A/N: Aaaannnnggssst. You've been warned.
Feedback: Is love. Please review!
five
Poor, pitiful, primitive humans, going through life only knowing what happens to them. They may have an idea of what might have been, but they can't see it.
Of course, that also means they aren't as haunted by the future not chosen.
Maybe not so pitiful, then.
four
It has been weeks since the Olympics and his ominous premonition, compounded by the Beast before that. And while Rose seems to have moved on, or is at least pretending well enough, he can think of little else. No matter how he fights he's going to loose her somehow, in years, months—more likely weeks or days, judging by the foreboding crawling under his skin—and he's taunted by the unspecified amount of time he has left with her. What will he do?
"'S'everything all right, Doctor?" Rose has noticed his disquiet and when he glances over she's moved to his side, looking up at him with concern on her face. He's entranced by her closeness like never before, and her expression becomes hopeful when he stares too long. A sudden tension fills the room as they stand there—the Doctor stands there—frozen in place. And sees all that could be, can be, will be. An infinite amount of futures, and yet it boils down to two scenarios. The most important decisions always do, don't they? (What are you—coward or killer? Imagine watching that happen to someone who you… Oh, she knows.)
three
There's a future where he stares, and stares, and stares some more, struggling with old rules and customs and a long lifetime of habit, until some piece of him that's worn thin finally breaks.
Sod it all, he thinks, and kisses her.
He kisses her, and it feels so good, skin against skin, hands running over clothes and through hair, tongues touching, breathing in the same air.
"What's gotten into you?" Rose gasps when they finally pull apart.
"Finally got my head out of my arse, that's what," he says, and kisses away her laughter.
two
There's a future where he backs away. "We can't do this, Rose."
Hope turns to anger. "Of course not. Curse of the Time Lords and all that, right?" she bites out.
He sighs. "It's more than that. You wouldn't understand—"
"Oh, the poor simple little ape wouldn't understand? Give me more credit than that, Doctor! Sometimes I wonder why I even bother." She turns and stalks out of the room.
"Rose, that's not what I meant—Rose!" But she's already gone. He turns to the console and barely keeps himself from kicking it out of frustration.
one
"Doctor?"
Rose's breathy voice brings him back to the present. He's still staring at her, caught in her gaze, mesmerized as she moves even closer to him. It would be so easy to…
Time starts again as he turns back toward the console. "Everything's all right," he reassures her, shakily, trying not to notice how she deflates, shoulders sagging. It's the best of both worlds, he convinces himself. (Coward, every time.) It only takes her a minute to recoup, though. A talent she's picked up from him. He teaches her all the wrong things.
When she speaks, there's no trace of what has just transpired. "So where are we going next?"
"I was thinking we might stop by your mum's. You wanted to give her that bezoolium, didn't you?"
She brightens. "Yeah. And I have loads of washing. Can get that done at the same time."
"It's decided, then," he smiles, and sets the coordinates, never noticing the TARDIS's reluctance to go to London.
zero
Time's up, Time Lord. You lose.