Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.

Unbeautiful

Summary: Because fairytales don't always have a happy ending. And, then again, sometimes they do.

"I've been told, what's done is done.

To let it go, and carry on.

And deep inside, I know that's true.

I'm stuck in time.

Stuck on you."

Unbeautiful-Lesley Roy

He slams the door behind him, harder than is ever necessary except for a situation like this. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets (they used to go deeper… on and on and on…), he leaps down the stairs, just a couple of steps away from sprinting. (But this is the first time he's run away from her.) His hand is tight on the railing, nails reaching around to bite into his palm. Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, he glances back up. He'd never thought he'd leave her like this. (But, then again, he'd never thought he'd leave at all. Not her.)

Finally, he tears his gaze away. Walking faster and faster, putting more and more distance between them, he clenches and unclenches his hand. (Hadn't he told himself that if he ever had her back, he'd never let her go?) This world is new to him, and he's not sure where he'll go or what he'll do. (He's never had to worry about that before.) He could go to Pete, have him set up what he needed to get the hell out of this country, get the hell away from her. Try to get the hell away from himself. The words still ring in his head, reverberating in the crowded space. (It used to be so much more crowded, facts and information bouncing and buzzing constantly.)

He just can't take it anymore, watching her watching him and wanting someone else. He's close enough to what she's used to. He's changed his whole face, every single inch of his body, and she's accepted him quicker than this. (Maybe if he'd just take her hand, take it and say run and never look back…) But, the one that is and isn't him lingers, his invisible shadow casting just enough of a glimpse of doubt to freeze them. He thinks it will be better if he just leaves. (She promised him forever…)

And, just as fast as he walked away, he falters.

She opens the door behind him, slamming it back into place when he doesn't look back. Swiping at her eyes, she brings her fingers to her face to look at them. Faint black marks from her running mascara stain her fingertips. (It's ran blacker and stained darker before.) She leans against the door, listening as his footsteps fade quickly away. (This is the first time she hasn't chased after him.) Her hands clutch at her head, gripping tight, fingers wrapping around to slice into her palms. He was gone, and she didn't know if he'd come back. (But, then again, there was a time when she could fool herself into thinking he'd always be there. And then came Torchwood, then came the Army of Ghosts…)

Finally, she clicks the lock firmly behind her. Letting the ticks of the clock wash over her, putting more and more distance between them (They used to hold time in the palm of their hands…) This world is old to her now, and she knows exactly what she'll do. She'll keep going, just like she always does. Just without him. (It's not like she's never had to worry about that before.) She supposes he'll go to Pete; get him to set up what he'll need to leave the country. Well, to hell with him. He can leave if he wants. (He's never left her behind if he could help it.)

She just can't take it anymore, watching him watching her while he thinks he isn't what she wants. He's close enough to what she's used to. He's exactly what she needs, if she thinks about it. He's changed his whole face, every single inch of his body, and she's still accepted it, accepted him. What makes him think this time is any different? (Maybe he was the one who needed reminded this time. That he was still the Doctor and she was still Rose…) But, the one that is and isn't him lingers, his invisible shadow casting just enough of a glimpse of doubt to freeze them. Maybe it will be better now that he's left… (But she did promise him forever…)

And, just as firmly as it was shut into place, the door is pulled open.

They meet in the middle, doubt and uncertainties melting away as he grabs her hand and whispers "Forever," and she grabs his and whispers, "Run."

Because fairytales don't always have a happy ending.

And, then again, sometimes they do.