Won't Live Forever, Chapter 1
A/N: I started writing this a bit back and have posted it on fanfiction.net and Teaspoon and an open mind, but I'm a big writing hussy and decided to post it here, too.
This story begins in Season 2 of the New Doctor Who series, right after the episode "The Girl in the Fireplace". It starts with a lot of introspection, and a lot of angst, and weaves it's way out to a place where, I promise, eventually, it will have a plot of it's own. There is occasional fluffiness thrown in here and there as well--I don't believe that angst and fluff are mutually exclusive.
I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1
Rose stared bleakly out the window in her room at the eons of space encompassing the tiny TARDIS, at the blackness and galaxies between them and the ghost ship, and wiped absently at a now-dry cheek. Oh, there had been tears, lakes and rivers, more moisture than she would have thought her body could contain had poured out of her, wracking sobs that had been interspersed with hot, tearing rage. For hours after bidding a tight, unheard good-night to Mickey and The Doctor as they sat discussing the finer points of football and phasers (she doubted they’d even noticed her absence), and locking herself in her room, she had stomped and punched her pillow and the wall, collapsed on her bed, rocking in wordless grief, whimpering and shrieking with her pain…but one little girl’s body can only hold so much emotion before the control tower sends the message for automatic shutdown.
She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, watching nebulas burn, exhausted and aching. Whatever had torn through her was gone. It had left its mark on her damp pillow, and the glittering shards of crystal on the floor, but even when her eyes fell upon the shining shattered remains of the first present he had ever given her, she could feel no more than the echo of emotion. She looked down and noticed dispassionately that a few pieces had buried themselves in her bare feet, and tried half-heartedly to pick them out with her fingernails.
Really need some tweezers for this, she thought as one of the blood-slippery shards eluded her grasp yet again. She glanced across the room to the toiletries bag on her bed, taking in the rumpled blankets and angrily toppled belongings on the way. Really need to straighten up this mess…
Her eyes wandered back to the glowing vista outside, and she leaned her head against the glass, too drained to block him from her mind, the walls and barriers she had been building inside herself just so much rubble for right now.
She had been fascinated with him from the moment he had grasped her hand that night in the basement of the store. With that one touch he had changed her world, changed her, from Rose Tyler, shop girl, sure to marry Mickey, or some other nice, safe boy who liked football and picnics, raise a few children and worry about a mortgage, perhaps vacation in the country from time to time, maybe do a tour of places she wanted to see some day when she was too old to want to see them anymore-that had been all she had wanted, or at least all she could expect.
But without knowing it, with one touch, four fingers and a thumb, a perfect set of bones and vessels and skin wrapped tight around her wrist, he had changed her irrevocably, from her cells, out. She had never known she was asleep until he had woken her with a single word. She felt like she could run forever as long as his hand was grasping hers.
She didn’t know when it had become something more for her-she clearly recalled the shock she felt when the first insinuating queries about the actual nature of their relationship had been voiced-he was old enough to be…her father, or her professor at least, and it was simply not that kind of relationship. But somewhere in between running for her life and…running for her life…her denial that they were any more intimately involved began to loose its ring of truth to her. Although strictly speaking, it had still been as true as it had been on the day she met him, at some point she found that she had begun watching him as he ran around the control panel with more than amusement at his antics, her gaze lingering on the fall of light across his cheekbones and his deft fingers as they wiggled the right toggle at just the right moment. His manic grin filled her with effervescent bubbles down to her fingertips and toes, and his hand, clasping hers made her heart race. Luckily, they had usually been running for their lives…again…when their fingers twined, so she never had a need to explain away the sudden color in her cheeks or extra brightness in her eyes.
For a while, she had been embarrassed by what she was sure he would see as a schoolgirl infatuation for the older man in charge. When she thought she saw something else there, when she had brought Adam along on the TARDIS, when she danced and flirted with Captain Jack, she squished down her immature hope and accepted that there was no smothered longing deep in his soulful eyes, just exhaustion from their battles, from his own battles; no quickly dampened jealousy, just a long-standing irritation with the silly lives of humans. If he held her hand a little too long, or touched her shoulder in passing, she had berated herself for her decidedly impure thoughts, sure that he was merely comfortable around her and considered himself just a friend, mentor or even (eww) father figure.
However, by the time he sent her away from Satellite 5, she had already begun to wonder if he might not care for her on a deeper level. Once or twice she had glanced up from whatever she was doing to ask him a question and their gazes had collided, whatever she had been about to say irrevocably lost under the intense pull of his smoky eyes. One time she had been sure that he was about to reach for her, she had willed him with all of her might to pull him to her and…then Jack had stepped through the door and The Doctor had rushed off to fix a short in the master panel on corridor five that was making the lights blink off anytime anyone walked past.
When he had sent her home, she knew. She knew he felt it too, and realized, suddenly that everything that she had explained away as simple companiate caring, every glance, every touch, every almost-he had felt it too. And she refused, refused to let him die, to leave her alone without him.
Of course, she had lost that one in the end. But, even though her recollection of anything after ripping open the inside of the ship was less than solid, that one tender, soul scorching kiss was indelibly implanted in her memory. It had pushed aside all of the lingering insecurities, the ones she thought had been assuaged, and said more clearly than if he had spoken aloud that he loved her. It had been filled with pain and the fear of loosing her and such passionate gentleness, as if he had been afraid she would break. She swiped at her cheek again, vaguely surprised to discover that she did have tears left, after all.
He may have died…but he got better.
He was alive, and the world was safe. That should be all that mattered, right?
Maybe she was just being selfish. Maybe she had been deluded after all. He had kissed her to save her life. Even though it seemed like there should have been some equally effective way to draw the energy out of her, perhaps that was the only choice. Maybe she was just another annoying ape after all.
Because she kept waiting, and… she drew a shaky breath over the pain that announced that she wasn’t entirely numb.
After they had gotten back…well…on Christmas, things had just been an awful mess, of course, with his regeneration going wrong and her feeling so confused in the face of…well, his new face, and someone else trying to take over the planet again… There just hadn’t been time to reflect on their feelings for each other…and then, well, it was rather difficult to spend quality time together when some psychotic bitch has taken over your body and starts groping the love of your very existence. She had been optimistic when they were hijacked by Queen Victoria…but getting dragged away and used as wolf bait had taken up a lot of time.
Up to that point, there had always been some interference, some excuse, some way she could justify his inattention. She kept telling herself that he was acclimating, that he was busy, that as soon as they got some downtime she would be wrapped in his arms and smothered with kisses.
But they’d had time, and it hadn’t happened.
It seemed like, after the most passionate moment in her life, she had been sent on an express shuttle back to the Friend Zone. He was manic and caviler apparently wild about humans this time around, full of life and energy, and seemingly void of any emotional attachment to her beyond her amazing humanness. She hadn’t once caught him looking at her soulfully, or felt his fingertips linger on her hair or the small of her back as he passed.
She had been studiously building walls and mountains to hide each shattered hope. Meeting Sarah-Jane had been…quite a…revelation…having one of his former companions explain in no uncertain terms that as soon as she started to fade, she’d be dumped off at home and never see him again, until he stumbled across her years down the line with some perky new girl on his arm…Sarah-Jane said that the heartbreak was worth the experience, but Rose wasn’t sure her pride could handle it, following him around like a puppy and begging for scraps of recognition until he decided she was past her sell-by date…but then she contemplated leaving, telling him it had been fun and she had a life to get back to, walking away with her chin high and never seeing him again…and she realized that where he was concerned, she didn’t even know the meaning of the word ‘pride’. Every cell in her body had screamed at the thought of being parted from him, and insisted that each and every one of them would die if they were away from him. And she didn’t try to delude herself that he would have come after her. Maybe once. Maybe the man who had asked with a wide grin if she wanted to see the universe, and had refused to take no for an answer, the man who had taken on time itself for her. But not any more…any more he would ask if she was sure, with a quirked eyebrow, then nod and say that he understood and take off in search of some other fascinating human specimen to drag around the galaxy, the outline of the TARDIS fading before she even had the chance to answer.
Not that he hadn’t found another human to drag around, she thought darkly. Nothing tells a girl that you’re not interested in a relationship like bringing her sort-of ex-boyfriend along.
Mickey thought he was the tin dog?
But she’d been dealing, just enjoying the warmth of his presence, even if that brilliance was no longer just for her, hiding the pain inside behind bright smiles and dumb jokes. And by taking on challenges with an almost reckless abandon, dancing on the precipice-childishly hoping to see something other than adventurous glee in his eyes like, oh maybe a smidge of concern for her safety?
But the past few days had shown her the truth, once and for all.
When the TARDIS had landed on the deserted ship, she had just been glad to be somewhere, with something to concentrate on other than her shattered dreams and Mickey’s determined presence. The enigma of the little girl they had glimpsed through the flames held merely the promise of an exciting new adventure that she could share with her Doctor, and bask shamelessly in the glow of his brilliance and exuberance. But she hadn’t expected the little girl to grow up-and as a famous hooker of all things! All right, technically a royal mistress, but nevertheless….
When The Doctor had returned from another visit and gleefully informed them that he had just snogged Madame Pompadour, she had been seized by the all-too-female impulse to step calmly through the flames and claw the woman’s eyes out, or perhaps just switch sides for one little adventure. But she had tamped down the ungracious thoughts and kept herself from crying, smiled bravely and asked about their plan of action as usual.
It had been a little more difficult for her to smile when she and Mickey had been strapped down by repair-bots and about to be used for spare parts, and the doctor capered into the room utterly pissed and belting out My Fair Lady songs. Especially when he dredged up the direst insult in his repertoire and compared her to her mother. She’d been more than a little upset. He hadn’t even shown the least bit of concern for the fact that she was about to die-no, he’d been too busy re-writing history via banana daiquiri.
But he had come for her. At least he’d come, like he always said he would.
But tonight.
Tonight had just been…
He’d left her.
He’d jumped that stupid horse through that bloody mirror, knowing bloody well that once he did it, the way would be closed. He and the TARDIS would be on opposite sides of the galaxy, and centuries-no, millennia-apart. He had stranded her and Mickey on an abandoned space ship light years from ANYTHING, with no crew, no food, no way to ever go home.
It had been the most frightening five-and-a-half hours of her life (she’d counted every second), knowing that she was going to die there, just her and Mickey, alone…within days, weeks…years even, depending on how long the TARDIS kept power…but she didn’t think it would be that long.
When he’d returned for her, she’d been so relieved that she almost finally broke down and cried. He’d come back for her, just like he always said he would-he must have known all along that there would be a way back, she had tried to convince herself. Before she could even get two sentences out of him, however he was running back to that infernal fireplace, shouting for the well-endowed blonde courtesan on the other side. Of course, he’d been a scosh too late, but that really didn’t make Rose feel any better. She didn’t really have anything against the beautiful, cultured, experienced, slutty…ok…maybe she had a little against the woman, but she couldn’t fault her for liking The Doctor. She had even tried her hardest to help her. Infatuation with The Doctor was understandable, from Rose’s point of view. He, on the other hand, had likely never even mentioned her name on his French holiday. He’d been too busy drinking banana-flavored cocktails and playing court to French women and forgetting all about the people who would be stranded and die without him. He hadn’t even cared as much about her as the strangers he saved once a week.
He had returned from his final jaunt to see Rennet subdued and obviously hurting. She had tried. No recriminations, no ‘why did you leave me here to die?’…she knew that he had a difficult time dealing with human life-spans…she had offered comfort, and he had just looked at her as if to say, ‘Oh, you again? Silly little girl, there is no way you could understand the pain of me loosing my girlfriend of two days or so, so please don’t bother me, unimportant one.’
Mickey had proved himself to be not quite an idiot for once by taking Rose’s hand and leading her out of the room before she had the chance to fully loose her dignity. (Of course, The Doctor had been to preoccupied to notice.) He had her lead him around the ship for hours, keeping her mind busy and even coaxed out a few smiles. Finally, he had begged starvation and set off for the kitchen. After spending another hour in the library brooding and re-building some of her emotional defenses, telling herself some more lies, she decided that she should probably eat too, even if she wasn’t very hungry-after all, who knew if they’d be prisoners on a Burmese warship tomorrow?
As she had neared the kitchen, she heard voices coming from within and paused to listen, only to hear Mickey explaining the finer points of football to The Doctor. She hung around outside the doorway for a minute or two longer, as the apparently forgiven, if somewhat subdued-sounding Time Lord started talking physics. Whether it was the smell of eggs and sausage or just the idea of being in the same room with him, Rose’s stomach had violently contested her choice. She had whispered ‘Good-night’ to their oblivious backs before turning and walking away down the corridor. She almost had the knots worked out when she reached her room, but once she was inside, leaning against the locked door, she just hadn’t been able to stop it. Somehow, Mickey’s defection had tipped the scales. He had been abandoned too, but no matter-Boy’s Club and all-talk about laser guns and football and all is forgiven. Rose had never felt so alone.
She gazed out the window, a few tardy tears following their brethren, trickling down her cheeks, unnoticed. She glanced back at the room. She should really clean up her mess. The only thing that could possibly make her feel worse than she already did would be the condescending looks she’d get if …someone… walked in on the aftermath of her tantrum.
Merely the thought of getting up was exhausting. And it wasn’t like the only person on the ship who could open a locked door in a trice had any reason to. She’d do it in a minute…she returned her gaze to the window. She just wanted to rest a little longer…
…Just a few more minutes…just as soon as she could muster the energy…