Author Notes: Written for the songsintime Broadway Tribute month on Live Journal. Prompt was 'Missing You My Bill' from "The Civil War" I owe Heather a huge thank you. She was able to figure out what was going wrong with the first draft of this chapter (which sucked) and helped overcome a bad case of writers block. She is amazing and the best Who partner a girl could ask for.
The prompt was: Thank God for so much to do it's the work that gets me through.But when the sun slowly sets just behind our hill or when the memories come in the evening chill how I long for your touch, like a lover will. Oh I'm missing you, how I'm missing you So, I count the days and think of ways to speed them by, when the day is through I remember you and cry.
"You bought me what for why?" Rose looked in at disbelief at the box of stationery. She would have sworn her mother had mentioned something about writing the Doctor, but she must have misheard. It had been another long day of paperwork at Torchwood. When she had been saving the world in the other universe there had never been paperwork. Well there was that one time on Saren V, but that had been entirely his fault.
"I just thought it would be nice if you wrote the Doctor a letter," her mother answered sorting through the rest of the purchases. "So I got ya that. Now tell me what do you think of this?" She held up an impossibly small yellow baby dress sporting a duck in a wagon.
"It's darling, where did you...hold on," Rose said, her mind finally catching up with her mother's words. "What do you mean, write a letter to the Doctor?"
"It's like I told ya last night, sweetheart," her mum answered, pulling more baby clothes from the sacks and dividing them into piles. "I think it will help."
Rose crossed her arms across her chest and tried not to roll her eyes, but let a puff of air pass her lips. Help. That was all she needed.
Everyone meant well, she knew they did, but that was the problem. Every few weeks it seemed her mum, Pete, and Mickey had a new plan to 'help' her come to terms with her new life. Pete had thought it was a good idea that she meet with one of the Torchwood counselors. It had taken both herself and Mickey to convince him that it wasn't a good idea. How was she supposed to explain that she was from a parallel universe and that she had traveled through Time and Space with an alien, in a little blue box that was bigger on the inside? Not only that, but how was she to explain where she really came from. Who her parents were? She had finally told Pete that some secrets were meant to be kept, and needed to remain secret for the family's safety and for her own peace of mind. Mickey had thought that simply moving on would help and proceeded in setting her up with every available man at Torchwood. He had only stopped when Rose threatened to show him what exactly Jack's personal combat sessions had taught her and just how she took down the Venuvian prince, who had decided she was to be part of his harem. But this new idea of her mother's trumped them all.
Uncrossing her arms she reached for her mum, taking her by the hand. "Mum, I told ya. I'm all right. I don't need anything, I'm fine."
Before her body could betray her lie, she turned and moved towards the door, hoping for a quick get away. It was still light enough outside, maybe she could go for a run and use the time to clear her head.
"I've heard how 'all right' you are, Rose. I hear it every night."
Her mother's words froze Rose in the doorway. She instantly knew what her mum meant and wondered if she had any hope of denying the accusation. During the day it was easy to pretend. Pretend that this was just a dream, or that this had always been her life and she had never lived in another world, exploring the stars with him. She could pretend that she was strong, that she was living that fantastic life he wanted for her, and that she was happy. But at night, at night it was harder. It was at night that the memories and the dreams of a life unlived came. It was the only time she allowed herself to cry.
"Come 'ere, sweetheart." She hadn't even heard her mum come up behind her, but she gratefully sank into her mum's embrace.
Her mum slowly led them over to the bed, pushing the packages and clothing aside to make a space for the two of them. Leaning back against the headboard, feet stretched out across the bed, Rose leaned her head on her mum's shoulder and instantly her mum's hand was stroking her hair. This was a position Rose found herself in often growing up, and it brought her as much comfort now as it did then.
"It's a nice idea, Mum." She finally said, breaking the silence between them. "But, I'd rather not. I am doing just fine. Work is keeping me busy and really there is enough to do around here with the baby and all that I barely have time..."
Her mum's hand stilled and when she spoke her voice was compassionate, yet hard at the same time. "I will not have you lie to me anymore, Rose Marion Tyler. You are not fine. You haven't been fine in nearly a year. Your act may fool just about everyone, but it doesn't fool me."
"It's not an act," Rose sighed, closing her eyes. "I really am fine here. I'll admit the first months were hard," at her mother's harrumph she amended that statement, "Okay, they were miserable, but things have gotten better now. I enjoy my work, I love that I am going to be a big sister, Pete is wonderful, and it is nice to have Mickey and Jake around. Really, this is the life that he wanted for me, I couldn't be..."
She couldn't finish the lie.
"But it isn't the life that you wanted, is it?" her mother asked, stroking Rose's hair once more.
Rose didn't answer that question.
"After I lost your Dad things were bad, Rose. Wasn't quite sure if we were going to make it some days. Kept pushing, every day trying to make the pain hurt a bit less. Then one day, you decided it was time to crawl and that was just a bit much for me. I held you and rocked back and forth crying, 'cause your Dad wasn't there to see it. Later that night I pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote your dad a letter. Filled the whole front and back of a sheet of paper, telling him about you and what you were doing." Her mum's voice drifted off in the memory. "Kept doing it after that, too. It was as if, by telling him what was going on in my life and everything about you, he was part of it too."
Rose nodded, understanding what her mum was saying, but reluctant to try what her mum was asking. Rose had developed a strong cocoon around herself in the past year and she was reluctant to risk breaking it.
"Wrote to you, too," her mum added, startling her with the admission. Rose turned to look at her mum, but her mum refused to met her eyes. "During that year you were gone. Told you about the estate, what was happening on East Enders, apologized for being a horrible mother,"
"You weren't a horrible mother," Rose shot up, pulling herself from the embrace, but taking her mum's hands. "You were great mum, and I'm sorry. I am so sorry for that year. I didn't mean to..."
"Hush, I know you are."
Rose felt the tears she had been able to hold back begin to fall. Her mum moved her hand forward and brushed them away, "I just want you to be happy, Rose. I can't give you back your Doctor, but maybe this will help. Try it just this once - for me."
Rose simply nodded. If it would make her mum happy, she would do it. Embracing her mother one last time she rose from the bed, taking the box of stationery with her. She nearly made it to the door when her mum called out again, "Oh and Rose, save the letter. Just put it in the wardrobe, or under the bed. Don't throw it away."
"I won't." she answered and silently retreated to her room.
Once she was in her room with the door safely closed, she rummaged for a pen at her bedside table and took the new floral stationary out to the balcony that overlooked the back garden. This spot had become one of her favorites, it was easy to retreat here and loose herself in the moment.
She pulled out a piece of stationery, noting the pink and yellow roses woven with ivy and smiled at her mother's choice. It was so feminine. Something a 19-year-old Rose would have chosen, but somehow it fit.
She looked out at the garden and watched the sun setting, losing herself in memories. After a few minutes - maybe five, maybe fifteen - she put pen to paper and started writing.
My Dear Doctor, You are never going to read this, and this could be one of the daftest things I have ever done, and that includes the time that you made me...