A/N: I wrote this a very, very long time ago. And I never posted it because I thought it was too angsty and crap. But now that fits with how things are, heh, so I thought I'd post it anyway. And I haven't posted anything for ages, so it can act as proof of my continued existence. Though I doubt anyone was wondering it's been so long...
Anyway. I apologise for the angst. And how it's way out of sync with what's currently happening in DW land. And the cheese! This is cheesy as hell... I will try and come up with something happy soon. I hope you don't all think this is too awful.
Disclaimer: Not mine. At all. I would never have handed it over to moffy.
It was strange to think that all her stuff – of all her everyday, personal things – was still still in the TARDIS. Somewhere, somewhen, in a parallel universe, was a whole room bursting with trinkets of memories; all gathering dust and standing as the only substantial traces of her presence. It was hard to have so many remnants of a life tied to one place, while she herself had nothing. It made her feel she could go back.
Junk, she used to call it. She'd give anything to have it now.
But, in a way, it was right it should remain there. Right it should be left behind and shut away with that stranded, lost part of her life.
It hurt to think of the photos, though. The pictures with the frozen smiles from days of warmth and the rich, deep colours of planets distant and past. It seemed unfair that the planets they had visited and the people they had met were now consigned only to her mind. In her silly, ape brain – it was too unreliable. As each day passed, the fear that colours, smells and tastes would fade, grew stronger. It wasn't enough. But she knew, in her heart, that she was lucky to have such memories at all.
Much worse, however, was the pervading feeling that maybe one day, she would strain to recall those familiar faces and find them less sharp; less clear. Two sets of well-loved features, each just as precious, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing either. It was one thing to lose a presence, but losing the memory too was beyond unbearable.
She lived confident she would not lose them, though. Not when she could feel them, alive and breathing in her soul.
The voices, accents – from the mouths that could shape her name and make her feel like it was the first time it had ever been said. The sounds they forged rang inside her ears: words, promises, laughs. And she prayed to God they'd never fade.
She still had that wallet, containing the psychic paper. She felt a bit guilty, in some ways, because she had no idea how he would get some more. But he was the Doctor and she knew he'd manage. Sometimes, in her secret moments of weakness, she would press that worn leather to her cheek and pretend it was his hand. That was the more foolish use. But she knew he'd be pleased that she had something to help her create her own adventures in this new universe.
Most prized of all, however, was her TARDIS key. A little piece of a distant home, when everything in this new life was clean and freshly bought. Her key had travelled further than anyone else and was older than anything she could be given here. She wore it always on the chain around her neck, allowing the cold metal to gently soothe and numb her pain. She would think to herself that all the cheesy songs had come true and there really was a key to her heart now. She wished that one day it might grow warm again.
She still believed that in its own, unique way, all this was right. Not the overall, unthinkable event, but the division of property in their divorce of universes. He had the material reminders of her time and she had the material things of his. Each had something to bear witness to the other's time. Just things: standing silent and cold, watching and reminding.
Either way, it really didn't matter, because what worth did those possessions hold? She still felt the ghost of his hand and the warmth of his smile and the whisper of his voice; these were forever stronger because they lived in her heart.
And she knew all this. So she settled into the rhythm of a new life. She got a job where she played with danger and forgot rules. She saved the earth and loved her family. She had got what she'd originally wanted, after all – a new and different and better life.
She kept moving. As an aftermath of all she'd experienced keeping still was hard and no longer felt right. She had seen the things to do and knew she was the one to do them. For those first few months after that meeting on the beach, she was in a constant limbo. While at home she wanted to be in Norway – but when she was at home, she wanted to go back. But she managed; learning to control it while earning herself traveller's points. She developed an affinity for the country that felt so unlike any other on earth. And it was on that beach, where she could see for miles, water humbly conceding to land, that she believed if - if - it could happen, that was where it would.
And even though her pilgrimages were ridiculous, even though they seemed to go against all her successes in creating a new path, this was the place in that strange new universe where she felt the most. Though there were no converse footprints in the sand – and nor had there ever been - this was where he had touched her new life and this was where she would remember.
Bad Wolf Bay. It was hers. And she, more than he would ever know now, was his.
But she learnt to tear her face from the wind and follow her own, insulting footprints back to a different life.
Because though it's hard, life does go on.
He had taught her that.