(no subject)
devout gifts, Eleven/Rose, PG
She rustles autumn-wise, feet adrift among the clouds, bright eyes far beyond the fingers of quantum physics and veils of light; aglow in a construction of impossibles, dimensions flow beneath her skin and Rose Tyler breaks all the rules (the heart knows of no such thing)., 973
A/N: I am sorry I disappeared again! You have all probably forgotten me and I haven't written dw!fic in ages upon ages, so... forgive any oddities or blatant canon shortcomings.
She rustles autumn-wise, feet adrift among the clouds, bright eyes far beyond the fingers of quantum physics and veils of light; aglow in a construction of impossibles, dimensions flow beneath her skin and Rose Tyler breaks all the rules (the heart knows of no such thing). It is neither a step nor a fall, not a jump or leap through time - her nose wrinkles and her lashes flutter, her palms ache and her soles itch, so she rather feels like a grain of sand wedged between two otherwise creaking gears. They turn and everything whispers again, everything changes again.
Nothing is the same, but she finds that no thing is ever truly new. In a world without her Doctor - the Doctor - there is the loss she has always known, the loss that curls smoky thick within echoed with-out. Rose can taste it on the air, see it in her bones; this is what haunts all her darkest corners. Her life for his, her sacrifice for all others: this is a choice she has made before, so asking it of strong, brilliant Donna is all the more unfair. Maybe the Doctor will (would has is) hate her for it.
Some places are white, white with snow and ash, white enough to make her sigh heavy with memory, white enough to make her hurt for lack of him, so Rose keeps going. Rose keeps going not just for him, but also for her.
the wolf sits silent-howl, sleeping till the call
It annoys her that her eyes still skip a beat at the glimpse of pinstripes or leather jackets, that sometimes she can forget to think about him, in spite of all she does. Maybe that is what saves her.
Twice the world ends before she sets her jaw and swallows her tears. Crying helps no one and she keeps going, more Doctor than Rose, more desperate than hope. It is, of course, he who returns her to herself.
The eighth time she comes across a dimension close enough to right, she tumbles from an ancient oak right into his arms. They are slender arms, long and lanky, taking her weight for only a few seconds before the body attached to the limbs buckle from the catch. His grasp on her never slips, not even a centimeter.
"Got to careful with these trees. They're tricky, maddeningly clever for a Forest, don't know how they managed to get here, though it probably has something to do with the - oh."
She knows this man, knows the eyes before his eyes, the nose before his nose, the brow before his brow. A dimension close enough to right, she thinks, and fights not to blink. He might not be here if she gives herself the chance to look away. Please, she begs, please, please, please let it be him.
"What," he begins carefully, his breath scattering over her face, before his Adam's apple bobs, breaking the stillness. He sounds so different, so not-him, so-five-ten-a-hundred years ago (from now, from then); Rose still knows him. His hearts beat in couplet rhymes and as easily as breathing past her swelling, golden joy, she feels lighter, safer. A lighthouse in the oncoming storm.
"What are you doing here, Rose?"
hollow are the words, impossible and never, hollow are the lies
hallow is her touch, dust of time and boundless love anointed in her cry
the wolf a little straighter, a little closer
"Looking for you, of course."
He blinks owlishly. They have both forgotten how to be with each other, though neither ever forgets how to be without. "For me?"
"Course I'm looking for you!"
So much younger, this one. So much younger and older and far away, too much like a younger-older him that she could never reach, not until she did and then the stars had exploded in her wake.
"You've changed," small hand hesitant and close, an instant from the crown of his head. He bends a little for her and her fingertips ghost across his skin. A fine tremor begins in the chambers of his left heart, rippling throughout.
"You can't stay," he says after a while, brave and sad and expectant. She curls into him and he does his best not to break either of them this time. "You can't stay here Rose. I needed you - I will need you - the other me, me of another time - needs you, in some now."
The words tremble on her lips - I need you too.
He holds them back with one long finger, face closed off and benevolent; the prodigal son that holds the universe together, the product of red skies and silver leaves. They weave their fingers and weave their breaths, weaving the pulse of one moment into their forevers. Crisp brown and carmine foliage, crunch crunch of the twigs and paradoxes underfoot, love love of the words he can't say.
"Go back," he urges, fighting the pull of her pouting mouth and beseeching plea. This is no time to be weak and feels a part of him rust as he pulls away, Rose-less once more.
She grips the bracers and steals for them one more kiss, one more sensory explosion of her soft lips and scalding oaths, uniquely, singularly, her and this and now and the words never again are eclipsed by it.
"I will find you," she swears.
This time he is the one who has to watch her fade away, faith in nothing else, but Rose Tyler.
Later, she will find another Forest in another dimension, another place that is almost right. Five words to say what could have been said in three. She will laugh, heart in her throat and her hand will come away with a splinter pricking her skin.
She is breaking all the rules.
She rustles autumn-wise, feet adrift among the clouds, bright eyes far beyond the fingers of quantum physics and veils of light; aglow in a construction of impossibles, dimensions flow beneath her skin and Rose Tyler breaks all the rules (the heart knows of no such thing)., 973
A/N: I am sorry I disappeared again! You have all probably forgotten me and I haven't written dw!fic in ages upon ages, so... forgive any oddities or blatant canon shortcomings.
She rustles autumn-wise, feet adrift among the clouds, bright eyes far beyond the fingers of quantum physics and veils of light; aglow in a construction of impossibles, dimensions flow beneath her skin and Rose Tyler breaks all the rules (the heart knows of no such thing). It is neither a step nor a fall, not a jump or leap through time - her nose wrinkles and her lashes flutter, her palms ache and her soles itch, so she rather feels like a grain of sand wedged between two otherwise creaking gears. They turn and everything whispers again, everything changes again.
Nothing is the same, but she finds that no thing is ever truly new. In a world without her Doctor - the Doctor - there is the loss she has always known, the loss that curls smoky thick within echoed with-out. Rose can taste it on the air, see it in her bones; this is what haunts all her darkest corners. Her life for his, her sacrifice for all others: this is a choice she has made before, so asking it of strong, brilliant Donna is all the more unfair. Maybe the Doctor will (would has is) hate her for it.
Some places are white, white with snow and ash, white enough to make her sigh heavy with memory, white enough to make her hurt for lack of him, so Rose keeps going. Rose keeps going not just for him, but also for her.
the wolf sits silent-howl, sleeping till the call
It annoys her that her eyes still skip a beat at the glimpse of pinstripes or leather jackets, that sometimes she can forget to think about him, in spite of all she does. Maybe that is what saves her.
Twice the world ends before she sets her jaw and swallows her tears. Crying helps no one and she keeps going, more Doctor than Rose, more desperate than hope. It is, of course, he who returns her to herself.
The eighth time she comes across a dimension close enough to right, she tumbles from an ancient oak right into his arms. They are slender arms, long and lanky, taking her weight for only a few seconds before the body attached to the limbs buckle from the catch. His grasp on her never slips, not even a centimeter.
"Got to careful with these trees. They're tricky, maddeningly clever for a Forest, don't know how they managed to get here, though it probably has something to do with the - oh."
She knows this man, knows the eyes before his eyes, the nose before his nose, the brow before his brow. A dimension close enough to right, she thinks, and fights not to blink. He might not be here if she gives herself the chance to look away. Please, she begs, please, please, please let it be him.
"What," he begins carefully, his breath scattering over her face, before his Adam's apple bobs, breaking the stillness. He sounds so different, so not-him, so-five-ten-a-hundred years ago (from now, from then); Rose still knows him. His hearts beat in couplet rhymes and as easily as breathing past her swelling, golden joy, she feels lighter, safer. A lighthouse in the oncoming storm.
"What are you doing here, Rose?"
hollow are the words, impossible and never, hollow are the lies
hallow is her touch, dust of time and boundless love anointed in her cry
the wolf a little straighter, a little closer
"Looking for you, of course."
He blinks owlishly. They have both forgotten how to be with each other, though neither ever forgets how to be without. "For me?"
"Course I'm looking for you!"
So much younger, this one. So much younger and older and far away, too much like a younger-older him that she could never reach, not until she did and then the stars had exploded in her wake.
"You've changed," small hand hesitant and close, an instant from the crown of his head. He bends a little for her and her fingertips ghost across his skin. A fine tremor begins in the chambers of his left heart, rippling throughout.
"You can't stay," he says after a while, brave and sad and expectant. She curls into him and he does his best not to break either of them this time. "You can't stay here Rose. I needed you - I will need you - the other me, me of another time - needs you, in some now."
The words tremble on her lips - I need you too.
He holds them back with one long finger, face closed off and benevolent; the prodigal son that holds the universe together, the product of red skies and silver leaves. They weave their fingers and weave their breaths, weaving the pulse of one moment into their forevers. Crisp brown and carmine foliage, crunch crunch of the twigs and paradoxes underfoot, love love of the words he can't say.
"Go back," he urges, fighting the pull of her pouting mouth and beseeching plea. This is no time to be weak and feels a part of him rust as he pulls away, Rose-less once more.
She grips the bracers and steals for them one more kiss, one more sensory explosion of her soft lips and scalding oaths, uniquely, singularly, her and this and now and the words never again are eclipsed by it.
"I will find you," she swears.
This time he is the one who has to watch her fade away, faith in nothing else, but Rose Tyler.
Later, she will find another Forest in another dimension, another place that is almost right. Five words to say what could have been said in three. She will laugh, heart in her throat and her hand will come away with a splinter pricking her skin.
She is breaking all the rules.