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The thing is, she threw herself into the wake the TARDIS left through her life. She became a part of the Doctor. It was like marriage. She hadn't been raised by married people, sure, but she'd seen it on the telly. Sickness and health, death do us part, and this big thing coming through your world, carrying you along in its path. That's what love was supposed to do.
She wondered how many deaths, exactly, were required to get you out of it. Traditionally speaking, there could only be the one, but if death didn't actually part you - if it was more a question of how cozy you wanted to get with the now-living-(again) - well, did it count? Was she out? Was this big thing that had carried her off done now, was she now just Rose Tyler instead of Rose-and-the-Doctor, The-Doctor-and-Rose?
She looked over at him, leaning on his elbows into the navigation console. He was so - small, in this life of his. He was her size. The Doctor, her Doctor - well, the Doctor she'd met, a year ago - had been so tall, a tall, dark, weird sort of man. A person you noticed from far off. This new Doctor was so young, so springy, like a kid. And so unforgiving. Also like a kid. She supposed it was only fair. He was, in fact, brand new.
She liked the look of him, as a man. That was true enough. That wasn't like before. Before it had been like gravity, or like static, something that was way past his pointy nose and his satellite ears. He had had such a messy face, then, like he'd been grown instead of born. This Doctor, the one in front of him, was small, and neat, all his parts where they should be. He was like a schoolboy, and she felt guilty for sort of wanting to rough him up a bit. See his tie undone. There wasn't that gravity to him, not anymore, though he tried to make up for it, bouncing on the balls of his feet, taking up space like a ping-pong ball ricocheting around a coffee tin. When he looked at her, she saw that first, and then the Doctor under it: not her Doctor, she finally realized, but all of them.
---
It was months later that she met his first widow. Well, not his first, she was sure, but the first one that'd ever turned up again, instead of fading out like an old photograph the second the TARDIS left her. She wondered if any of them had families, children, jobs. A mechanical dog, that was a new twist on becoming a cat lady. She wondered if she'd get a dog in the end.
He never seemed to sit, but today he was crosslegged on the deck, reading something written on a little plate of glass he held in his hand. She watched his fingers curl around it, his silly big glasses, his weird record-shop hair. She felt something tighten in her chest and looked away. She'd never expected to be actively grateful that her parents hadn't been madly in love. She'd been raised by a widow, yeah, but it was - different. It wasn't -
Alone in a flat with a tin dog. She looked away.
---
It was that night that she went into his room. She was 90% sure he didn't sleep, but apparently he went and lay down in the dark for a little while every now and then. Mostly when this happened she found him lying in the control room, his ear pressed against the thrumming - what was it, metal? plastic? wood, bone? of his spaceship with his eyes closed. Maybe he'd gotten a room when he started bringing human females on board. It was probably a defense mechanism, man like him, used to being alone all the time: be able to go into your room and close the door. She could hear him breathing in the dark, that strange, syncopated kind of sound, something to do with space, or having an extra heart. It was never entirely dark in the TARDIS - the walls glowed, the floor flickered - but it was shadowy, in his room, and she felt her way to the edge of the bed. He lay flat, like one of those stone things in churches, his hands folded over his middle, still wearing his button-front shirt.
She lay down beside him, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what she was doing here. What did she expect, after a year on his ship? Hearts and violins? Time to come to a halt, well, they could do that, but then there they'd be, Rose and the Doctor, the funny-looking Doctor with the fluffy brown hair, one foot away from each other in the dark.
"What is it, Rose?" he asked, in a conversational tone of voice, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"I'm sorry," she said, lurching upwards and to the edge of the bed, "I'm sorry, it's just -"
He sat up, reaching for his glasses. "What's wrong?" She shook her head, looked away, and he reached for her chin. "Rose, is something wrong?"
Rose was eleven the first time she'd kissed a boy, and it had been something like this, an awkward mash of mouths and noses, and an as-rapid backpedal. His glasses were crooked now, and his hair had a funny tuft sticking up.
"Right," He blinked at her. "Right. Rose, is that you in there?"
"It's me," she said. She was blushing furiously, and she mostly felt sick to her stomach, but she reached for his belt buckle anyway.
He caught her hand, gently, his face quizzical.
"I just -" she couldn't gesture because he had her hand. Her face was really burning, and she suddenly felt like she was going to cry. "It's -"
He was watching her, curiously, brow furrowed. Then his face cleared. "No, Rose." he said, releasing her hand. "No."
She turned away, and his hand was gentle on her shoulder, turning her back. "You can lie here with me." he said. "If you want."
She wanted to go back to her room and cry, was what she wanted, but it was so cold on the TARDIS when the Doctor was in his room, and she lay down beside him, on top of the covers, shoes still on, watching the ceiling. He took his hand in hers again, his skin cool, and they lay side by side in the dark.
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sapote3Half written after 2x01, half after 2x03 (which should have its title changed to the saddest Dr. Who episode in the history of ever)
Rating is maybe a PG-13
Extra warning: I don't have a Brit beta. I say flats and tins and sort, but I know I've probably missed something fairly central.
Featuring Celibate!Ten and Man Issues!Rose
I feel a little irresponsible for doing the unbetaed snippet thing twice in one week. I will start putting things into the WiP folder and working over them, I swear. Maybe they'll even have plots some day.
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I'm rather glad I had to friend you since now I'm going back and scoping out whether to actually read you, and I got to read this!
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Thanks for commenting! Glad you enjoyed it.
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Do you mean Protestor!John? That story is indeed done, and frankly the only reason I would write more in that universe is kidfic. Because that would be some adorable kidfic. One of my betas and I discussed some working theories about John's sketchy past, but I don't even have one single version of that for myself. Which is the way I like it.
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But, yes, I like not knowing - because it's a gravitational singularity.
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