defensive.
“Of what? Of war? Of battles won? Of loss?” the actor sighed. “Where are your happy memories? All you have are new horizons, Doctor. Nothing else. What about coming home to welcoming arms?”
“I had that once...long ago...but...”
“Yes, yes,” the man interrupted. “I know the lines as well as you do. I've read your bio and the play.” He struck a dramatic pose and quoted, “'All gone now! My home. My family. You must live the life I can never have. Do this for me, Rosita!'” Returning to a more casual stance, the actor lifted an inquiring brow as he met the Doctor's eye. “But isn't that just...melodrama? What I'm wondering, from a motivational standpoint, is why?"
"Why?"
"Why you choose to suffer needlessly?”
The Doctor scowled fiercely, his upper lip curling. “Choose?,” he repeated. “Choose?” His voice cracked with a mixture of outrage and astonishment.
“I can process all of the tragedy beyond your control. All of your people gone. The ceaseless heartache of an entire world lost. But if you can love again...then I'm afraid I don't quite see why you can't have the life you long for so desperately.”
“Well, obviously,” The Doctor began, but he couldn't press on from there. He sputtered a bit. “I wouldn't say 'desperately'...”
“Oh? Hmmm, I certainly would.”
“Yes...well...don't. Just don't. I've got a job to do. I can't just stop.”
“A job that other people do when you're not around, yes?”
“Yes. Maybe. I suppose. But lives are lost.”
“Lives are lost either way, it seems.”
“Look, it's not a choice. What I want is not...What I mean to say is...I can't...because...it wouldn't be fair.”
“Fair to whom?”
The Doctor stared at the man for several long, silent moments. Then, he smiled quite brilliantly. “Rose,” he said.
“And there it is,” the man intoned, stepping closer. “The bit I kept stumbling over in the story. Why not Rosita? I mean, Rose?" He corrected himself, impatiently. "Why turn your back on so much love? So much promise? She was torn from your side, you struggled to reach her for years, and then, with happiness within your grasp, you just give her up to another?”
“He needed her.”
The man waved this excuse away with a weary hand. “Not good enough, I'm afraid. Is it death you fear? Would you rather see her unhappy...be unhappy yourself...just so you need never see her die?”
“I...don't...” the Doctor swallowed and started over, “I don't know what to say to that?”
“That's how I think I will play it, if you don't mind,” the man said.
“I thought we'd agreed you were to stop playing Time Lord,” the Doctor said.
The man smiled broadly and said, “Did we? I suppose it slipped my mind for a moment. There's so much more I can do with the role.” He glanced at the clouds overhead, squinting into the thickening downfall of snow as he turned up the collar of his coat. “And now, I think I must find a warm hearth and willing audience, one that can stand me a tankard of ale and a chunk of bread or cheese or both. This weather becomes too brutal for man or Time Lord.” He held out his hand. “It's been a pleasure meeting you, Doctor, invaluable to my craft.”
“Likewise, I think,” the Doctor said. “Though I never did get your name.”
“Nor I yours,” The man said, beaming as he backed away. He flourished his hand and took a small bow.
The Doctor returned the bow and smiled. He watched the man saunter away, his bright mustard-colored coat visible in the torchlight until a curtain of snowflakes fell between them.
“Happy Christmas, everyone,” the Doctor said, sighing as he inserted his key into the TARDIS door.
The ship enveloped him in welcoming heat. He wanted to believe she was glad to have him home. Certainly, the console room glowed with a festive, golden light. Humming a carol, he tossed his coat across a beam, strode to the console and set his ship in motion. As the rotor began to pulse and lift, the Doctor's eye fell on Martha's mobile in its little cradle. He could call someone and wish them a happy holiday. Martha? Mickey? Sarah Jane? Not Donna or her family. He felt the pang of loss again. Maybe Jack. Picking up the phone, he flipped it open so he could read the contacts list. There were so many names. He scrolled through them until one arrested his attention.
Rose Tyler.
Gone, he thought, gone forever. But his thumb circled the call button, teasing at it once, twice. What harm would it do? There would be nothing but static, of course. He pushed the key and the screen flashed a message at him.
Subwave Network Engaged
“Subwave?” he mused, recalling how he'd penetrated the fold in space/time.
This phone had helped him bridge the dimensions to find the stolen Earth and other planets. All the TARDIS needed was a steady signal, a billion voices ringing him or a fellow Time Lord to lock on to or someone like a Time Lord. Even as he had the thought, the console room filled with a ghastly red light and a distant gong sounded in the depths of the TARDIS.
The ship spun on her axis. The floor bucked, hurling him backward into the padded railing. As Martha's mobile went flying, a frightful grinding noise made the Doctor cover his ears. He cowered slightly. Something ripped reality in two. It sounded like all the glass in the universe was being crushed under God's heel. The Doctor squinted as everything blurred. There seemed to be a halo around the rotor and his chair, like the room was a double exposure. The view sharpened. The time rotor stopped. And the cloister bell fell ominously silent.
Nothing else happened. The Doctor drew a breath and then another, relaxing slightly. He straightened and was smoothing down his suit jacket when a voice spoke from the far side of the stalled time rotor.
“What took you so long? I thought you'd never call.”
He knew who it was. He could never forget that voice. But he didn't dare believe. Launching himself across the room, the Doctor skidded around the console and found he was facing a very real, very pregnant, Rose Marion Tyler.
The sight of her slammed him to a halt. He gasped, gaping like a startled cartoon character. They stared at one another, both afraid to break the spell. She moved first, taking a step toward him just as the time rotor started pumping regularly again. The floor lurched once more. Rose tumbled sideways and he leaped forward, catching her easily, pulling her into a hug. He buried his face in the natural curve of her. Kissed her shoulder, her neck, her hair. She smelled like heaven. No, Christmas. Like gingerbread and mistletoe and progesterone.
Rose. Rose. Rose. His hearts hammered her name as she very gently pushed against him in an effort to regain her balance.
“Whoa! Hello!” She grinned up at him, clutching his forearms when he settled her onto her feet.
“G-Guh-ah-I-wha-? You,” he managed in a gulping stammer.
“Me. Back again! Like gum on your shoe, yeah? But...here's the problem. You know that plan you had? The one where I make the other you all better, and then him and me live a happy life till we're old and gray? Well,” she wrinkled her nose, “That didn't work for us.”
Though it took a great deal of effort, the Doctor tore his gaze from her laughing eyes and her beautiful upturned face. He glanced down at her belly, made a tiny whimpering noise, and then said the only thing he was capable of saying at that exact moment. “What...?”
Rose grimaced as she followed his gaze. She patted her stomach. “Oh, this. It's not what you think. Or maybe it is. He does have your curiosity about things. I'll say that for him. And you can't expect to just dump us on some beach and say, have a nice life without some consequences, can you?”
To Be Continued...maybe...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-16 07:48 pm (UTC)Thanks for the :sip: encouragement! :grin:
Rae