It had happened when she was about ten years old, and she had hated it then with every molecule of her being —just like every other new aspect of 'becoming a woman.' The fact that she could sleep twelve hours, waste half of an entire day doing nothing productive, it simply disgusted her. But as her teenaged years wore on, Rose Tyler no longer detested sleep—she received it with wide arms. Sleep was heaven, an escape from an otherwise monotonous and meaningless life.
Then came the Doctor, and Rose only saw sleep as frustrating but necessary hours away from him, and her life of raw adventure. When that life left, sleep was unpredictable. Some nights it was barely adequate sanctuary from painful reality, but most nights it only haunted her with images, memories of a past life she could no longer have.
So that one morning when Rose was trapped in that state of complete and deliciously useless dozing, that morning where her slumber had been purely euphoric, a bliss she hadn't experienced before while sleeping. As soon as her semi-consciousness realized this, she was wide-awake, as though that dawning had come with the power of seven cups of coffee.
She was happy. Sleeping. Within that conclusion came another one: this fact was different from usual, and like most humans, Rose then declared this newfound happiness to be wrong.
Rose gradually became aware of where she was; not in her own bed, that is, her bed in her parent's mansion, but in her bed in that flat that she had shared with her mother in the other universe; her universe. This reinforced that something was wrong—sure, it was her universe, but Rose was sure that she had been stuck in the universe where Zeppelins were in the sky and her dad was alive. That she couldn't go back. That she was forever separated from the Doctor.
The thought of him, instead of the usual heartbreaking ache, brought the awareness of a warmness on her arm. Her head jerked to look at it, finding the warmness to be a hand, a hand attached to an arm, and the owner of the arm to be a pair of very confused brown eyes. She knew those eyes.
The Doctor was in her bed, which surprised her, in the very least.
0000
If the he loved anything in the infinite strands of time that he existed in, it would have to be irony. The kind of irony that made him laugh out loud and point his finger at in delight. Right now, however, the Doctor was the subject of such irony, and he found it rather frustrating.
For example, the very human girl he had longed to be with for God knew how many months had finally, by some twist of the dimensions, turned up in his life again—albeit in a way he would have never imagined—and now she had locked him out of her bedroom.
Damn.
"Rose, you're being ridiculous," he called to her through the door, "I'm real. This is real. It's all real." As an afterthought, "Please open the door."
In response, a muffled version of her voice yelled, "No! It can't be. It's a bloody dream, a stupid fantasy! I'm going to wake up any time now!" The Doctor sighed, but then halted the action when he heard more of Rose's mute voice. "And when I wake up, I'll be alone."
Her words provoked a searing ache through his chest, like the one he had first had when he could no longer see that beach and her teary face, but the dim light of the TARDIS. Making a sound in the back of his throat, he looked down to compose himself.
If Rose thought he wasn't real, then fine. Sometime she would come around, and right now the Doctor had more important matters to occupy his thoughts with. Turning so his back was against her door, he began to slide to the floor while he thought.
First of all, why was she here? He was sure, absolutely sure, that there was no way to connect the two universes, only small, infrequent windows of opportunity that were very, incredibly scarce. He had thought he had used the last one to say goodbye. But yet, here she was again, though a bit like her mother in the state of hysteria she was in at the moment.
Obviously, Rose hadn't connected the two worlds, and he couldn't possibly have either—that last thing he remembered was falling into one of his rare naps in the library. Thus, someone else did, someone, whose power over the vortex was greater than his—a Time Lord's.
The thought was bewildering, a bit scary, but intrigued his natural curiosity all the same. "Huh," he mused to himself, and promptly fell backwards.
"What do you mean, 'huh'?" demanded Rose, her head above his. She had opened the door.
Exhaling swiftly, he sat up and boosted himself up onto his feet to look at her. "You, miss, are far too nosy."
She rolled her eyes. "I know you, Doctor,"—he swallowed—"you've discovered something, and I want to know about it." Her hazel eyes stared back at him with familiar determination.
"We-el," he pretended to ponder, "I thought this wasn't real." He tried to glare her as if he had been severely hurt, but his smile betrayed him. Like an infectious disease, Rose smiled too. That one moment, as they stared at each other smiling, it felt so good, so completely right, that in a fraction of an instant both were reminded of all the other moments that they saw the other smiling.
Without a second thought from either party Rose was in his arms, both grinning like mad and hugging each other with all their strength.
"I missed you," he could feel her whisper into his shoulder. Her words made him smile even wider, and he replied with a simple:
"So did I."
And it was enough for both of them, at least for a while.
A/N: Hello all, second Doctor Who fic here. Yes, reunion fic, but I hope it's somewhat original. The ending of the title actually gives away the story, so for the time being, this fic is called 'The Power of A -------'
Enjoy, and review please. You can even just type a little '=)' or a '=('
Idiot Jello
