Lost-and-Found
Title: Lost-and-Found
Pairing: Ten.5/Rose, Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose
Rating: R (very light)
Potential Spoliers: Seasons 1-4
Author's Notes: **Winner** Tied for Second Place for Challenge 46 at then_theres_us.
My prompt was: Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white.
“I’ve lost you,” I say, “so many times.”
And you’re in a playful mood. Ruffle my hair and wink, “Can’t lose whatcha never had.”
And you skip off again.
In cherry lips and no bra.
And I think somewhere, out there, my universe collapses.
And you are…
Oblivious.
**
I take you to the End of the World. I take you to a London street.
I am an idiot.
I nearly lose you/get you killed. And I make you buy your own chips.
I make you buy mine too.
I am a terrible date.
I won’t tell you that I’m more worried now than I was on Platform One.
That the space between “Do you wanna go home?” and “I want chips.” is…unbearable and infinite.
I’m already on borrowed time.
**
I do take you home, eventually. And you have no idea how terrified I am that it’s for good. Despite what you say.
And I nearly lose you.
To twelve months.
And a boyfriend-now-murder suspect.
To Slitheen, and a too-soon confession, and the rubble of Downing Street. (…and if Harriet hadn’t been there, honestly Rose…I just don’t know. You’d have burned, I know. But I would have burned with you.)
To your mum. To her slap and her shepherds pie.
When you thrust your duffel into me, I only just keep my past-fear and present-relief to myself.
**
I tell myself I haven’t lost you if I’m the one to send you away.
Because there’s no way I’m going to lose you to the Daleks…again.
You’ve been given back twice now.
I’m not gambling on a third.
**
You find your way back.
And no, I’m not going to lose you to the Daleks now: I’m going to lose you to yourself, Rose.
We’re on borrowed time. But, then, I’m a Time Lord. So I borrow some more.
Your lips taste like electric cherries in between my tears. (It’s good you won’t remember this/them)
I lose me.
But that’s ok, if I can keep you just a little longer.
**
I lose you. For an afternoon.
To an elevator.
And a trampoline.
And when I know you’re lost…
I don’t tell you how. That it’s because your lips don’t taste like cherries this time.
**
Five and a half hours.
I am a stupidfuckingarrogantidiotprick.
And this time, when I lose you, there is no one I can blame but myself.
But I’m alright.
I’m always alright.
And Rose, you believe me.
**
I won’t admit to it, but I lock the TARDIS doors and don’t exhale till we’re in the Vortex again.
Too little time’s passed since banana daiquiris and 18th century France.
And honestly I’m not sure you wouldn’t rather just stay with Mickey (who isn’t nearly as thick as I claim) and your not-father. Even if he doesn’t want you now.
He will.
No one’s that thick.
To not want you.
Despite banana daiquiris to the contrary.
**
A hundred more near misses, and brushes with, and escapes from.
One would be too many, for the record.
I feel my lease on you grow short.
I cover though, and manage to slip just once, over a cake sprinkled in silver ball bearings.
And your sideways pigtail.
And your hand in mine.
And never-ever.
**
That day. That wall.
I can’t even -
I don’t have to hide it from you this time, the terrorloveanguishunfulfilledlonging…because you are gone.
**
…three years…
Years, Rose.
**
I get you back.
Unbelievable. Unfathomable. An entire dictionary full of equally inadequate words.
And in all but the next breath, I nearly lose you…again…to myself.
Because it does need saying.
If I’d/he’d had more courage, I/me wouldn’t have you.
(I consider this. I think, maybe he has more courage than I thought.)
Then I am drowning in nothing-but-cherry lips…even as I study his face. I am astonished by what I don’t see.
I (he) should play poker much more often.
**
Saturday afternoons:
I appreciate the high thread-count. And the lazy expedition of your fingers over my body. The play of light over yours - gilding you, in paths my lips are soon to follow.
(*Note: not necessarily listed in order of importance.)
And still, I can’t shake the memory of your loss.
**
An alley, maybe 2 am, a TARDIS swapped in for a taxi…
I ask you to come with me.
You say, “no.”
Ah.
Well.
I’ve never had a life like that.
**
I lie here in you. Entangled to the point that you hold the deed to my limbs, and I, yours.
I remember that I’m a no-second-chances kind of man.
I imagine not going back. No “did I mention..?”
I lose you without ever having had you.
I can’t breathe. And…and…
Just the thought of you…
- of never you -
…draws my knuckles white.
**
Your eyes are anxious for me.
My hands grip your hips like death.
Your warmth is the temple into which I spill my prayers.
**
And after…
**
“I’ve lost you,” I say, “so many times.”
Your gaze goes so deep I feel it stroke the soles of my feet. Cup my cheek with your Darjeeling breath, “Can’t lose what’s part of you.”
And you stay here.
In cherry lips and just a bra.
And I think somewhere, in you, my universe stands.
And you are…
Oh...
Pairing: Ten.5/Rose, Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose
Rating: R (very light)
Potential Spoliers: Seasons 1-4
Author's Notes: **Winner** Tied for Second Place for Challenge 46 at then_theres_us.
My prompt was: Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white.
“I’ve lost you,” I say, “so many times.”
And you’re in a playful mood. Ruffle my hair and wink, “Can’t lose whatcha never had.”
And you skip off again.
In cherry lips and no bra.
And I think somewhere, out there, my universe collapses.
And you are…
Oblivious.
**
I take you to the End of the World. I take you to a London street.
I am an idiot.
I nearly lose you/get you killed. And I make you buy your own chips.
I make you buy mine too.
I am a terrible date.
I won’t tell you that I’m more worried now than I was on Platform One.
That the space between “Do you wanna go home?” and “I want chips.” is…unbearable and infinite.
I’m already on borrowed time.
**
I do take you home, eventually. And you have no idea how terrified I am that it’s for good. Despite what you say.
And I nearly lose you.
To twelve months.
And a boyfriend-now-murder suspect.
To Slitheen, and a too-soon confession, and the rubble of Downing Street. (…and if Harriet hadn’t been there, honestly Rose…I just don’t know. You’d have burned, I know. But I would have burned with you.)
To your mum. To her slap and her shepherds pie.
When you thrust your duffel into me, I only just keep my past-fear and present-relief to myself.
**
I tell myself I haven’t lost you if I’m the one to send you away.
Because there’s no way I’m going to lose you to the Daleks…again.
You’ve been given back twice now.
I’m not gambling on a third.
**
You find your way back.
And no, I’m not going to lose you to the Daleks now: I’m going to lose you to yourself, Rose.
We’re on borrowed time. But, then, I’m a Time Lord. So I borrow some more.
Your lips taste like electric cherries in between my tears. (It’s good you won’t remember this/them)
I lose me.
But that’s ok, if I can keep you just a little longer.
**
I lose you. For an afternoon.
To an elevator.
And a trampoline.
And when I know you’re lost…
I don’t tell you how. That it’s because your lips don’t taste like cherries this time.
**
Five and a half hours.
I am a stupidfuckingarrogantidiotprick.
And this time, when I lose you, there is no one I can blame but myself.
But I’m alright.
I’m always alright.
And Rose, you believe me.
**
I won’t admit to it, but I lock the TARDIS doors and don’t exhale till we’re in the Vortex again.
Too little time’s passed since banana daiquiris and 18th century France.
And honestly I’m not sure you wouldn’t rather just stay with Mickey (who isn’t nearly as thick as I claim) and your not-father. Even if he doesn’t want you now.
He will.
No one’s that thick.
To not want you.
Despite banana daiquiris to the contrary.
**
A hundred more near misses, and brushes with, and escapes from.
One would be too many, for the record.
I feel my lease on you grow short.
I cover though, and manage to slip just once, over a cake sprinkled in silver ball bearings.
And your sideways pigtail.
And your hand in mine.
And never-ever.
**
That day. That wall.
I can’t even -
I don’t have to hide it from you this time, the terrorloveanguishunfulfilledlonging…because you are gone.
**
…three years…
Years, Rose.
**
I get you back.
Unbelievable. Unfathomable. An entire dictionary full of equally inadequate words.
And in all but the next breath, I nearly lose you…again…to myself.
Because it does need saying.
If I’d/he’d had more courage, I/me wouldn’t have you.
(I consider this. I think, maybe he has more courage than I thought.)
Then I am drowning in nothing-but-cherry lips…even as I study his face. I am astonished by what I don’t see.
I (he) should play poker much more often.
**
Saturday afternoons:
I appreciate the high thread-count. And the lazy expedition of your fingers over my body. The play of light over yours - gilding you, in paths my lips are soon to follow.
(*Note: not necessarily listed in order of importance.)
And still, I can’t shake the memory of your loss.
**
An alley, maybe 2 am, a TARDIS swapped in for a taxi…
I ask you to come with me.
You say, “no.”
Ah.
Well.
I’ve never had a life like that.
**
I lie here in you. Entangled to the point that you hold the deed to my limbs, and I, yours.
I remember that I’m a no-second-chances kind of man.
I imagine not going back. No “did I mention..?”
I lose you without ever having had you.
I can’t breathe. And…and…
Just the thought of you…
- of never you -
…draws my knuckles white.
**
Your eyes are anxious for me.
My hands grip your hips like death.
Your warmth is the temple into which I spill my prayers.
**
And after…
**
“I’ve lost you,” I say, “so many times.”
Your gaze goes so deep I feel it stroke the soles of my feet. Cup my cheek with your Darjeeling breath, “Can’t lose what’s part of you.”
And you stay here.
In cherry lips and just a bra.
And I think somewhere, in you, my universe stands.
And you are…
Oh...