This was written post The Doctor Dances, but set post Father's Day. Inspired by a certain comment made by the Doctor. It's already been posted and so reviewed at Time&Chips, so I'm really only posting it here for organisation's sake, soI can keep my DW fics all together )
Bikes and Bedtime Stories.
He stared at her from the doorway, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. She looked so peaceful, blonde hair spread out on the pillow and a smile on her face as she dreamed, unaware of what awaited her in her future. She had that angelic look that would have had her father hopelessly wrapped around her little finger, if only he'd still been here.
He leant against the doorframe, closing his eyes against the wave of sadness that washed over him at the thought. He hadn't been able to do it. He hadn't been able to save him for her; he'd only caused her more pain.
The girl sighed in her sleep as if she was sharing his thoughts, and turned slightly, bringing a fist up to rest on the pillow by her mouth as she frowned. He thought back to the nineteen-year-old Rose, fast asleep in her room in the TARDIS, and wondered what she was dreaming of. Was she tossing and turning as the Reapers invaded her rest, was she replaying that terrible moment when her father had sacrificed himself for her, for all of them? Or was she, like him, unable to keep the memory of their embrace from her mind, the emotions that had exploded between them for just a moment in that church?
He sighed as he remembered the conversation he and Rose had had when they were back safely onboard the TARDIS.
"Would… what would've happened to my memories?" she'd wanted to know. She'd been sitting opposite him, fiddling with one of her rings and only glancing up at him for brief moments, unable to properly meet his eyes…
"Your memories? You mean if…"
"If he'd lived." She looked up at him now, chin stuck out in her familiar stubborn manner.
"I don't know, Rose. I'm sorry. It's never happened before so there's no way of knowing. We can travel through time, but we can't manipulate it, and I don't think we'll ever understand it."
"So I may not have even filled them anyway," she said quietly, as if to herself more than to the Doctor.
"Filled them?"
"The gaps," she met his eyes again, as hers filled with tears and she pressed her lips together to try and choke down the sobs that seemed to be filling her throat. When she spoke again her voice was weak, and she spoke slowly as though unsure of the right words to use. "The big spaces that should've been filled with all the things everyone else had. Picnics and bikes and bedtime stories."
The tears had broken forth then, and he'd held her in his arms again until they'd stopped. He understood the guilt she felt, because it mirrored his own, his helplessness at not being able to make this better for her. He should have known better than to take her back there in the first place, should have known it would never – could never – end well.
He pushed himself away from the doorframe and took a few steps into the dark room. He had to get back quickly, he knew; if Rose woke up for some reason, realised they'd landed… he couldn't risk her stepping out into her own past again. He'd learned his lesson. He glanced over at the red bicycle that he'd left by the oversized stocking that hung from her desk, and then walked towards the bed.
Smiling at the familiar expression that flickered over unfamiliar features, he reached down and gently placed a hand over hers, where it lay on the pillow.
"Happy Christmas, Rose. You're going to have a happy ending, I promise."
And outside, in the TARDIS, Rose smiled in her sleep as the nightmares faded, and even in her sleep she knew that everything would be okay.