Title: "Abandoned and Abandoning"
Author: Veritas Found
Rating: K Plus / PG / All Ages
Characters/Pairings: Rose Tyler, (Doctor-) Donna Noble, (Tenth, Eleventh, Donna-) Doctor, TARDIS; Doctor x Rose
Summary: Abandon: Verb. To leave somebody or something behind for others to look after.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note/Warnings: Post-04x13, as canon-compliant as a fixer-upper can get. Written for Word 99 over at 15 Minute Fic, though I went over the limit quite a bit.
"Abandoned and Abandoning"
i.
Oh my God, he's left me.
Oh my God, he's leaving me again.
Oh my God, he's…
…not this time.
So she watches the box fade, she clings to the hand that's his but not, and…lets him go.
Goodbye, Doctor. Goodbye, Donna. Goodbye, Rose.
Because the box is fading from a beach it was never supposed to see, and – despite what they all seem to think – she knows a piece of her (maybe all of her) is fading with it. Goodbye, TARDIS. It's been a good run. Goodbye, Rose Tyler. You weren't supposed to stay here.
She was left here once before, by an image she couldn't touch yet seemed to slice her to shreds all the same. She's being left again, by the man who always seems to think he knows what's best for her but…damn it all, does he really know anything?
So she lets go. She straightens her back and clings to the wrong hand. She watches the place the box once stood for only a moment, and then she releases the hand and turns to her mother. She sees the understood hurt, the empathy, the underlying joy (because it was the end of the world, and while she went back to him he kept his word and returned her to her) – and she can't take it, but she does. Because she's Rose Tyler, and she's learned to live with disappointment.
That doesn't keep her from turning on her heel and bringing her arm up, connecting it in an audible SMACK! against the side of the face that's his but not.
"Ow! Blimey, Rose, what was that for?!"
He looks away, his eyes downcast and accepting. She knows he knows she's directing the slap at him, not him, and she knows he knows he's the closest she'll ever get to the real thing again. She knows he knows he's the only one who can take his slaps now – and it drives her mad that he doesn't question it. He's wrong, so wrong, but they don't seem to see it. Don't seem to care.
He doesn't say anything because she doesn't, and she remains silent when he does. Wordless, she stuffs her hands in the pockets of her coat and walks away.
ii.
Binary binary binary binary binary binary bin-
Breathe!
She's going to be with him forever, the Doctor and the Doctor-Donna, traveling the stars because that's their life and they can, forever and ever and ever and ever and ever ever ever ever ever ever ev-
She knows what he's doing before he does it, because she shares his mind and what he knows she knows, and it really is the only way. Doesn't mean she's happy about it, though. Doesn't mean she likes the idea.
She can hear the singing in her mind, a sound she'd never really paid all that much attention to before. His memories, a whisper of a life before this one – a whisper from his Rose, about singing and oh. She shared it, too – only better, because she shared with her, and he…he did it to her, too. He did it to his Rose.
He's not a murderer, she knows he's not. But she wonders if he realizes he killed her that day, too. When he took their Rose away. Like he's killing her now by taking her away. By leaving himself alone again. (None of them ever wanted that.)
She's only ever wanted him to be happy. Just like Rose. Just like her.
This isn't how it's supposed to be. She's supposed to be with him forever, the Doctor-Donna Donna Donna Donna Donna Donna Don-AUGH!
She can't breathe. She can't think. She can't…can't…can't…can't can't can't ca-NO.
He's leaving her, and it's the only way, and she's not the only one he's done it to.
Still doesn't mean she's happy about it, though. Still doesn't mean she likes the idea.
Her mind burns, and her eyes close, and she's pushed back. He can't take her out, not like he took the Vortex from his Rose.
But the singing is still there, just under the surface – an understanding between them, the last two women in his life. He couldn't fully separate her from Rose, either. Just like he can't remove her, because…
She's pushed back, and she stops thinking. Doesn't mean she's happy about it, though. Still doesn't mean she likes the idea.
iii.
So this is what it's like, on the opposite end – wrong end – of those doors. He remembers doing this to so many companions, so many different times – both willing and not. She didn't choose this, just like Sarah Jane hadn't. Mickey had. Martha had. Jack hadn't.
Donna – no, sorry, the Doctor-Donna – hasn't. Won't. But she'll still be here, in the end. Even if she'll never know it.
The thought almost makes him feel guilty as he watches the box fade. Maybe his first step towards humanity – towards whatever fixing the other him wants Rose to do – should have been to warn Donna of what's waiting for her back in their universe. Maybe it should be using the sonic screwdriver he lifted from his pocket to stop the TARDIS, rip – snap, maybe; that might impress Rose – open the doors, and shove Rose inside before sending her off again. That might make Rose happy.
He could – can still – feel it, what the other him apparently couldn't see. Rose doesn't want him. Rose doesn't want here. Rose wants home, and home – for her, like it's always been for him – is a little blue box. Did he mention it also travels in time? That's home. For him. For Rose. For them all – and he knew it.
Still didn't keep him from kicking them out and leaving them stranded on this beach quick as he liked. He wants to make a Pirates of the Caribbean joke at that, or maybe a jab at his old buddy Christopher, but something stops him. That same something thinks he would have, had it been him instead of him left here.
It's what makes Rose take her hand from his and turn to Jackie the moment his – is she his, really? Are they really the same? – beautiful ship fades back into her proper universe. It's what makes her slap him, and when that something again tells him what he should say in response he again ignores it, 'cause that's not him.
He doesn't think he jokes, where he would. He doesn't think he can. He does think Rose deserves better, and maybe that's something else that keeps him silent. Maybe it's the same something that thinks she knows it, too, and maybe that's why she slapped him.
He watches her walk away, still silent – still silent when Jackie gives him that Look that tells him he better say something or she'll pop him one, too, but…for once in his life, he has no words. Another something different between them.
But in some parts, they are the same. In the looks. Not in the mannerisms. In the memories. He remembers another him, different from the original and different from him. One who was entirely human. One who had loved a woman named Joan because she was so much like his Rose, and yet couldn't give all his heart for exactly the same reason. One who wrote a journal, a journal littered with mentions of a Rose and one thought on one page specifically. He saw her in his dreams, so often.
And she kept walking away.
Just like she's doing now. She's still walking away. He's finally got her back, and she's still walking away.
And she doesn't want him, but…well, he's the only one to walk after her. The only one who apparently wants to. And if he's not going to take the responsibility for once in his fool life, who's to keep him from taking it on instead? Certainly not him. (He gave up that option – that right – when he abandoned her here. With him. When he abandoned them.)
So she walks away, just like she always did in the other other him's dreams.
And he walks right after her.
iv.
She's watched him do this to so many of them over their time together. A millennium's a long time, and he's been lying about that number for far too long now. She's seen so many come and go, even more than him – she's got the Time Vortex as her heart. She can see all that is, all that was, all that could be – more so than he can. She can see the ones who haven't stepped into her halls yet, the ones he'll do this same thing to in time.
She saw her before she ran through her open doors. She saw the room, the wall, the beach before they did. She saw that debris-ridden street before they did. She sees the rest before they do, too. (They were merged before they metacrisised, after all.)
She even saw the other her before she came on. She saw how that one would end, too – but what they don't see is that that end hasn't come yet.
So she remains silent, a gentle background hum to mask what she knows that he doesn't. She hasn't directly spoken to him in years; she doesn't see why she should start now. They both know she can. They both know she won't – why she won't.
They both know it's really he just won't listen to her anymore (not since before, not since the guilt).
She knows, but…like the one who's seen his mind, it doesn't mean she's happy about it. He says she's tetchy – she won't deny it. She is. She had merged with her before, and he took her away. But he's just a Time Lord, and Time Lords could only ever harness her kind – he couldn't fully extract her, either. He told the Doctor-Donna a human-Time Lord metacrisis had never occurred because it couldn't occur – because the human would die. He conveniently forgot about the human-TARDIS metacrisis he had tried so desperately to reverse at the end of his past life. He conveniently forgot about how he couldn't fully reverse it, and how she had been forever changed after the fact.
Just like the Doctor-Donna could be. Just like the Doctor-Donna would be, is – not that he knows it yet. Not that she'll tell him.
Then again, a TARDIS is a little better than a Time Lord. A TARDIS can create a new entity entirely. A TARDIS can create a Bad Wolf, and a Bad Wolf can create a Doctor-Donna. (A Bad Wolf never wants her mate alone, after all – just like a TARDIS never wants her Time Lord alone.)
She's not happy about his actions, but she's seen where this will all end – and so when he abandons them, she remains silent. She always did know more than him, anyway.
v.
Oh, Rassilon, no.
He'd left them.
Left them both.
Ages ago – and that's saying something, for him. (A lifetime ago, the one before him had said. It applies again, funnily enough.)
So how are they before him now? How do they still look the same? How…
He's missed that smile.
He's even missed that glaring smirk.
Rassilon, he's missed them.
He hears a chuckling in his mind, a sound like bells in a language older than him that he's missed so very, very much. Ah, so she'd known all along. Of course she did – his girl's brilliant like that. Seeing the two women standing before him, he amends that thought – all of his girls are. His beautiful old ship. His hand to hold. His most faithful companion. (Davros had been wrong, of course – they all are. His TARDIS, his Rose, his Donna. The ones who always stay. The ones who always come back. His most faithful companions. His girls.)
"You look different," Rose says by way of acknowledging his…or maybe accusing him of regenerating, and he smiles at her. She smiles back, a little tension throwing it just a bit off, and it's good to see the gesture again. He's missed that smile (even if it is off).
"You don't," he says, and she laughs.
"I don't," she agrees. He looks at the Doctor-Donna, one brow arched almost imperiously. Consequence of the new face, or maybe just a consequence of his heritage. Time Lords were known for their imperious natures.
"Nor do you," he points out, and she snorts as she folds her arms over her chest.
"No thanks to you, Sunshine," she says, and Rose laughs. He's missed that laugh, too.
But he still doesn't understand, and he's never been the sort that liked not understanding. Rose – Donna – should be dead now. And if not dead, living out in their own timelines. Donna being Donna, Rose being…well, Mrs. Other Last Him. She had chosen him, after all. He didn't imagine that kiss. He didn't imagine that goodbye.
He's not imagining her now, though, either.
He wonders briefly if he should want to. (He can fight the ghosts – he's done it all his lives. He can't fight the real thing.)
He has so many questions, but he doesn't know where to start. He thinks it should be with a hug. He's not much for hugs this time around, but one look at the one he'd thought he'd lost (no, not lost, not anymore – willingly surrendered) and he thinks maybe he could be. Maybe hugs aren't so bad, if it's the right person hugging you. Just like holding hands isn't so bad, if it's the right hand.
He hasn't really been much for hand-holding this time around, either. (He blames that on her; when you've already found the perfect hand, it's a bit hard to hold another's. The last him tried to improvise, substitute – this him just can't. He thinks maybe it's because he's finally feeling his age, the travels – or maybe she's just ruined him, like every perfect match is supposed to.)
"You gonna say something, or are you honestly just gonna stand there gawking at us all day?" Rose asks him, and he shakes his head. He should say something, but again: he doesn't know what. He'd left them.
But here they are.
They should be dead.
Looking at the Donna-Doctor, he repeats that thought: she should be dead. Burned up. Like the rest of the Time Lords. Like…
"What ever happened to that other last me? The one you chose to stay with?" he asks, and the flash in Rose's eyes (was it just him, or did they honestly flash gold?) shows him that really wasn't the thing to say. She marches up to him and draws her hand back, and he's forgotten just how hard those Tyler women slap in all these years since that beach. "Ow! Blimey, Rose, what was that for?!"
And she pauses, her hand hovering mid-slap beside her head, as a sob catches in her throat. She shakes, once, and her eyes water. He wonders if she'll cry. He thinks he wants to. He thinks that might be the only acceptable outlet for all these emotions racing through him, and he thinks again Rose has given him an answer to something he couldn't figure out on his own.
"That's what you're supposed to say, Doctor," she says, and then she's thrown her arms around him and she's clinging to him so tight, and he thinks he's missed this, too. New arms find that old path around her, and it's a little different (he's a little different), but it's still so very much the same. She kisses a spot on his neck just below his ear, and he thinks that's different, too – but right, and he's not going to even think of complaining. "I didn't choose him – you did. I wanted to go with you. I'll always want to go with you. You've got to stop stopping me."
"You've got to stop stopping us," the Doctor-Donna adds, and he notices she's crossed to stop by their side. Suddenly, with his Rose in his arms and the Doctor-Donna by his side, he feels more at home than he has in a long time. His best friends. His girls. He's missed this feeling. "'Cause where you were too much of a space boy to figure out how to keep me around without killing me, Rose here could. She's smarter than you, you know."
He should say she's not, as she really isn't – but then again, Rose would always know. That's just how she was. Is.
"You shouldn't have left us behind, Doctor," Rose mumbles against his neck, burrowing closer to him and breathing deeply. He thinks she's right on that. "Never should've let you." That, too.
"And if you try it again, Sunshine…" the Doctor-Donna adds, poking him in the forehead. In that moment she reminds him so much of a sister that it just aches, and he wonders if that's the reason he never tried harder to keep her. He should have tried harder – he always was the coward. "…well, remember this: Rose and I both know how to fly the old girl. You just try leaving us behind."
"We'll find you again, find the most desolate planet in all of time and space, and maroon you there for a century," Rose says, but the words are muffled as she has yet to remove her face from his neck. He doesn't mind; he rather likes it there. Again with the chuckling in his mind, and he hears a tone of agreement from his – their – beloved ship. Not only will the TARDIS let them, she'll help. He briefly wonders what he's getting himself into, but then his Rose (his? His – not the other last his, or the last his, or the last last his, but…his, every last one. Yes, he thinks that works.) starts kissing his neck and he realizes he doesn't really care.
Because he left them, abandoned them, but…they found their way back. He thinks they always will, as it's not the first time for either of them. He thinks maybe he should ask what ever happened to that other last him, but then he remembers that flash in Rose's eyes, and then he's remembering another time that gold had scared him to death – quite literally.
Still does, but there's a reassuring hum in his mind that lets him know it's all right. That this is how it was always supposed to be, and for once in his very long life he's got to just let go and be. Deal. Accept. He thinks he can do that, accept. If accepting means Rose, means Donna, means not being alone…yes, he can accept. He is rather tired of being alone.
"Gotta say, Doctor, love the new hair," the Doctor-Donna says, reaching up to ruffle his brown mop. He gives her a half-hearted glare, and Rose giggles in his arms as she agrees. He chooses not to comment, but he knows she knows; she always had liked his big hair. "Very last you."
"Very him in general," Rose says, smiling in a way that makes him think she means more than just the last him. He remembers a time in the TARDIS, when they had curled up on a sofa in one of the libraries and he'd shown her photos of the other hims. Maybe, he thinks, she does mean him in general. "Very my Doctor."
"Very muchly so your Doctor," he agrees, finally finding his voice after what seems like an eternity. He's not quite as talkative as the previous him this time around, but he's still chastened by the time it took him to find his words. And she squeezes him tighter, and while his mind's still racing – he still wants answers – he decides that can wait. Right now he wants Rose, and by some miracle he's got her again (a lifetime too late, a too-familiar voice in his head quips, but not really – he doesn't think so, no, though the too-familiar voice still protests at all their lost time), and that's all that really matters right now. So he follows the Doctor-Donna when she heads into the TARDIS, his Rose still locked in his arms, and straight to the kitchen, where she's already begun the process of fixing tea.
He wonders how long they've been together, waiting for him on this backwater planet. She certainly seems to know how his Rose likes her tea well enough. He wonders if he's jealous of that, realizes he is, and decides that's ok. She's with him now – they're with him now – and that's what matters. So he sits at the table, settles her on his lap, and watches as the Doctor-Donna prepares their tea. He still has questions. They still have his answers.
But…he's ok with not knowing, for now. He thinks he likes the not knowing, the just enjoying.
He'd left them.
Left them both.
And, in classic them fashion, they'd made their way right back to him.
With threats to do the same and in turn if he ever entertained the idea again, no less.
The Doctor-Donna settles in the other chair and puts the mugs on the table, and they begin drinking and chatting like no time has passed and they'd always been here, always been with him. Like they always will be. Rassilon, he's missed them.
And maybe…maybe, he's foolishly hopeful enough to believe, just maybe they will be. And maybe he likes that idea, maybe too much, but maybe…no, no maybes. He is ok with that. More than ok, really.
He's fantastic.