AN: Fistly, thank you to Moonchild94 who beta-ed this what must be nearly two years ago - I still appreciate it very much even though I'm only getting round to publishing now! It's a 10th Doctor piece set sometime after Doomsday, but before Journey's End. Hope you enjoy!
The first person he sees once he finally comes through the void is not necessarily the first person he wanted to see when he came through the void. Of course, this person is not his favourite person, and he knows it's a mutual feeling, but it's the closest thing to Her he's seen in far too long.
He has known this face for years – lifetimes, even. And yet, this face seems different now; it's been changed since he's seen it last. There's been no miraculous alteration; the face still has the trace of slightly aged lines, dare he say wrinkles, which increase that little bit more with every passing day. But there's something in her eyes that shows a change, and she looks more peaceful than he's ever seen her before. He can see now that she's happy; happier than she's been in years. It is only now he fully appreciates just how very alone she had been before their parting. He also realises with a pang of guilt deep inside him that he had contributed greatly to this loneliness, and the loneliness he's felt over this time without Her makes him appreciate her loneliness even more than ever.
She's walking towards him unaware of his presence, blissfully unaware he's about to shatter her life again, but when their eyes meet, cool blue to deep brown, she doesn't jump or gasp or squeal or even cover his face with kisses as she did on that fateful day. She just stops – pauses, looks away for a moment, then returns her gaze to him and gives a small nod. Then she smiles. A small smile which grows into a small laugh. She bites her lip hesitantly and shakes her head, disbelieving. He sees her lips move, but her voice catches on the wind and he doesn't manage to hear. "What?" He tries to shout back, but she's running towards him now and soon he's engulfed in a large hug, her arms trying to reach round his skinny frame.
"I said," she says, her voice softer, less harsh than he remembers; "I said, that today," she pauses; "is a good day."
"Aha!" he scoffs, bellowing triumphantly. "Oh yes it is, Jackie Tyler; yes it is."
She lets out a desperate cry, and he looks at her, concerned. He pretends not to see the tear in her eye.
"Hey, Jackie, what's wrong? What's wrong?"
She smiles sadly and shakes her head.
"Nothing," she mumbles. "She– She'll be so pleased."
And then he smiles. It's not a manic grin or a false melodrama, but a true glimpse into his feelings that clears any doubt Jackie had of his love for Her, and she takes him and hugs him again
"Before – you go to her," Jackie begins, "thank you."
He freezes in her embrace and she retreats, her hands resting on his arms. "Thank you for this," she pauses. "It was a gift."
And just then, instead of feeling horrific guilt as usual, for once, he feels pride. He's proud of himself for giving Jackie a home; for surviving, barely, without Her; and for getting back to this damned place to take Her back as his. It is then he wonders why it is he is still here, hugging her mother instead of finding Her.
"You're welcome, Jackie. Really, you are. But, and this is me being very calm about the whole thing," – and in that moment he leaps forward, taps her chin, takes her head in his hands and kisses her forehead and throws it away again in a whirl – "there is somewhere I have to be."
Jackie watches him, as he bounds away, and then stops, looks in several different directions, and she laughs at the look on his face when he turns back to her, his face desperate and pleading.
"She's in the house. The kitchen –"
But he's gone. She smiles after him but she's glad he's gone. Not just because They'll be reunited, but in the end, she knows he's not her favourite person, and she knows she's not his.