Forgotten Roses
By Kyizi
Disclaimer: The Doctor, Rose, TARDIS, and all related items do not belong to me; to my knowledge, they're some lucky git at the beeb's.
Rating: PG (may up later on)
Pairing: Ninth Doctor/Rose
Spoilers: Lets just say any episodes 9th Doctor/Rose are fair game.
Notes: This is one of two plots that have been bugging me for about three days now and I had to write it down the moment it formed in a somewhat coherent form! I originally toyed with the idea of making it a tenth doctor regeneration thing, but I couldn't do it; had to be nine! g Hope you enjoy!
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Prologue
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Her face haunts his dreams. At night the only thing he sees is her, but, when day breaks, her features elude him; wispy and intangible, evading his grasp like smoke from the embers of a fire. He could no more find her amongst a group of friends than a sea of planets through all the time in the universe; he cannot find what he has never seen. And yet something tugs at his subconscious, something scraping through a hidden barrier at the back of his mind, yelling at him; screaming to be heard. Something that says, 'You know her…she's yours.'
Sometimes he senses her presence, standing by him; her hand slipping into his and squeezing gently for a moment before fading into nothingness. Pale fragments of taste and touch haunt his waking moments and he longs for sleep; longs to be with her again. He never used to sleep; now he's forever trying to end the days of adventure and discovery just to spend a moment longer with her in his arms. It's never more than that, never more than holding her; smiling at her; stolen glances and pleasant expectations of 'one day'.
She's the ghost inside him that will not rest; that will not let him rest. Everywhere he goes he sees memories of a past he doesn't know; the smell of chips; a cheeky grin; the laughter of a woman he has never met. Without thinking, he looks for her; every blonde on every planet is her until he remembers that she isn't real. Her laughter floats beside him and her tongue nips out to wet lips he never kissed…and in that he knows it's the truth. Even in his dreams he will not submit to his urge to capture those lips with his own, because he needs her permission and how can one ask permission of someone who isn't real?
Tonight she's wearing a Union Jack and, for a moment at least, he feels a surge of jealousy swell inside him. Union Jack. Jack. A name he knows; a man whose path crossed with his not so long ago and he wonders how it is that this man can take away his dreams. But he knows that even if she were real she would never leave him; not forever. She's his and tonight they're dancing.
There's something unromantic about dancing in a basement, but his mind chose the destination and, as long as she's with him, he doesn't care where they are, just that they are. Tonight when she looks at him it's almost as if she's giving him the permission he so desires…it's almost as if she is asking for him to be hers as much as she is his. But he does belong to her; he just doesn't know how to tell her.
And she begins to fade. The harder he holds her, the closer he pulls her, the more she drifts away. His mind is waking and he wishes he knew how to stop it. Already she is becoming a stranger; only an essence in his mind that he cannot keep. And as he wakes, somewhere in the distance; light years away…he thinks he hears her screaming.
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End Prologue
Well…worth continuing?
bites fingernails anticipating reply…