Here we go, two fics two nights in a row. . . . That'll never happen again, probably. This is another one I've had bombarding my brain for the past few weeks as a result of my new Doctor Who obsession. The song used is "The Parting Glass," which I discovered through my vocal chamber ensemble. It's a beautiful traditional Irish, Scottish, and Newfoundland song, according to Wikipedia (I only knew about the Irish roots of this song), and is traditionally sang at the end of a gathering of friends. I think it suits the situation quite well.
This is post-Doomsday - well during Doomsday, actually - so spoilers for up until and including Doomsday.
Disclaimer: I do not own the concept of Doctor Who, the Doctor, or Rose. I also don't own any of the dialogue; it has all been directly quoted from the show, specifically the end of Doomsday; I take no claim over it. I also don't own the song "The Parting Glass." It is, as I said, a traditional folk song. The arrangement I followed was written by The Wailin' Jennys, though. So I also don't own that.
Oh, all the money that e'er I spent,
I spent it in good company.
He appeared suddenly before her, like a ghost. "Where are you?" she asked, her eyes looking up and down his pale, see-through form.
"Inside the Tardis. There's one tiny little gap in the universe left, just about to close. And it takes a lot of power to send this projection. I'm in orbit around a supernova. I'm burning up a sun just to say goodbye."
She stared at him blankly. On some level she knew she should feel something about that – burning up an entire sun to say goodbye to her – whether it was happiness or sadness or pride or guilt or something. Anything. But all she felt was numb. "You look like a ghost. . . ."
"Hold on." He pulled his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and switched it to one of its infinite, unknowable settings, then pointed it at what she supposed was the Tardis console. Slowly, he came into focus, his body solidifying in front of her eyes.
She approached him slowly and reached up her hand. "Can I t-. . . ." She broke off, afraid to hear the answer. Already knowing the answer.
He shook his head sadly. "I'm still just an image. No touch."
And all the harm that e'er I've done,
Alas it was to none but me.
"Can't you come through properly?" she asked, desperately. She needed to touch him, to feel his hand in hers one last time, run her fingers through his wild, soft hair, to feel his arms wrap around her, telling her that everything would be alright, reassuring her that he was really there.
"The whole thing would fracture. Two universes would collapse."
". . . . So?" She laughed, trying to mask the sob that was working its way out.
And all I've done for want of wit
To mem'ry now I can't recall.
He gave her a slight grin at than, but it faded quickly. "Where are we?" he asked distractedly, looking around at the beach they were standing on. "Where did the gap come out?"
"We're in Norway."
"Norway. Right."
"We're about fifty miles out of Bergen. It's called Dårlig Ulv Stranden."
He stared at her a few moments, his face paling. "Dalek?" he asked. Why did it always seem to come back to the Daleks with them? Every time they faced the Daleks, they were ripped apart. Those had been the only times they had truly come close to losing each other. And this last time. . . . They had.
"Dårlig," she said, enunciating the second syllable. His features relaxed. "It's Norwegian for bad. This translates to Bad Wolf Bay." They both laughed at that. The words bad wolf had followed them for so long that it was only fitting that they be here, at the end of her journey. Her smile faded as she began to fight back tears. "How long have you got?"
"About two minutes."
So fill to me the parting glass.
Goodnight, and joy be with you all.
"I can't think of what to say," she choked out. There was too much. Too much to say and never enough time to say it. How could she possibly thank him for the past two years in the last two minutes they had left together? She couldn't possibly tell him how much their adventures, their travels, had meant to her. How much he meant to her.
That was the problem, though, wasn't it? They'd both thought they had all the time in the world. She'd promised him forever, after all. That she would spend the rest of her days with him. That they had years to say what now needed to be said in two minutes.
Oh, all the comrades that e'er I've had,
Are sorry for my going away.
And they were wasting what precious time they had left. They were talking, but neither of them was saying anything. Sadly, it was typical for them. They talked about everything, but nothing at the same time. Saying anything, but never what needed to be said. "I-I'm back working in the shop," she found herself saying. She wanted to scream at herself for talking about something so stupid. Something that wasn't even true, when she should be telling him how she felt about him.
"Oh, good for you."
She laughed quietly. "Shut up. I'm not. The Torchwood on this planet's open for business. Think I know a thing or two about aliens. . . ."
He smiled at that, looking down at her proudly. "Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth. . . ." His smile faded, and he looked away, swallowing. Looking back at her he said, "You're dead, officially, back home." His voice nearly broke as he said that last word. Home. This was her home now, he had to remember that. It would only make it harder on her, otherwise. "So many people died that day, and you've gone missing. You're on the list of the dead. . . ." He drifted off, trying to hide his despair. His voice lifted as he tried to put a cheerful spin on it. "And here you are living a life, day after day. The one adventure I can never have."
And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had,
Would wish me one more day to stay.
At that, the tears she had been so desperately trying to hold back for his sake broke through, and she began sobbing in earnest. "Am I ever gonna see you again?" This, too, she knew the answer to. But she had to ask. She couldn't not ask. She didn't know if she could handle the answer, knowing that they would never see each other, hold hands, hug, touch. Never ever again. And yet. . . . Never say never ever.
He took a deep breath, wishing she hadn't asked. This was the one thing he didn't know if he could bear to tell her. But she'd asked. Of course she did. She wouldn't be her if she didn't. And he had to tell her, even if he couldn't bear to accept it, himself. The thought of never seeing her again, never holding her, never entwining their fingers was breaking his hearts. "You can't."
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not.
"What're you gonna do?"
"Oh, I've got the Tardis," he said, trying to sound unbothered, but failing miserably. "Same old life, last of the Time Lords." At that, his voice broke. Alone again. He couldn't imagine there being someone else with him, taking her place. Replacing her. No, he thought resolutely. No one would ever – could ever – replace her.
"On your own?" she asked, and he nodded. That was what made her decide to say it. She couldn't just leave him alone, never knowing how much she cared about him, how important he was to her. "I l-" Her voice broke, as she tried to choke it out. She looked down, taking a deep breath. Looking back up into his soft, brown eyes, she forced the words out. "I love you."
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call,
"Goodnight and joy be with you all."
He knew. He had always known. "Quite right, too," he said, hoping to earn one last smile from her. She acquiesced, and his hearts lifted. "And I suppose . . ." he began, seeing the hopeful look in her eyes," . . . if it's my last chance to say it. . . ." She would never demand of him to say it, of course not. Just him knowing how she felt would be enough for her, he knew. And she already knew how he felt. He showed it every time he smiled at her, every time he pushed a lock of her blonde hair behind her ears so he could see her beautiful smile, every time he took her hand in his, fingers intertwining, clasping at her hand as if she would disappear if he didn't. But some things had to be said, and he had waited too long. Much too long. "Rose Tyler-"
Too long.
And suddenly – just as suddenly as he had appeared – he was gone.
Goodnight and joy be with you all.