Title: Contention
Rating: K+
Summary: After TGITF, Rose gets thinking, and she thinks nothing good.
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, don't own, never will, etc. etc. etc.
And I apologise if Rose is a little OOC, this is my 1st Doctor Who fic, and, well, she's very depressed.
Contention
Rose allowed herself to be pulled through the corridors of the TARDIS by her one-time boyfriend, her hand in his. She could dimly hear his voice, asking questions; could faintly hear her own, replying with some mock-up of animation. But her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
How could she ever hope to contend? How had she been foolish enough to deceive herself for so long?
Her: classy, intelligent, sensible.
Rose: common, thick-skulled, hot-headed.
She had been foolish to even consider the possibility that he could stoop to her level; that he would ever deign to love Rose Tyler of the Powell Estate. He was meant for someone like her, someone who could actually hold an intelligent conversation, instead of just asking dumb questions and getting into trouble.
Sounds familiar, doesn't it? spat the vicious little voice in the back of Rose's mind.
Rose felt a tear of mixed anger and sorrow collect in the corner of her eye. She raised her free hand to her face and brushed it away before it could run free, under the pretext of tidying her hair. With half a mind she registered that the hair-tidying was something that would fit in with the bimbo view of her that he probably had.
She sniffed hard. The one-time boyfriend glanced over at her in concern, but she brushed away his unspoken question with a small smile and a flick of her blonde hair. Blonde bimbo, she thought harshly, mentally deriding herself, sending her into an even-deeper low.
The one-time boyfriend frowned, and Rose shook herself back to the present, and focused on the TARDIS. She forced on a smile, and took the lead, talking quickly, words spilling from her mouth in a tangled spiral.
Later, she would weep. She would bury her face in her pillow and cry her heart out, mourning for a could-have-been, sobbing for her shattered dreams. She would curl up into herself and soak her pyjamas with tears, and she would fall asleep, broken but not defeated.
But for now, she had to keep up the façade, keep moving. The three of them would keep moving, keep racing through the universe. And maybe things would work out; maybe Rose could be made whole again.
Maybe.
end