Ten/Rose, PG, Post-Doomsday
Title: that quiet part
Author: christn7
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Spoilers: Post-Doomsday
Author's notes: Quick ficlet to work off some frustration. Many, many thanks to the all together brilliant wendymr for BRing. :)
Summary: 'I suppose, if it's my last chance to say it. Rose Tyler...'
--
that quiet part
--
It’ll never happen when they’re just-about-to-die.
No, that’s when he’s at his finest, switching switches and equating equations and being just plain brilliant. He’s far too busy making sure they’re not just-about-to-die to bother with the entire we’re-just-about-to-die-act-of-desperation.
So, no, it doesn’t happen when they’re trapped by the Slitheen or fighting off hordes of home-grown Cybermen.
Though, while he may be busy being brilliant, he always makes the promise to himself.
Some part of his mind, distant and quiet and not preoccupied with saving them, is heavy with all his unfulfilled promises. It’s filled with the entirety of his we’re-about-to-die-wishes and he always promises himself it’ll be the last time he’ll face death with the taste of the words still on his tongue.
If they don’t die, if they manage to scrape through, just this one more time, it’ll be the chance he doesn’t waste.
Then, of course, after his brilliance pulls them through, the adrenaline is still bouncing through her system - he’s still bouncing - and it’s just not right. It’s not special or romantic or anything near what she deserves, just another spectacularly ordinary brush with death. Dime a dozen, those.
Plus, he’s usually rather drenched in sweat or covered in mud and he can’t tell her then, of course not, when he does, it’ll - hopefully - lead to some snogging and, really, he’d prefer to be less sticky for that.
--
It’s far too much of an odd thing to simply come out with too, so, no, it’s not about to happen on one of their quiet days either.
He’s not really to blame, of course - hardly a conversation-starter, that and he’s not about to just blurt it out in the middle of an iced over ocean or a quiet market on the fourth moon of an even quieter planet.
She’s usually too distracted, in any case. Busy, busy, busy, she is, taking in the culture, meeting the people - experiencing it all. Brilliant at that, his Rose. One of the best experiencers-of-it-all he’s ever travelled with, and he’s not about to begrudge her that.
Besides that very relevant and completely valid reason, he doesn’t want to take away from the majesty of the place they’re in. Deserves to be memorable on its own, the beauty of the universe, and not because they’re in the place he almost-did-but-if-he’s-lucky-didn’t-ruin-it-all.
There’s still that part of him, though - the part that’s even less preoccupied since the rest of him isn’t busy trying to save their lives - that’s reminding him of his vow. He ignores it, of course, since her eyes are all aglow.
She’s taking in the wonders and he can’t exactly take that away from her. Moreover, he doesn’t want to.
It’s the best he has to offer her in any case.
--
It doesn’t happen afterwards, either. After... that, he means.
He’s all glowy and she’s all warm and they’re both sticky but it’s for an entirely more enjoyable reason.
He consoles that part of him with the thought that nobody really means it when they say it after that and even if he did, which he would, she probably wouldn’t believe it.
It’d be too typical - too ordinary - so, no, not then.
--
It shouldn’t happen when she’s crying.
No, it really shouldn’t, he thinks, but it’s that quiet part of him, the always-there and constantly-ignored part that has decided, quite suddenly, it’s going to be not-so-quiet after all.
Not a small part any more, that part, loud and burning and reminding him of every time he bent to tie his shoe, of every time he tugged on her hand and they’d run for their lives. It reminds him of every time they’ve been together, eating and laughing, adrenaline and sweat and wonder, all of it.
It reminds him of every kiss they’ve had, every time he left her bed, every hug they’ve ever hugged.
Every opportunity he’s missed.
Every opportunity he’ll never have again.
He’s been waiting for an occasion but he’s hardly being brilliant and she’s hardly recognisable through all the tears. It’s only barely and very nearly too late, he thinks, and that’s always the way.
She’s dead in his world, bloody well lost to him for most of time and all of space, and he doesn’t have a life to save except for his own. He burns a sun for her and it’s special enough because it has to be.
It shouldn’t happen when she’s crying, but it very nearly and almost does.
--
It almost doesn’t happen at all but then he gets another chance and he bloody well doesn’t wait to miss it.
It happens when it does, laughter and sweat and joy, all of it on their faces.
He tells her and it’s not exactly special, the way he just blurts it out, but she laughs and then cries. She kisses him with salt on her lips and the timing, he realises, adrenaline and mud and wonder, all of it, it hardly matters at all.
He knew that all along, though - of course he did - in that part of him that's not-so-small and hardly quiet at all.
Author: christn7
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Spoilers: Post-Doomsday
Author's notes: Quick ficlet to work off some frustration. Many, many thanks to the all together brilliant wendymr for BRing. :)
Summary: 'I suppose, if it's my last chance to say it. Rose Tyler...'
--
that quiet part
--
It’ll never happen when they’re just-about-to-die.
No, that’s when he’s at his finest, switching switches and equating equations and being just plain brilliant. He’s far too busy making sure they’re not just-about-to-die to bother with the entire we’re-just-about-to-die-act-of-desperation.
So, no, it doesn’t happen when they’re trapped by the Slitheen or fighting off hordes of home-grown Cybermen.
Though, while he may be busy being brilliant, he always makes the promise to himself.
Some part of his mind, distant and quiet and not preoccupied with saving them, is heavy with all his unfulfilled promises. It’s filled with the entirety of his we’re-about-to-die-wishes and he always promises himself it’ll be the last time he’ll face death with the taste of the words still on his tongue.
If they don’t die, if they manage to scrape through, just this one more time, it’ll be the chance he doesn’t waste.
Then, of course, after his brilliance pulls them through, the adrenaline is still bouncing through her system - he’s still bouncing - and it’s just not right. It’s not special or romantic or anything near what she deserves, just another spectacularly ordinary brush with death. Dime a dozen, those.
Plus, he’s usually rather drenched in sweat or covered in mud and he can’t tell her then, of course not, when he does, it’ll - hopefully - lead to some snogging and, really, he’d prefer to be less sticky for that.
--
It’s far too much of an odd thing to simply come out with too, so, no, it’s not about to happen on one of their quiet days either.
He’s not really to blame, of course - hardly a conversation-starter, that and he’s not about to just blurt it out in the middle of an iced over ocean or a quiet market on the fourth moon of an even quieter planet.
She’s usually too distracted, in any case. Busy, busy, busy, she is, taking in the culture, meeting the people - experiencing it all. Brilliant at that, his Rose. One of the best experiencers-of-it-all he’s ever travelled with, and he’s not about to begrudge her that.
Besides that very relevant and completely valid reason, he doesn’t want to take away from the majesty of the place they’re in. Deserves to be memorable on its own, the beauty of the universe, and not because they’re in the place he almost-did-but-if-he’s-lucky-didn’t-ruin-it-all.
There’s still that part of him, though - the part that’s even less preoccupied since the rest of him isn’t busy trying to save their lives - that’s reminding him of his vow. He ignores it, of course, since her eyes are all aglow.
She’s taking in the wonders and he can’t exactly take that away from her. Moreover, he doesn’t want to.
It’s the best he has to offer her in any case.
--
It doesn’t happen afterwards, either. After... that, he means.
He’s all glowy and she’s all warm and they’re both sticky but it’s for an entirely more enjoyable reason.
He consoles that part of him with the thought that nobody really means it when they say it after that and even if he did, which he would, she probably wouldn’t believe it.
It’d be too typical - too ordinary - so, no, not then.
--
It shouldn’t happen when she’s crying.
No, it really shouldn’t, he thinks, but it’s that quiet part of him, the always-there and constantly-ignored part that has decided, quite suddenly, it’s going to be not-so-quiet after all.
Not a small part any more, that part, loud and burning and reminding him of every time he bent to tie his shoe, of every time he tugged on her hand and they’d run for their lives. It reminds him of every time they’ve been together, eating and laughing, adrenaline and sweat and wonder, all of it.
It reminds him of every kiss they’ve had, every time he left her bed, every hug they’ve ever hugged.
Every opportunity he’s missed.
Every opportunity he’ll never have again.
He’s been waiting for an occasion but he’s hardly being brilliant and she’s hardly recognisable through all the tears. It’s only barely and very nearly too late, he thinks, and that’s always the way.
She’s dead in his world, bloody well lost to him for most of time and all of space, and he doesn’t have a life to save except for his own. He burns a sun for her and it’s special enough because it has to be.
It shouldn’t happen when she’s crying, but it very nearly and almost does.
--
It almost doesn’t happen at all but then he gets another chance and he bloody well doesn’t wait to miss it.
It happens when it does, laughter and sweat and joy, all of it on their faces.
He tells her and it’s not exactly special, the way he just blurts it out, but she laughs and then cries. She kisses him with salt on her lips and the timing, he realises, adrenaline and mud and wonder, all of it, it hardly matters at all.
He knew that all along, though - of course he did - in that part of him that's not-so-small and hardly quiet at all.