Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or the 'Remember Remember 5th of Novemeber' poem
Summary: Desperate to remember Rose, the Doctor visits her childhood where he learns not of her but of himself and why he must hold onto his memories of her. Post Doomsday
Remember, Remember
'Remember, remember the fifth of November, The gunpowder, treason and plot,' a little voice calls out. Her voice is quivering and her hands shake as she clings onto a piece of white paper mounted onto a red piece of card that has had drawings of fireworks carefully drawn onto the back with a child's expertise. I watch as she brushes a piece of golden hair off her face and tucks it behind her ear. In the front row her mother leans forward eagerly watching her, nodding her head encouragingly at her five year old daughter who meets her eyes and smiles before waving. I let myself smile, Jackie Tyler, a face I haven't seen in so long. She looks exactly the same, I can't help but think, only younger and less…pained. At the front of the stage Rose looks out at the audience of parents, each here only to see their own child, they don't care how well Rose reads this poem out or whether or not she stumbles. But I do, and Jackie does, so we both lean forward grinning encouragingly at her.
'I see of no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot' she reads out, her voice become a little louder and a little braver. Her hazel eyes look up into the audience, they dart back down to the floor and I see her hands shake again. My Rose…before I knew her…before she was brave and daring, back when she was innocent, back when she didn't understand death or pain. Back when she didn't know love…nor me. I watch her read out these words and cant help but feel my heart tugging, I need to speak to her, I need to hold her…but she's just a child. This is all I will know of her from now on. The only times I will ever be able to see her are in her memories.
'Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent to blow up the King and the Parliament'. I know that she'll always remember this day; I know that fifteen years into the future when she sits behind the houses of Parliament holding my hand four-hundred and one years in the past, she will recite this poem and smile at this very memory. I know that she will laugh as she recalls falling from the stage as the steps become loose and her foot slides, I know she will hate herself for that moment for years and years to come. So I sat beside that step, hours ago I sat there alone, knowing the future, knowing what was to come. I fixed that step, so that in fifteen years time, four-hundred and one years ago she will smile and remember how well she did. She won't remember the embarrassment, I won't bring anymore pain to her life, I'm doing my best to remove as much of it as possible, except there's one moment that I can't remove, one memory that will haunt me forever, one eternal pain that will live forever.
'Three score barrels of powder below, poor old England to overthrow'. Her confidence is growing as she looks at her Mum and beams…she smiles her smile. That smile. The one smile in existence that can heal me and break me. She's so proud of herself, so confident, so…so Rose-like. Her blonde hair is pulled into pigtails that she will wear again in her future, pigtails that she will entice me with. She looks so beautiful in her red dress, it swirls around her knees as she nervously sways, it's a dress we spend hours looking for. A dress she won't forget as she looks at photos of herself as a child, a dress she wanted her own daughter to wear one day…a daughter she'll never have. We found the dress, buried in one of the boxes in Jackie's flat, it was folded away perfectly at the bottom of a box, beside it rested a set of shiny red shoes – her Mum called them her Dorothy shoes, and her red bow which sits so perfectly amongst her golden curls. I know in the future she picks up that bow and fixes it to her hair again, I know that she dances around her room remembering her childhood, I know I pick her up and tickle her until she begs for mercy. I know it was a memory she wanted to recreate with her children…children she will never have. Well not with me, not on this earth, children that I'll never know about. All I can do is wonder. Is she alright? Is she alive? Does she still tremble as she sees the audience watching her waiting for her to slip up? Is she still my Rose?
'By God's providence he was catch'd, with a dark lantern and burning match'. She speaks loudly a clearly, in a way I know she will address dozens of aliens in the future. In a way she addressed me when she was angry, in the way she shouted at her friends and in the way she was with her mum. I see Jackie smile, her face lights up and there is no worry. There is no pain and there is no fear, there isn't the look in her eye of will my daughter ever come home, a look that I know will haunt her for so long…a look that I know is my fault. Sometimes I think was it selfish of me to take her, selfish of me to have her, selfish of me to show her the world, selfish of me to keep her to myself, selfish of me to love her. Sometimes I think of going back and not asking her, of stopping myself – and then I remember the last two years, I remembered the laughter and the happiness, I remember the dancing and the joking, I remember the hand holding and the hugging, I remember the healing and the loving and I know I can never do it. I can never live without my Rose. I look at this innocent little blonde angel and wonder if she knows what one day she will do to a man. What havoc she will wreck on the life of a Time Lord, if she knows how she will capture his heart, if she knows what a little heart breaker she will grow up to be. I smile to myself, she can never know…but soon she will. Like she does now, alone. Alone in her world.
'Burn him in a tub of tar, burn him like a blazing star.' I smile as she says the bitter words so innocently, so purely – just like she is: innocent and pure. She knows nothing of death, nothing of pain, nothing of hurt or fear, nothing of choosing fates, nothing of aliens…nothing of me. She is so sweet – her eyes aren't clouded, they don't conceal fears that she secretly harbors nor do they know of the wonders of this universe. I look around at the other parents who fill this stuffy little hall, they all are awaiting their children to come out for their part of the assembly, they couldn't care if Rose existed or not. They don't know her, not like I do, not like Jackie does. No one here knows her – the universe knows her, and she knows it. Time machines know her, aliens know her, Daleks know her, the past knows her as does the future, but no one in this hall does, and no one wants to. They don't know what they are missing out on. But I do, because I am missing out on it right now. Every smile she makes, every hint of laughter she breaths, every word she speaks – I'm missing it, and it's tearing my soul apart.
'Burn his body from his head. Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead'. Her hands have stopped shaking; she now holds onto the piece of paper and stands with her head held highly. She doesn't need the paper, she knows the words, she's been at home learning them for the past week. She is proud and brave and strong - she's everything I'm not. Now I'm shaking, now I'm sinking into my chair, now I'm fighting the urge to flee. I see her and she sees me, she doesn't know me, she can't really see me, I'm just another face in the crowd, just another man in a suit, just another man nursing another broken heart…just another man with a Time machine.
'Hip hip hoorah! Hip hip hoorah!'. Rose looks up proudly, she is finished, she's stopped shaking and is awaiting her applause, after a moment of silence Jackie starts to clap enthusiastically, soon the other parents have joined her and Rose beams out at the audience. I shake my head at little Rose Marion Tyler before standing up and clapping like that was the best performance in the world…because it was. Because she was there, because she was in it, because she was alive. Just for her I can live, because I know that out there somewhere she is doing the same thing, that she is trying to continue day after day. For her I stand up and grin, for her I walk back to my Tardis, for her I ignore the pain in my heart as I hit button on the consol. For her I live and for her only, because life without my Rose is nothing, and nothing is what I must be. So this nothing must learn to fade back into nothing, to fade back into the nothing I was before her – away from the something she made me. Nothing. That is all I am, nothing, so all I can do is remember, remember. Remember my something for all eternity, because if I don't no one else will. Remember, remember despite how it breaks my heart and causes my soul to bleed, for her I have to - I have to remember, because without my memories, without my knowledge, she was nothing and no-one. So just for her I remember, remember.