I love Doctor Who. So much. And so, here lies the twelfth fic in my tribute to Taylor Swift: Sad, Beautiful, Tragic. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, or any TS songs. All rights to their respectful owners, please and thanks.
Title: sad, beautiful, tragic (aka me, you, and us).
Summary: "So, is this it?" Amy asks. "Is this what Timelords pray to?" The Doctor glances at the ceiling, then at the TARDIS blue door that holds a remnant of his heart. "No." The Doctor says. "Only the one." (the door reads 'The Doctor & Rose Tyler'.) [Oneshot. DoctorRose.]
Pairing: Doctor x Rose.
WARNING: Lots of time jumps, so be prepared. That is all.
sad, beautiful, tragic (aka me, you, and us).
by clarabella wanderling.
"And time, is taking its sweet time erasing you...
... and you've got your demons, and, darling, they all look like
me."
~Taylor Swift, Sad, Beautiful, Tragic.
His head hurts.
'Course, it's always hurting, but this evening it hurts more than usual, as it is trying to distract him from the fact that his hearts -both of them, bloody hell- feel like they are going to die, and regeneration isn't worth it, nothing is worth it.
His head tries to distract him from the fact that both his hearts are telling him that life, without her, is futile.
Because it is, and he knows it, and the whole goddamn world knows it.
He, the Doctor, the destroyer of worlds (she always gave him a look when he called himself that, because she knew it was true, but she also knew it wasn't), the oncoming storm, curls up in her bed, their bed, because after a few months the TARDIS merged their rooms, and they had been fine with that, so he lies down in their bed, that's now just his, and smells her, and them together. The petals mixed with his cologne.
It's just for tonight, he tells himself, then he'll lock the door and never, ever step foot in this room again.
The TARDIS groans like she's grieving also, and the Doctor supposes that she is. Who wouldn't?
He hugs her pillow close to his body and pretends it is her, the tears silently slipping down his face and he is so broken.
"I'm so sorry..." he whispers, "I'm so, so sorry..." The drowsiness of heartbreak overtakes him but he doesn't want to sleep, because with dreams will come her, and with waking will come hurt. His mind is whirling and it suddenly stops, snapping back to cybermen in an alternate universe.
"Why no emotions?" She'd asked him, ever curious, blond hair splayed about.
The Doctor swallows, hugs the pillow tighter in a futile attempt to feel her.
"Because it hurts."He'd responded.
And, oh, nothing in the universe hurts quite like losing Rose Tyler.
The next day, when he gets up with an aching back and dying soul, the Doctor tells the TARDIS to move all his suits into the Wardrobe Room, and she does, without complaint. When she's done, he looks around the room, takes in the photos of them. A lump forming in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He turns, flees out of the room, tears brimming all over again, and closes the door.
It's a TARDIS blue door with a pink and yellow mat at the foot, because Rose always complained that the Doctor did not know how to keep his shoes clean (she was, as always, right). Their names are scrawled across the door in cursive, and he takes it all in with the breath of an old man (and he is so old).
The Doctor & Rose Tyler.
He shakes his head, points his screwdriver at the door, and in seconds the door is gone, someplace in the TARDIS, never to be seen again. The mat is gone, too.
He runs into the console room, determined to forget the pink and yellow human who inhabits his hearts, and, with the twitch of his fingertips, he's off on some adventure.
He remembers her at the oddest moments, that beautiful girl with blond hair and a winning smile. When he does, his eyes glaze over and his smile freezes, but it's only for a second, so no one ever notices. She's buried underneath everything, his conscious, his life, but there are times when she comes back so strong he freezes midsentence. When the flashes are over he resumes speaking, blaming it on a speed bump in his mind or something a little more believable.
He runs his hand through his hair, blabbering on to Martha about some nanocreature in the Yjackse Constellation when Martha interrupts, all smiles and laughs and he equally so, granted, a little duller. Says she, "We should go there, but first, I'm in the mood for chips, yeah?"
And just like that, the blond head flashes in his mind. His hearts contract, and his smile freezes. His body goes tense for a moment, like he's locked in time, before her laugh -and then, oh God, her scream- is cut off by Martha's voice and the TARDIS' hum. "Doctor? You okay?"
He clears his throat, pushes the smile back onto his face like the brave soldier he is ("You would make a good dalek.") and says, "What? Oh, yes. Yes, I'm fine. Chips? You said chips, right?"
She nods.
Says he, "Well, I know this great pie place in the Bonsay Empire, lets go 'n' check it out, okay?" He reaches towards the lever that will take them places, but Martha's hand is already there. "Martha?" He murmurs to her.
"What's wrong?"
Her voice is full of compassion and the Doctor's lungs force him to breathe, oh, just breathe. The TARDIS seems to go quiet in that moment, holding her breath in anticipation, kissing time in an effort to be silent for her best friend. "I don't want to talk about it." Says the Doctor, knowing that Martha is bright enough ("I only take the best. I got Rose.") to see through his facade.
"It's her, isn't it? Rose." Martha's voice is defeated but it doesn't really register.
Her hand lifts off the lever and the Doctor takes advantage of her mistake, quickly pulling it and spinning away from her. "So, pie, yeah?"
Martha blinks, coughs to clear her throat, "Um. Yeah. Pie."
She turns around, getting her bearings, and the Doctor lets out a quiet sigh. "Good then. Off we go."
Away from the memory.
Away from her.
Years later, many years later - a whole regeneration later, in fact, the Doctor finds himself nose to nose with Rory. In his hands are the largest bouquet of roses he's seen in ... a regeneration.
They are in all sizes an colors, including red, pink, and yellow. The Doctor's jaw has gone slack, his hands gripping the door to the TARDIS for dear life as he stares, intently, into the eyes off the man holding the forbidden flowers of his world. "What," the Doctor says, each word pronounced carefully, "are those?"
Rory takes a step towards the TARDIS, but the Doctor is unmoving so he steps back. "Um, roses? For my wife?" The Doctor gives him a look.
"Uh, yeah, I know they're roses. Why are you trying to bring them aboard my ship?"
Rory squints at the Doctor, as if trying to decipher him. "For my wife?" He finally utters. The birds are chirping about them (they've landed in Mexico, 51st century), and the sun is shining, but the Doctor's eyes are dark.
He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns, letting out a sharp, "What?"
Amy waves at him, her eyes big with curiosity. "What's goin' on?"
"The Doctor won't let me in!" Rory shouts, from outside.
"Tattletale." The Doctor grumbles, but doesn't move.
"Why won't you let my husband in?" Amy asks him, nose to nose with an old man in a young body.
"Because..." Says he, looking behind him, at Rory, with a forlorn look. "... he broke the rules."
"What rules? I thought we only had one rule?" Amy asks, a strand of her hair slipped between the fingertips.
The Doctor sighs. "The No-Roses-In-The-TARDIS rule."
"Why do we have that rule?" Rory asks, still standing outside. "And, I bought these for Amy. Shouldn't she be the judge?"
"Yeah, Doctor, shouldn't I decide?" Amy tilts her head upwards, meeting his gaze.
The Doctor shoves past her, a storm forming in the darkest part of his hearts. "No." He says.
"But-"
"-Amy Pond, just this once, shut the hell up and DO AS I SAY!" The Doctor turns to face Amy and her husband, breathing heavy. "The TARDIS and I do not take roses. Not unless they meet our standards."
Amy stares at him, eyes narrowed. Rory stands behind, looking at the bouquet with distaste. "Dumb roses." He mumbles.
"Far from it." The Doctor responds, without thinking.
"What?" Amy snaps at him, stepping towards her friend.
"Nothing. Rory, I'm sorry, but you'll have to give those flowers away. Any other flowers, but not roses. It's the rules." The Doctor turns away reaching towards his screwdriver, wanting to fiddle with something.
He can feel the silent conversation between husband and wife, tries to block the memory of how he used to have someone to be that intimate with. He hears Rory's receding steps, prepares himself for Amy's unwavering curiosity, and then -
"Who was she?"
Amy Pond.
Ever able to read him.
He blinks, still not turning towards her. She places a hand on his shoulder, and warmth radiates until it reaches his skin. "Doctor," she murmurs. "Who was she? Did she ... did she like roses?"
"Yes. Oh, yes." It slips out before he can stop himself, and he can sense Amy's surprised expression. She's shocked to silence, so he takes advantage of that and spins around, grinning at her with one of the falsest grins ever. "Rose loved her roses."
She won't stop staring at him.
"I'm going below. To ... do maintenance." The Doctor says.
This stirs Amy. With a step she's in front of him. Her hand flies to his cheek and she sighs. "You loved her. This Rose person, you loved her."
He sighs, all resolve leaving him because, lets face it, this is his best friend, after all. "How'd you know?"
Her voice is light when she responds.
"Doctor, you're crying."
His hand reaches up to see and when it comes away wet, he feels a watery grin overcome him. "Ah." Says he, "Crying a pond to water a rose. That sounds about right."
He leaves Amy standing in wonderment at his past in favor of his TARDIS, and heads off below deck.
Months later, when the Doctor meets a muslim girl on a floating asteroid, he hears a voice calling to him. It's a young voice, with the lilt of a London accent and the brightness only a human can convey. "Praise him," they whisper, and when the Doctor turns, room 11 is staring at him, awaiting his presence.
"Praise him."
He steps forward, the curiosity eating him away, his hand touching the doorknob. When it opens, and he takes in the sight of him, of the unhim, the Doctor Bred for War with his beloved TARDIS resting behind the man, he sighs, a weary smile crossing his face.
"Of course." The Doctor says, reaching for the Do Not Disturb sign that rests against the handle. "Who else?"
He does his best to not be afraid, to not fall back on his strongest belief system, but it doesn't work. The tongue-between-teeth smile and brave attitude fill his thoughts, because, if the Doctor believes in one thing -just one thing- he believes in her.
Later, when that poor trapped creature is dead and its analysis on the Doctor is mostly forgotten, he wanders through the Old Girl that's never left him, until he finds the door he never wanted to find again.
The Doctor & Rose Tyler.
His hand touches the knob, hearts beating so fast he thinks he's about to explode. He wants to see what's behind the door, wants to see all the belongings that were left and everything they promised each other, the knob begins to twist when he hears the Scottish accent ringing through the hall, and her head pops up. "Doctor? You here?" She spots him, and strides over.
Her face changes when she reads the words on the door.
The Doctor steps away from it, shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and smiles. "What do you need, Pond?"
The hallway is dimly lit and the thanks the TARDIS for her perceptiveness, because he really doesn't want Amy to see his face right now. "So, is this it?" Amy asks.
"Is this what?" The Doctor sniffs, stepping further away from the door.
"Is this what Timelords pray to?"
The Doctor glances at the ceiling, then at the TARDIS blue door that holds a remnant of his heart. "No." The Doctor says. "Only the one."
They walk away.
He's Scottish now, got the accent and everything, when Clara, in a fit of rage after another one of his antics, pokes his side with an accusation that drives him mad: "I mean, I know you've never been in love and I should forgive you, but this is insane, just understand that sometimes, I want to spend time with Danny. Just deal with it!"
In that moment, the only thing the Doctor appreciates about Clara is that she is honest. Everything else is unimportant, unforeseen by the sudden anger clouding his eyes. "How do you know?" He snaps.
She stops mid-rant, her skirt swinging to halt. "Know what? That you're an ass? Well, let me tell y-"
"-That I've never been in love." The Doctor clarifies. "How do you know?"
Clara stops. She wrings her hands and looks at him worriedly, anger forgotten at the sight of a solemn Doctor. "I didn't mean to say you don't love, I just... I meant that you don't understand that-"
"-That wasn't my question. I asked how you know if I've been in love or not."
Clara plants her hand on her hip, "Have you? I mean, have you ever been in love with someone? Absolutely, unashamedly, unreservedly in love?"
She watches him fidget with his coat, not meeting her eyes for a long time. When he does, though, they are unusually bright, and a smile twitches on his face when he says, "Yes."
Clara's head snaps towards him, intrigued at his positive answer. "What happened to her?" She asks, and the Doctor shakes his head.
"Not important. Go see Danny." The Doctor gets up, steps into the TARDIS -which is currently trespassing Clara's living room, and is about to shut the door when Clara jams her foot in it. "What?" The Doctor asks.
"Tell me. If you tell me, I'll get going and leave you to do your maintenance or whatever."
The Doctor sighs.
He counts to three.
Clara is still staring at him, so, begrudgingly, he steps out, and sits on her couch. "Her name was Rose." He says. "And it's the oldest story in the universe. We fell in love, we traveled. We accidentally -well, I say accidentally- eloped in 31st century France. She was wonderful. Had gorgeous blond hair, a winning smile."
"She sounds lovely."
"Oh, she is." The Doctor replies, quick and fierce. "When she met me, I was so sad. I was the saddest person in this universe, and she knew it when she looked at me. She fixed me up, made me a better person. She was beautiful. And while we were together, we were invincible. The stuff of legends."
The brunette sitting beside him breathes out quickly. "What happened?"
"We turned tragic. We got separated. She got stuck in an alternate deminsion and I never got to see her again. She's there, right now, living out a life with me -another me- while I'm left without her. I still love her, underneath everything. I've moved on in most aspects, but late at night when the world is still, the Old Girl and I still grieve her."
His face is wet, he can sense it, but when Clara pulls him into a hug, he feels better, even though he's still not quite the hugger.
"Thank you for sharing. I know you didn't want to."
"Go see your boyfriend, Clara."
She smiles gently. "You'll be okay?"
"Always." He says, and she squeezes his hand before flying out the front door, already dialing Pink's number with an explanation as to why she's late.
When she's gone, he gets up slowly, memories whirring in his mind. Rose Tyler is many things to him. Among them, on his bad days, are his demons, because he's so guilty when it comes to her, because at their last meeting he didn't tell her, and that haunts him to this very day. But on his good days she's his light, happiness in its purest form.
"Sad, beautiful, tragic." He says aloud, once he's enclosed in the TARDIS. "Also known as me, you, and us, eh, Old Girl?"
The TARDIS hums in response and he figures that even after all these years, if he believes in one thing -just one thing- he believes in her.
"What we had - a beautiful, magic, love there.
What a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair."
~Taylor Swift, Sad, Beautiful, Tragic.
Thanks to everyone for reading, sorry for the length of the fic and the time jumps. This is mostly the product of emotions. Sorry for any typos as well.
Reviews would make my day a lot better.
Blessings,
Joss.