#bluefic

Six words, that’s all it took.  Six words and he’s broken them.  And he doesn’t even know it yet.

Oh well, a job was a job.  Maybe this was the beginning of a new adventure.

You made it to the end of the list! Yay! There are a BUNCH more, too. I wish I could just write fic and not deal with real life! Did you like any one in particular? I’d love to hear! =)

The Luckiest The Doctor doesn't believe in luck.  Not at all.  But...maybe, just maybe, he should. After all, billions of people, millions of years, thousands of planets, yet somehow they found one another. Again and again, they found each other. 

Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls brought me here. Standing under the dark orange sky of his failing world, he wondered if, somehow, he’d always known that this was coming. He’d spent his whole life running, after all. Running, it now seemed, simply from one mistake to another, blundering through the universe with a false sense of his own bloated superiority, holding a ridiculous, hollow banner of perceived righteousness. He’d wanted no part of this stinking War. In fact, he’d run from it for decades, ignoring prophecies and summons and demands. He’d run, the Doctor doing what the Doctor did best. Yet here he was. The Oncoming Storm. The Runaway. The Renegade. It had been his fate all along, apparently. He’d spent so long trying to skirt the caustic edges of this warzone that somehow he’d never seen that the epicenter of this swirling, malicious cataclysm of death and destruction had been him the whole time. Here among the foothills of the mountains, he thought of the young boy he’d once been, so, so long ago. Back then, he’d always imagined that his lifetimes would be spent running toward some greater good, toward some golden redemption, toward a real home, somewhere out in the stars. He’d imagined love and praise and contentment, against all odds. But he’d been wrong, of course. It would appear that the persistent, tiresome race he has spent centuries running against Time itself, has turned out to be one enormous, cosmic joke. The path has always led him here in the end, returning his battered soul to the place that he’d once sworn never to even look back upon. There would be no accolades. There would be no trophy. There would be no redemption, no love, no home. All he would find in the end was a dark, silent finish-line and an unmarked tomb. He hefted the Moment and felt a deep, heavy, golden weight settle on his shoulders. Very well, then. If this was his fate, so be it. No more. And where was I before the day That I first saw your lovely face? The heat was oppressive and scalding. The ash was thick and blinding, choking even for him. The ground shook, the volcano blazed, and the sky burned. He didn’t care. He stood on the beach, staring at the explosions directly ahead, the rock and the fire and the smoke all coalescing into a grim, bitter landscape; one that marked the end of the world, or this little bit of world, anyway. There was an empty hut a few yards away, the occupants warned away by him. Maybe it had been enough to save them. Maybe they’d make it to safety and look back, remembering a mysterious man in a leather jacket who’d told them to run for their lives, a foreboding man who travelled with Death as his constant companion. Maybe… Maybe not. His bleak gaze stared at the inferno, seeing another landscape in its stead. Had Gallifrey burned like this? Smoldered and simmered in its own acrid soot until it had been scorched away to nothing but myth and memory? He thought so, but he couldn’t remember much. His thoughts these days were choked by excruciating snatches of charred memories, memories that spent every day gouging deep, clawing craters of grief and guilt into his soul. Not to mention the gaping maw of bitter silence that had descended inside his crippled mind and was slowly corroding his tenuous grasp on sanity. The TARDIS was screeching at him, berating him, and pleading with him, but he ignored Her. She hadn’t let him freeze to death in the icy depths of the Atlantic, so he’d decided instead to burn. He took a step forward, toward the developing disaster, when the ringing of the TARDIS’ cloister bell finally managed to distract him. Invasion! She called. He didn’t care. Earth! She cajoled. The warped and twisted tumult of his remaining Time Sense began to burn and baulk at the sudden strain emanating from that stupid little event, whatever it was. He didn’t care. Autons! She claimed. The future began to waver into misshapen contortions of potential as he refused to acknowledge that he might play a role in this bloody planet’s fate or that this ridiculous lump of clay and apes would shape the whole bloody universe's fate...and how it would all come crashing down if he allowed it, if he didn’t go fix that stupid debacle. Because now there was no one else to fix it. Because of him. He didn’t bloody care. 2005! the TARDIS cried. He… Fine. One more time. Now I see it everyday And I know that I am I am, I am the luckiest He turned back to watch Rose exit the TARDIS, bouncing up onto the balls of his feet and sticking his hands in the pockets of his coat. This...oh, this was his favourite part. If she only knew how much he lived for these precious moments, these moments when he got to see the universe all over again through her marveling eyes. These charmed little twinkles of life that he experienced as a faithful supplicant to her wonder have kept him aloft in the sea of misery that had once, not so long ago, threatened to drown him. She stepped out of the ship and into the sunlight, her brilliant smile blazing even brighter than the twin suns on the horizon. She spun around once, taking in the gleaming beach of polished glass, the glistening ocean of cerulean blue, and the cloudless violet sky, before her warm gaze shifted to him, her hazel eyes excited and soft. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, rushing forward to throw her arms around him tightly, her human warmth pressed against his body, surrounding him completely with her love. He nuzzled down into her hair, allowing himself a deep breath to savour this moment, this one shimmering, shining moment of peace in the ever-changing universe around them. “Yes,” he whispered, too soft for her to hear, adding his own silent benediction. What if I'd been born fifty years before you In a house on the street where you live? Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike Would I know? “Jo! Where are you? Come along, then!” he shouted, racing across the raggedly little park, his cape billowing behind him. He took little note of his surroundings, so focused was he on chasing the creature. London, Earth, some point in the 1990s, he thought. “We’re losing it!” “Right behind you!” the young woman running with him replied, breathlessly. He stopped abruptly, keen eyes darting around the scrappy grass and the shabby, drab cement buildings with nonsense graffitied on them, looking for any sign of either the small, fluffy blue alien or the anomaly that had probably attracted it. “I don’t see what you’re so worried about, Doctor,” his companion huffed, straightening her jumper. “It sounds tiny and cute and you said it would disappear on its own, anyway. Plus, according to you, I won’t even be able see it.” “I am not as worried about the katawali itself, as I am what it means, Jo,” he answered irritably, still unable to find the creature or, really, anything of interest. There was nothing out of place, no signs of distress, no anachronistic indicators of invasion or manipulation, no malicious species bent on Earth domination. In fact, the only other living things in this whole area seemed to be chubby squirrels and underfed children. “And what does it mean, again?” Jo prodded, despite his apparent irritation and distraction. Just then he felt something odd spark inside him. It was a small, niggling itch that prickled on the edge of his Time Sense. He spun on the spot, trying to pinpoint the source of the abnormality and answered automatically. “Katawali are a time-sensitive species that exist in the fourth dimension, which is why none of you humans notice them. They’re curious little fellows; it probably just wants to sniff around and see what the fuss is about. But if it came here, it’s because there is some sort of anomaly in the area’s Timelines, something enormous that drew its attention. And that, my dear Jo, can be very dangerous, indeed.” “Well, it can’t be that bad, can it, if you didn’t notice it?” Jo asked, but he barely even heard her because his attention was suddenly drawn to their left by an overwhelming pull. He stared down the street, standing very, very still, squinting into the bright, golden sunlight for something, anything to happen. Suddenly, a small human child, a little blonde girl of seven or eight, perhaps, flew past on an old, beat-up bicycle that was much too large for her. His hearts jolted unpleasantly as the bike wobbled, driving him so far as to step out into the street, but the girl managed to balance on her own and continued by, a wide, happy grin like the rising sun flashing at him from her triumphant face. He turned to watch her small silhouette disappear, staring in that direction long after she had vanished, as the strangest, disconcerting-yet-not-unpleasant feeling he couldn’t place settled over his hearts and in, of all places, his right hand. Distracted as he had been by her odd sense of familiarity and the phantom tingling of another hand in his hand, he hadn’t even taken note that in the little pink basket haphazardly tied to handle-bars of the too-large bicycle using second-hand ribbon and broken string, a small, fluffy blue alien had been crouched, cooing gleefully at the mysterious, aurelian girl. And in a wide sea of eyes I see one pair that I recognize He looked down at the dark amber liquid in his tumbler, swirling it just to watch the ice clink against the glass. The pub was busy and noisy, but he barely noticed the din or the crowd pushing in on all sides, so caught was he in his grief. Adric was dead, Tegan was gone, and he...well, he didn’t even know who he was anymore. Closing his eyes, he tipped back the shot, drinking the entire thing and relishing the burn down his throat even if the alcohol would have little effect. It was hard, this life, and getting harder every day. He had left the stifling halls Gallifrey because he’d been tired of the pomposity, tired of the decrepit praxis, and tired of the status-quo. He’d gone out into the wide, wild universe seeking beauty and truth and adventure. But lately, it seemed all he could find was death, destruction, and heartsbreak. The sound of glass skating over hardwood registered to his ears just before he felt a small, cold object bump against his fingers. Looking down at the bar in front of him, he noticed another drink, identical to his first, resting innocuously by his clenched hand. He raised his eyes, swinging his head to the left to look down the bar for the source of his new beverage. He expected to find a randy human of some sort leering his way (this pretty, young face annoyingly attracted more than its share of ‘free’ drinks). He expected to have to put aside his grief in the face of a non-committal ‘thank-you-but-not-interested’ head nod (he was quite good with those). He didn’t expect to be completely bewitched. Something about the woman staring intently back at him from the opposite end of the mahogany bar reached into his soul and grabbed hold, stealing his breath and, somehow, his hearts. The cacophonous sounds and sights of the pub retreated, leaving only the two of them locked together in intense silence. He took a breath, trying to pinpoint what, exactly, about her was so ensnaring. She was pretty, yes, but not astonishingly so. Her outfit, slightly-battered blue leather jacket, a dark coloured shirt, and dark jeans, seemed functional and almost dismissively plain. He wondered, suddenly, if she had designed it to be precisely that way. Her wide mouth was only slightly quirked out of a straight, flat line and he had the fleeting thought that a mouth like hers was much better suited to smiling. The wry, sad expression on her face didn’t seem right for her. But mostly...it was her eyes. Oh, those eyes. They sang to him. I know you, they chimed, harmonizing with every fiber of his soul. I understand you, they intoned, chords deep the marrow of his bones ringing out in concert, overtones of his Timeline blending perfectly with hers. She turned away then, disappearing into the writhing sea of bodies and the wall of sound came crashing painfully back in, the bright lights and the smell of sweat and alcohol thundered back down on him. He stood, reaching out toward the space she had just occupied, half-formed questions that were already too late dying on his lips. He stared that direction long after his drink was gone and longer still after her haunting silhouette had faded from view. But strangely, wondrously, even through the disorienting clamour of humanity around him and the wrenching retreat her Timeline from his temporal eye, he could hear their song still caroling lyrically across star systems, an anthem for his future. He could still see those hazel eyes, burning brightly in front of him. I love you, they’d whispered. I love you more than I have Ever found a way to say to you She doesn’t understand, not really. But, to be fair, he didn’t understand at first, either. He’s been all across this mad, wild universe and he’s seen so many things. He’s observed the rituals of a thousand planets, he’s seen a million different species, and he’s made the study of the cosmos his lives’ mission. Love, he has decided, is the most brilliant, most confounding, and most miraculous phenomenon of all. A thousand plus years and he’s still learning. Some cultures use physical contact to express affection. Hand-holding, hip-bumping, arms draped over shoulders, hugs, kisses, and caresses. Time Lords are not one of them. And yet he finds excuses to brush his hands over Rose Tyler’s skin at a truly alarming rate. In fact, he is statistically certain that, over the past few years, his hand has been connected to hers a much higher percentage of time than it has been empty. His personal space has become hers and her personal space has become his. Their hands think nothing of lingering on backs and forearms and waists. Their bodies gravitate to one another, always finding one another close by even when there are more spacious options available. His lips have brushed her forehead, her hand, her hair, her cheek, and, of late, they have started to move thrillingly closer and closer to her own.  All expressions of his desire. Maybe she knows. Some races exchange gifts as tokens of admiration. Baubles purchased on a whim, fabric that matches a lover’s eyes, beautiful little keepsakes given in exchange for a smile. Time Lords are not one of them. But somehow, he’s spent more than he cares to ever admit of his (rather fake) universal credit to buy her practically anything she’s ever admired. A scarf she ran her fingers over while passing a booth on Serica? Purchased and gruffly gifted in exchange for a kiss to his surprised, stoic brow. A tiny, TARDIS blue hedgehog she giggled at and compared to his (perfectly arranged, thank you very much) coiffure? Nabbed straightaway and discreetly put onto her nightstand, wearing a tiny pair of black glasses. Knick-knacks, trinkets, and a hundred other objects litter their now-shared home, spilling from her room into the library, the galley, the console room, and, to both of their surprises, his room.  All tokens of his affection. Maybe she knows. Some civilizations hold gestures and actions above all else to show true devotion: quests undertaken, masterpieces created, challenges issued and challenges won. Time Lords are not one of them. Still he strives to impress her, still he seeks to prove himself to her every day. He takes her to places that would normally never appeal to him (including back to her mother’s on a regular basis). He saves planets with more flourish and more flair than is probably needed. He rescues her from the darkest pits, he carves her likeness into stone perfection, and he rips apart anything that dares stand between them. He shares with her pieces of his past, the lumps of his battered soul that have never been offered to another’s hands formed into precious gems with her gentle influence. He allows her a place deep in his hearts and his home and his acceptance is the grandest gift he can give. All gestures of his love. Maybe she knows. It’s not enough, he thinks. But maybe, just maybe, if he can keep trying, someday she’ll really know. Next door, there's an old man who lived to his 90's And one day, passed away in his sleep And his wife, she stayed for a couple of days Then passed away They’d been an odd sort, their neighbors had whispered. Nice, yes, couldn’t complain about that. They’d paid their taxes, they’d mown their lawn, and they’d always purchased fundraising items from the schools. Their children and grandchildren were friendly and loud, bustling in to visit often and filling the street with their joy. Still, they’d been an odd sort. Teachers, William Grottle from the barbershop had claimed. No, professors, Millie Watters from up the road had argued. Soldiers, Arthur Morris had declared, saying he was sure he’d seen them in some branch of the military, though which he couldn’t identify. Sorcerers, old Mrs. Weatherstone had accused, whispering about missing years and conspiracies. Adventurers, Susan Roth had insisted, telling wild tales that she’d supposedly heard from them because she had ‘reminded them of someone they’d once known’. No one knew where they’d come from and no one knew where they’d been. In fact, no one really knew anything about them and no one noticed the blue box that appeared in their back garden one morning. No one noticed the sad stranger who had stayed with them through their final days. And no one noticed that strange, blue box disappeared with a mournful wail when they were gone. Ian Chesterton, loving husband, proud father. “A citizen of the universe and a gentleman to boot.” Barbara Wright Chesterton, loving wife, proud mother. “A queen among women and a teacher among all.” Their destiny was written in the stars. They went, and they found it. Together. I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way To tell you that I know we belong. He’s never been good with words. Well, that’s not true. Actually, he’s always been good with words. In fact, most of his lives (particularly this latest rendition), he has been quite loquacious. Garrulous. Prolix, wordy, voluble. He’s been known to talk his way into and out of trouble on a thousand planets. Sometimes even twice before breakfast! He’s read all the great poets, he’s met most of the universe’s famous authors. He’s heard them wax eloquent about their partners, sharing odes and poems that speak of breath-taking beauty and unshakeable love. But him? Those specific words? That particular trilogy of sound? He’s never been good with those words and he’s never had the cause to use them before. Not like this. Not all strung together. In that particular order, with that particular meaning. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but they just wouldn’t roll off his tongue like so many others. And so, he’s spent two lives trying to find others to fill their stead. “That makes sense, well done,” said in grudging surprise long before he’d noticed that she could and would (and had) somehow waltzed through his walls and stolen his hearts. “Did I mention, it also travels in time?” extended trepidatiously from a hopeful man desperate for even the slightest glimpse of her shimmering compassion. “Come with me,” whispered softly against the grim backdrop of her burning planet as a sincere apology and an uncertain request from one who knew loss and sorrow better than any. “I’m so glad I met you,” confessed in a strange combination of fear and relief facing down the terrifying consequences of a mistake he hadn’t meant to make. “I could save the world but lose you,” uttered over a long table in a near-hopeless situation as he realized suddenly, terrifyingly, that she had taken precedence over everything else in his life. “I thought you were dead,” wrenched from a man who thought he had wiped out the one thing that had made his miserable existence worth anything at all. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” crowed contentedly with the excitement of new adventure only three hundred and sixty one floors away (especially as the idiotic leach fell further and further behind with every happy little ascending ‘ting’). “I wasn’t really going to leave you on your own,” conceded in the midst of a domestic that put the whole world at stake. “Well, I’ve got the moves but I wouldn’t want to boast,” offered casually (he hoped), interrupting their usual tango of two steps forward and three steps back, a dance that - under the threat of a new partner - he had just decided need a tempo shift. “I’m coming to get you,” declared without waver because she needed him. She was alive, she was ALIVE, and she needed him and nothing in the universe would stand in his way. “Rose, before I go, I just want to tell you, you were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic,” professed proudly, as he offered her the highest compliment he could with this Northern burr, as he told her just how much she meant to him with the final words of a broken, battered soldier. Then, with new teeth and a new accent and a new terror that she wouldn’t accept him, he started again, offering her everything he could with words that fell out of his mouth at every opportunity, both good and bad. They came fast and they came fluently, falling from his effusive mouth left and right, from “Did you miss me?” all the way to “Rose Tyler…” And there it had been. His chance. His golden opportunity. He could have said it right then. But he hadn’t. His silver tongue failed him, his impeccable timing let him fall short, and he didn’t bloody say it. But she knew, right? Of course she knew. ...Right? That I know that I am I am, I am the luckiest “Are you ready to go, darling?” he asked softly, walking up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he pulled her close and felt her sigh in his arms as they both looked out over the horizon. She didn’t respond right away, merely placing her hands over his and leaning back into him. “Do you ever think about...” she began, then trailed off. “Think about what?” he prompted, turning his head slightly to place a light kiss against her neck. She took a deep breath, their combined hands rising and falling as the last few rays of sun faded into hues of orange and gold. “Do you ever think about how crazy it is that we found one another?” she asked, her voice low and intimate. “Billions of people, millions of years, thousands of planets...and somehow we found each other. Again and again, we found each other. How can that possibly be?” He tightened his arms around her and took a deep breath. Somehow, against all odds, he had found his bright, golden future after all. He has found his home, even if he's never, ever believed in luck. Maybe he should. “Because, Rose, I am the luckiest.”

Or maybe not. Weellllll, in the meantime, these adventures, these dramatic rushes of adrenaline, these tiny little opportunities to stand up and to make a difference somewhere, somewhen, made her think of the lone, stalwart, pinstriped figure somewhere out in the cosmos for whom she was doing all of this, anyway. And they also made her hope that somewhere, somewhen, he was doing the same and thinking of her. The explosion of light behind her eyes and the ringing in her ears that always accompanied the jump finally subsided and Rose attempted to regain her balance as the cannon deposited her with a running go on the ground. She stumbled and shook her head, trying to clear it. Sometimes these situations turned life and death so very quickly, she needed to think, she needed to react, she needed to… Trip, apparently. Bollocks. Amazingly, instead of planting herself face-first into the ground, however, her shoulders were caught on the way down by a pair of sturdy hands with a cry of concern and an odd but warm, pleasant feeling of home. She’d have to examine that feeling in a moment. But for now...everything was getting a bit fuzzy around the edges. No, no, that wasn’t good. No passing out, Rose. Remember how that went the last time?! she thought furiously to herself. But she’d apparently chosen to not listen to herself today because the nasty ringing was back and it just kept getting louder and louder for some obnoxious reason. “Miss? Miss, are you all right?” a hazy voice asked, concern evident even in the brusque Scottish brogue as a man shook her shoulders lightly. It was very lucky she’d been caught, Rose thought, because she’d had to break her left wrist to get out of a pair of shackles not too many jumps ago (the last time she’d passed out, actually) and it was still rather tender. But accent grazed rather pleasantly against her increasingly blurred reality as did the slightly cool hands she could feel checking her pulse point even as she fought to stay upright. Rose forced herself to look up at the man who was clutching her and that mysterious feeling of warmth suffused her again as she blinked into his gaze. Those were gorgeously ancient eyes. Powerful. Timeless. Stormy. Oh, that was good. She was a big fan of Storms. She giggled to herself, although, in this moment, she wasn’t sure exactly why. Her stranger’s eyes were wide and blue and concerned and... Wait...timeless? And stormy? And blu- Oh. And wrong. Wrong blue. Wrong eyes. Wrong face. Wrong... Oh, no. “Oh. You’re the wrong one,” she slurred, frowning slightly as her awareness retreated further. Oh, well, consciousness didn’t seem like it was going to be sticking around much longer. That wasn’t good. It was never good to pass out in a new dimension. “The wrong what?” the strange man asked. When she didn’t answer, his own frown grew deeper. “Person? Man? Alien? Time Lord?” “No, silly,” Rose snorted, looking rather dazedly at his odd question mark-ed jumper. The pattern on it was fascinating and puzzling and she was feeling very, very odd. “The wrong Doctor,” she declared as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. And then she promptly lost consciousness, falling out of his surprised grip, against the door of the TARDIS with a thump. ----------------------------------------------------------- Well, the Doctor thought. This was going to be interesting. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He stared down at the girl who had - literally - appeared out of thin air (the air was, actually, very thin on this planet, compared to Gallifrey, anyway, although - depending on where she had come from, perhaps she had appeared out of heavy air. Where had she come from?) and contemplated what to do next. Ace was gallivanting about the small, rural (and, he’d deemed, very safe) village they’d landed near and so he was on his own for a bit. He’d promised to give her a few hours of freedom (but had figured he’d go check on her in an hour or so - just to make sure there hadn’t been any inexplicable explosions). Anyway, the TARDIS seemed rather insistent that he bring the girl inside and so, for lack of anything else to do, he complied. He tried to take her to the MedBay but the TARDIS kept switching the corridors on him, showing him the library again and again until he finally acquiesced. After checking her over a bit and deciding that nothing was threatening her life, he’d laid her on the new, baffling couch that had appeared by the fire. He would like to take a closer look at that left wrist of hers but didn’t want to do it without her permission and he couldn’t get a read on her mental signature or timelines, so instead, he retrieved the emergency medical supplies he kept in the cupboard in here, he pulled his favourite armchair up nearby and he settled in to watch her (and to examine the odd device she’d had around her other wrist, which he had, of course, pilfered). He did so love a good mystery. ------------------------------------------ Rose drifted back into consciousness slowly, her mind pulling like uncooperative taffy. She was warm and safe and there was a comforting hum that she hadn’t felt in a long time soothing her ragged psyche. Sighing happily, she stretched out on an oddly familiar couch and snuggled down into the cushions. However, as her cognizance seeped back in, she started to piece back together a few rather terrifying pieces of the amorphous, edgeless puzzle that was her life nowadays and she suddenly sat up, worry now chasing away happy memories. Fighting the wave of dizziness brought on by the abrupt change in position, Rose shook her head and then automatically checked her wrist for the one connection she had back to the other dimension. It was gone. A slight cough came from about a meter away and, with great trepidation, Rose lifted her eyes to meet the gaze of the very man she was searching for, despite being several years (centuries?) early. Rose wasn’t certain how she knew that she was too early (far, far too early) in his timeline, but she knew. It probably had something to do with the shiny golden box in the back of her mind that even this TARDIS’ eager consciousness buzzed against happily. Rose drank him in hungrily, filing away every minute detail of this small, older body because there was no doubt in her mind that he was the Doctor, her Doctor, even though she’d never seen this form. There was something in his aura that spoke of the weight he carried, of the self-given burdens that he shouldered for the universe, even this early in his life. She wasn’t sure exactly how she was going to handle this situation...it wasn’t as if she’d ever been handed a guidebook on how to navigate the tricky waters of a very complicated relationship with a puzzling, temporally-sensitive being, especially one as mercurial as the Doctor. But, she was at least going to have to speak to him, so Rose simply blurted out the first thing of which she thought. “Hello,” she said. Well, that was brilliant. She suppressed a sigh and then gave him the wide, friendly smile she used when she knew Torchwood was going to be able to help. Or when she knew she was going to have to lie through her eyeteeth. Sometimes both at the same time. “Hello,” he replied, calmly, giving her an expression that, to her amusement, seemed to be the direct mirror of her own. Oh, sometimes she did wonder what, exactly, she was becoming (or, more to the point, who). When Rose offered no other explanation (mostly because she couldn’t think of one), the Doctor took it upon himself to speak next. “Were you searching for me?” he asked, eyes slightly narrowed at her. Something delightful inside her tripped over those trilled r’s...Scottish, huh? Oh, he had some explaining to do there. Did lots of planets have a Scotland, then? Had he ever been Scottish before? Would he ever be again? And would she ever get to find out? The Doctor continued to watch her closely, a familiar, carefully-crafted, nonplussed expression on his face, which made Rose smile again. It was so, so good to see him again. On the inside, she wondered if she was hiding the love she had for him at all or if it was shining through her every move, radiating from her every thought. On the outside, she made a noncommittal gesture with her head but didn’t answer and so he continued, looking slightly irritated and very perceptive, an expression she recognized from another set of blue Doctor-eyes. “Because just before you passed out, you told me that I was the wrong Doctor.” “Did I?” Rose asked, vaguely, flexing her fingers and her left wrist only to flinch at its continued tenderness. “Don’t mind me. I’m a bit mad,” she finished, grinning up at him with a tongue-touched smile. Before he could say anything else, she stretched, cracking her back. “Passed out, huh?” she repeated, looking at him for confirmation. When he nodded, eyes still slightly narrowed at her, she sighed. “Bit embarrassing, that. I learned pretty early on that passing out when crossing into a new dimension was a spectacularly bad idea.” “I’d never guess,” he said, drolly, stretching out the ‘r’ and looking as though he was filing away ‘crossing dimensions’ with interest and a bit of trepidation. Good. She needed to give him just enough information to keep him interested but not enough to hurt things. “Oh! Sarcasm! I’ve missed that,” she said, smiling gently at him again and once again, she thought, successfully confusing the hell out of him. “But anyway. Passing out. Not good. Usually results in waking up in a jail. Or a medical bay of some sort. And that, especially, is not for anything good.” Her gazed darkened a moment and then lit up once more. “Except on Altarian Four. I passed out there and woke up in a bar called ‘The MedBay’ with no shoes. And in different socks, interestingly enough. Locals were kind enough to give me a lovely fizzy drink for my troubles and sent me on my way. Anyway, thanks for the, er, carry into your ship. If you’ll just give me my property back, I’ll be on my way.” “How do you know this is a ship?” he asked, gesturing around the, to anyone else, normal-looking library. He made no move to hand over the device. Instead of answering, Rose merely raised an eyebrow at him. “You know my TARDIS,” the Doctor stated matter-of-factly and Rose let a smile quirk the edges of her mouth. He stared at her, still perplexed before continuing, “And you know me.” “Yes, Doctor,” she replied, her smile growing despite herself. She had a feeling she wasn’t hiding anything from him. “I know you.” “Do you know me well? Or, rather, do you think you know me well?” he pressed, still sitting in his chair, fingers steepled together, eyeing her closely. There was the edge of something in his expression that she didn’t like, a calculating and careful veneer protecting him from what, she suddenly realized, he perceived as a possible threat. Rose blinked at him, unsure how to answer his question and a bit offended at his phrasing. There were a number of things she could probably say to him, things that she was certain only she knew or, at the very least, things that only someone very, very close to him would know, but she didn’t want to frighten him. In all honesty, the people who knew the most about him were, in general, folks he didn’t want to run into. She’d met a few of those along the way, as well. She could instead relay to him things he’d revealed to her in intimate tones back when he’d been tortured and Northern and they had lain together, sweat-covered and sated, or when he’d been tortured and puppy-eyed and they had lain together, soft and satisfied. Memories of a sad, lonely childhood among red foothills, or of a wayfaring life of continued compromise, or of innermost worries of anxious insecurity, and the overwhelming, staggering need to always, always run. Instead, she simply looked deep into his sharp, deep gaze answered, “Well enough.” “Ah,” he replied, after a long, intense pause and a nod to himself. She wondered what, exactly, he had gleaned from that interaction. “Well, then, I’m sure you know that even future me wouldn’t let you go until after I have garnered a few more answers. And fixed that bothersome fractured scaphoid,” the Doctor countered, raising an eyebrow back at her. “You’re going to have to forget this,” Rose cautioned. “I expected as much,” he replied, the eyebrow coming back down. “Been working on reorganizing this portion of my memory since I carried you in here. Shehas been rather insistent about it. Now then, who are you?” “Rose Tyler,” she answered, settling back into the cushions and breathing in deeply, enjoying the TARDIS’ familiar smell and feel. She was determined to enjoy this experience as much as possible since she wasn’t going anywhere soon and who knew how long it would be until she found him again. If you ever find him again,, taunted the naysaying voice inside her that she typically ignored. “So, you are a future companion of mine,” the Doctor began. “When, if I may inquire, shall I have the honour of making your acquaintance, if you know?” “I know your ninth and tenth forms,” Rose replied, smiling at his barely-concealed look of surprise when she mentioned two of him. “For one, you’re tall and dark and have a thing for leather and brooding and for the next, you’re tall and bouncy with a thing for pinstripes and flirting.” Several different expressions warred for dominance on his comical face and Rose just sat back and enjoyed the show with a smirk. Finally, he said, “Tall, you say?” Her grin widened. “How about this you?” Rose asked, truly curious. “A Time Lord never discusses his age,” this small Doctor replied, sniffing slightly but smiling at her. “I know that,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “Trust me, you’ve told me anywhere between nine hundred and two thousand, depending on when I asked.” And if we were in bed at the time, she added silently in her head with a wicked grin. She did so love to wind him up about his age, if only to get him to prove that it didn’t matter. Once again, he looked surprised. “Hmm,” he murmured. “And I thought I was old now.” “You’re not old,” she scoffed. “Or at least not as old as you will be.” “No one is ever as old as they will be,” he replied. “Or as young as they were.” “Except for you,” Rose answered, smiling softly. “But then, you seem to be the exception to just about every rule.” “Yes,” the Doctor said, looking at her askance again, as though he was trying to pull the answers to the unvoiced questions he really wanted to ask right out of her mind. Instead, he waved about the wrist communicator in his hand. “Speaking of rules, why, may I ask, are you gallivanting around the multiverse using this very dangerous bit of shoddy, subpar, Time Agency knock-off technology?” “Oi! I helped design that, you know,” Rose snapped reaching for her device and huffing at him as he kept it from her grip. “Not all of us took advanced temporal mechanics at fancy Time Lord school.” Rose watched him out of the corner of her eye as he startled slightly again at the mention of the Academy. It had been difficult for her Doctors to talk about Academy life and she knew it wasn’t just because Gallifrey was gone. She closed her eyes a moment, centering herself. Keep him interested, don’t scare him off, distract him with banter. “Although, if I had, you can bet I wouldn’t have failed it.” “I didn’t fail,” he sniffed, choosing to accept that she obviously knew a lot more about him than...well, pretty much anyone. “I passed all of my Academy classes, thank you very much.” “Yeah, by one point!” she teased, relieved that he was no longer pressing her for answers. “I was making a point,” the Doctor answered, puffing up slightly. “And you, madam,” he pointed at her, “didn’t answer my question.” Ah, who was she to deflect the master deflector? Well, honesty it was, then. “I got separated from you,” she began, ignoring the ache in her heart from just the mention of that day. “And that shoddy, subpar bit of technology is my ticket home.” “Why haven’t I just come to get you?” the Doctor asked, carefully sidestepping her use of the word ‘home’ to represent him. The TARDIS poked him in annoyance. Fine, to represent them. Rose sighed, heavily, and put her head in her hands a moment. When her head finally lifted, the Doctor blinked in surprise at the change in her expression. She had been holding herself very carefully before that, he’d noticed. The pain and sadness he could sense inside her had been carefully hidden away, covered up by a cheerful, almost manic exterior and a blue leather jacket. But now, he could see just how tired she was, just how sad she was and he could see...well, some other things he didn’t want to examine all to closely at the moment. “It’s complicated,” Rose replied, finally. He opened his mouth argue, but she stopped him with a wearily-raised hand. “I know you want to ask more questions, I know you want to know more and I wish I could tell you, I really, really do. But it really is complicated and we have a lot of living together to do yet, for you anyway. And I really, really hope...for me, too. I know it’s tough, but you’re going to have to trust me on this one.” His brow furrowed more deeply. Well, he wasn’t giving up that easily. “I already told you that I am going to file this memory away. Perhaps if you tell me your situation now, I might be able to assist you, since apparently I cannot in the future.” “The TARDIS told me not to,” Rose answered with a small smile and a pat to the arm of the couch, surprising the Doctor yet again. “And, hard as it is to do all of this, to fight back to you the way I am, to scramble, tooth and nail for every foothold I can get, I think She’s probably right.” Rose drew herself up a bit taller in her seat, looking more like a warrior than he’d seen of her yet. “And I think there’s more left for me to do yet, before I find you.” The Doctor opened his mouth to argue again, but then felt the nudge of his oldest, most trusted friend in his mind and, grumbling, agreed to Her terms. “Cross-dimensional travel is very dangerous, young lady,” he began, using the tone of voice he sometimes used on Ace when she was being especially difficult. To his surprise, Rose merely laughed. Although, to be fair, sometimes Ace laughed as well. “No, no,” she sputtered. “Don’t go calling me that. No way.” “Whyever not?” he inquired, enjoying watching her laugh even if it was at his expense. “It’s far too weird, trust me,” she giggled and then, to his utter shock, she winked at him and he felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. As if he hadn’t had enough surprises today. Flustered, he cast about for a new topic and his gaze settled on the medkit he had pulled out. “May I see your wrist?” he asked and Rose smiled, holding out her left arm. “Oh, I have missed the MedBay, I can tell you that,” she said, sighing in relief as he spread some gel over the broken bone and then ran the Regenerator over it, activating the forty-third century cure. The heated gel seeped into her skin, re-connecting the bones and easing the swelling and bruising. “No one can heal a broken bone like you.” “So you’ve had multiple instances similar to this one, then?” the Doctor inquired, rather harshly, his fingers tight over the newly-healed skin, his eyes dark and flashing once more. “Here and there,” Rose replied, shrugging and attempting to pull her wrist from his grip. He, however, did not let go. “Then I don’t believe that I, any of me, would approve of you doing this, whatever it is. It is too dangerous, as I said,” he finished, rather patronizingly. “Danger! Ha! I laugh in the face of danger,” Rose quoted, deflecting once again, her heart clenching even as she referenced his (future) favourite film. HerDoctor would have gotten that. This Doctor merely frowned at her further. “This is not a joke,” the Doctor scowled and Rose could tell that he’d just barely kept from adding ‘young woman’ to that sentence and suddenly she was just as annoyed as he was. Rose tore her wrist from his grip, glad that it was healed and stood up, facing him, her own eyes flashing as he stood up to mirror her. “D’you think I don’t know that? D’you think I don’t realize that every moment of every one of these stupid jumps? I know it’s not a joke! But this is my life, Doctor! It’s not fun, it’s not smart, it’s just…” she stammered to a stop, realizing just whose words she was saying. She took a deep breath and met his stormy, dark blue eyes. “It’s just standing up and making a decision because nobody else will.” He stared at her a beat longer, just barely taller than her in this form, still radiating power and authority, still her Doctor, even in this younger/older body. “Not even me?” he asked, quietly, and Rose saw, for the first time, the bit of fear for the future in his tempestuous gaze. “You’re not there,” Rose answered, honestly, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and, to her enormous surprise, he pulled her into a tight embrace, which she returned desperately. The tattoo of his double hearts against her chest, the smell of him, tea and time, and the feel of his strong, capable arms around her, even a different pair, had her finally shedding a few of the tears that had been living behind her eyelids and her strong exteriour for months. How long they stood like that, Rose wasn’t certain (although he could probably tell her, to the nanosecond). But eventually, her tears subsided and the Doctor pulled away, the back of his hand grazing against her cheek for a moment, following the tracks of her tears. “Come with me,” he said, solemnly, taking her hand. He led her back to the console room, which Rose observed with fascination, cataloging differences to keep herself from breaking down once again, this time over her impending departure. It was only a matter of moments, she knew. The Doctor let go of her hand and busied himself with something on the console, allowing her to wander around the room, running her hands over the smooth white walls and lit roundels. She was whispering compliments to the TARDIS when she heard the Doctor cough once again, this time from across the room. Rose patted the wall once more and walked back to him, noticing for the first time, that the object he had been messing with had been her wrist connector to the dimension cannon. He held it out to her and Rose noticed right away that there were several new bits attached (rather haphazardly) to the device. “I’ve made a few...modifications,” he confessed, smiling at her sheepishly. “Like what?” Rose asked, genuinely curious, turning the altered technology over in her hands. “Well, first of all, I’ve integrated a small, self-powered quantum loop shield, which will help with some of the discomfort and disorientation of these ‘dimension jumps’ of yours,” he began. “And I have also upped the power intake and charging quotient, so it shouldn’t take so long to ah, reset, between jumps. Just in case you end up somewhere that you really don’t wish to be,” he continued, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Rose smiled at him and threw her arms around his neck, surprising him. That was her Doctor. He returned the hug and then eased free of her embrace, looking a bit mischevious. “And one more thing,” he said, walking with her over to the doors of the TARDIS and holding them open for her. “Yes?” Rose asked, reluctantly stepping through the weathered blue door of her (future/past) home and strapping the connector back onto her wrist. The Doctor reached over and, to her surprise, pricked his finger on a tiny needle attached to a miniature vial she hadn’t even noticed. A drop of ruby liquid fell into the small container, which then hissed and receded into the mechanics of the device. “Now, it will target me. You’ll only appear where I am. Or at the very, very least, where I have recently been,” he finished, pulling his hand back and watching her closely. She stared at him, amazed. It was a priceless gift he was giving her and an enormous amount of trust. She sniffled, trying not to cry again. She was so much closer to finding him now. She would find him, she knew she would. The Doctor shifted under her gaze. “Of course, it could send you to any of me but...at least you’ll be safe.” Rose raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. He smiled at her, a silly little grin she wished she could see more often on this daft face. “Well, safer.” “Thank you,” Rose managed, letting out a watery chuckle. “For everything.” “You’re very welcome, I do believe,” he answered, reaching out to once again brush his knuckles lightly across her face. With even that light connection, Rose thought perhaps he saw more of their future than he let on. She focused on the feeling of them standing so close to one another, of his cool fingertips on her flushed cheek, and she poured all of her love into that touch, willing him to feel it, willing him to understand. They smiled at one another for a long moment before his hand dropped and Rose looked away to adjust the dials on her wrist connector, punching in the necessary coordinates to take her back to Mickey and Pete and Torchwood. He took a step back from her and Rose looked up, suddenly, desperate for one last connection with him even as she felt the cannon’s pull begin. “Doctor!” “Yes?” he replied, tilting his head to the side and watching her with a soft expression she thought, once again, she had seen on two other Doctor-faces. “To answer your question...yes, I was looking for you.” His bright eyes crinkled as his smile widened. “Why?” “I think you might know the answer to that,” she answered, smiling at him once last time. “Indeed,” he murmured softly, flexing the fingers of his right hand, the hand that had been so recently resting on her cheek. And then she was gone.

Shagging TBC in part two!  And Part Three  &  Part Four!