Beauty by Kireshai.
Disclaimer: I have never ever owned Doctor Who, nor do I ever plan to. Also, no profit.
A/N: A little drabble thinking about the future of Rose and New Doctor, who apparently does not have a character choice, despite being an independent character.
To him, it is a thing of beauty. That slight bump, covered slightly by her thin pyjamas. Every morning when he wakes he remembers, and smiles, before leaning over to worship the beauty before him. First he brushes her lips lightly, then trails down to kiss their child good morning, even if it doesn't know it yet. Because he is sure that someday soon it will, it is his child after all.
Her smile is famous for its beauty. Amongst the Torchwood staff, noone is better known for the calming effect of their presence. When she is in the room, they feel as if they've been touched by an angel. So like an angel, she is forbidden and above them, destined only to be a bride to her lonely god. Sometimes they think that he is not worthy, but then they remember that noone truly is, and who could be better than the best of them all.
He is known more for intelligence than beauty. That is not to say that he is at all unwell looking, as many of the girls have noticed; they whisper as he passes them in the halls, and their giggles follow in his sweeping wake. But it is not for beauty that he is respected. It is his mind that strikes fear and trust within the hearts of men, inspires their loyalty. It is his mind that won her heart before he discovered seemly appearance, the beauty of a soul that has seen the universe, all its horrors, and still loved what it sees.
The ceremony was a beauty that noone witnessed. For him, there was noone, except the girl who stood beside him. For her, a family, but not as many as she would have liked. She wished for her best friend, but he was gone, a dimensional wall stood between them. So only three saw it, and the female one cried, as she witnessed her daughter bind her soul in eternity. The smile on his face could have rivalled the sun, the radiant happiness a rare emotion, it would have shocked those who knew him, to see him so altered.
He has always seen the beauty in the world around him. So it is as he holds the small child, so fragile, in his arms. He watches as the small flat nose that it stole from its mother wrinkles, probably from some irritation. He coos in delight as tiny, chubby fingers wrap around his own. He stares, mesmerised, as those tiny brown eyes stare up at him. And instantly it strikes him like lightning. "Belle," he whispers, "We'll call her Belle."
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