This is a birthday present for the LOVELY sequencefairy
Tags/warnings: soulmates, character death, reincarnation (of sorts), alternate universes/realities, canon compliant, implied/referenced abuse, wall sex
Warnings by section:
Section one: character death
Section two: excessive pining?
Section three: NSFW
Section four: character death, implied/referenced abuse
Section five - end: none
John Smith watched as the condemned pirate walked towards the noose, head held high, defiant to the very end. The early morning sunlight glinted off her golden hair as she stepped forward. She regally surveyed the crowd as if the people gathered to watch her hang were her crew, her subjects for whom she had turned herself in in order to save their lives. Her gaze caught John's in the press of people and softened slightly, flashing something akin to an apology before hardening once more and nodding at the executioner.
They started reading off a list of her crimes as a bag was placed over her head.
The charges of piracy, theft, murder, and treason announced in a monotone voice washed over him as he turned and walked away from the morbid spectacle. The apology in her whiskey colored eyes haunted him as much as the creaking sound of the platform opening beneath her feet did.
It didn't make sense. There was no reason for the apology, for the regret, that had shined in her eyes for that brief second. They barely knew one another. John had been interviewing the infamous Captain Rose Tyler, known to the pirate armada that called her its queen and her enemies alike as the Bad Wolf, since she'd been captured and imprisoned. He had made it his duty to write down her side of the story so it wouldn't be lost to history that was rarely kind to powerful women and, in the process, had found an unlikely friend in the pirate.
She told him about growing up in the slums of London, she and her mum barely getting by after her dad died. Told him how she'd stowed away on a riverboat on the Thames that was seaward bound a week after her mum died without a penny to her name and a vague plan of joining the crew of a ship.
Rose spun him a tale of disguising herself as a boy to get a spot on a ship. She related how the sea had felt like home in a way nothing else ever had. She told him of the merchant ship she was on being attacked by pirates and how she'd talked her way into a spot on the pirate crew instead of being executed by revealing that she was a woman and demonstrating that she was ruthless with a blade in her hand.
According to her, the captain and crew of the pirate vessel cared more about her skills as a sailor and a fighter than about her gender. She'd risen through the ranks and when the captain died in battle years later, the crew supported her in taking over the ship.
John had been surprised to learn that all of the profits that Rose had earned over the years as a captain and then as the undisputed queen of the seas had been donated to orphanages and charities in the poorest parts of London, that Rose had made room on her ships for anyone who was willing to learn and work hard, that she had tolerated no discrimination against gender or color or the love in one's heart aboard any of her vessels. He'd known that she had a reputation as a ruthless pirate and a brilliant leader but he hadn't known about this other side of her, the one that was always trying to make the world a better place even as she lived outside of the law.
He wished, as he wiped an escaped tear from his cheek and fought his way through the cheering crowd pressing closer to the gallows, that they had met under different circumstances, in a different lifetime. He thought that maybe, perhaps he could have fallen in love with Rose Tyler if things had been different.
He thought that maybe he had fallen a bit in love with her despite the circumstances of their acquaintance.
He thought maybe she had too and that's what the apology had been about.
He would never know.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Rose watched with a heavy heart from a cafe across the street as John leaned in and gave his wife a quick hello kiss before ushering her into the restaurant where she had made the couple reservations for their anniversary. She turned on her heel and walked away, coffee in hand and stilettos clicking on the concrete.
She'd just wanted to see him one last time.
Falling in love with her boss was such a bad idea. The worst of ideas, really. She had known it was a bad idea all along but it hadn't prevented her from tumbling head over heels for her very unavailable employer.
She felt like such a cliché, the assistant pining after the powerful, married man. She was such an idiot, she thought with a deep exhale. She paused and tilted her head back, pretending to examine the night sky for a moment as she fought back the tears that were burning her eyes and begging to fall.
She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't.
What she was going to do was go back to the office and pack her things and leave John a note saying that she was leaving. It was completely unprofessional to leave without warning but Rose couldn't take this situation anymore. She didn't like who it was turning her into.
It was also completely unprofessional to just leave her boss a note instead of giving notice but Rose knew he would turn those hurt, puppy dog eyes on her if she mentioned leaving and her willpower wouldn't stand up to those right now.
Nothing about this situation was professional and that was the problem.
Rose slipped into the office and quickly loaded her personal items into the box she'd set aside earlier that day. It didn't take her as long as she had expected so she sat down and started making a list of her duties so that whoever took her place at this desk wouldn't be completely lost.
(When she looked over the list, she choked back a sob. It was filled with asides of how John took his coffee and tea and how to tell which one he wanted or needed. Of how to handle the occasionally hyperactive executive and his preferences in things ranging from lunches to music.)
(Rose hoped and prayed that it wouldn't be as obvious to her successor that she'd been in love with her boss when that person read the list as it was to her.)
She left the list on the desk in a folder labeled with her job title and then used her key to unlock John's office. Rose inhaled deeply, fighting back tears once more as the smell of sandalwood and vanilla and John hit her nose.
She put the envelope containing the note she'd written for him earlier in the day on his desk where he would be sure to see it first thing and then turned and walked out the door, locking it behind her and then sliding the key under the door.
Rose snagged her box of belongings and exited the building that had almost become a second home in the past two years.
She made it five steps from the door before tears started streaming down her face.
This was what she had to do, she knew it.
But God, this would be so much easier if she didn't suspect that John harbored some sort of non-platonic affection for her as well. It was in the way he watched her when he thought she wasn't paying attention, in the way his smile was a little softer around the edges and a little brighter when directed at her. It was in the way his fingers lingered against hers when she passed him something in the office and the way that he knew her lunch and tea orders as well as she knew his.
It was why she had to leave. He was married and he was faithful to his wife and Rose was not about to be the reason for him breaking his vows or even considering breaking his vows.
So, she was walking away before it came to that, even if her heart broke more and more with every step she took.
Rose couldn't stop the endless "what-ifs" that played through her head as she walked, that had taunted her for years now. What if they'd met before he was married? What if they'd met on an equal playing field instead of as boss and assistant? What if they had been given a fighting chance whatsoever?
(They would have truly fallen in love, her heart whispered. Things would have been different.)
(She wished with all of her heart that things had been different.)
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Rose's lips pressed hard against John's before pulling away slightly to nip at him. She was none too gentle and she smiled when he yelped at the sensation. The bass line of the club's music reverberated through the pair of them even though they'd snuck out the back door and now occupied the alley instead of the crowded dance floor.
She was trying her level best to devour him and he was returning the favor. Neither of them was entirely sure why the other felt so familiar when they'd never met before that night. Rose put the sensation aside and pulled him closer by the grip she had on his arse, helping him press her against the concrete wall of the club.
Rose hiked her leg up around his hip and John instantly put a hand under her thigh to keep her there as he trailed his mouth along her jawline with a series of nips and kisses. She bucked her hips against his, wanting, needing more contact and friction.
John bit down on her neck when she reached between them and palmed his hard cock through his trousers.
Things sped up after that. Rose popped the button of his trousers and carefully unzipped him before pushing pants and trousers down his thighs just enough to free him. John rucked up her skirt and was dumbfounded to find that she wasn't wearing any knickers.
Rose's smile was wicked and his eyes darkened even further in the barely lit alley as they flickered between the feral smile and her uncovered pussy.
"Jump up," he whispered, voice husky.
Rose wasted no time in doing just that, wrapping both of her legs around his hips and grinding her wetness against his hard length.
"I need you to fuck me right the fuck now," she panted into his ear when he continued just rubbing against her for a few moments.
He nodded and reached between them to position himself at her entrance. Then with one hard thrust he buried himself inside of her.
Rose's scream drew no attention.
Neither of them were quiet as they fucked hard and fast against the club wall. Rose rubbed frantically at her clit, trying to drive herself over the edge but the angle just wasn't right.
"Wait, wait," she said, breathless.
John paused, buried to the hilt in her. "What is it?"
"Out," she ordered.
He pulled out, confused look on his face as he helped put her back down on her feet. "Rose?"
Rose turned around and braced her forearms on the wall then smiled slyly at him over her shoulder. "Just needed a new position."
The noise that escaped John's throat was akin to a growl. He wasted no time in resheathing himself in her. This was much better for both of them. He had more leverage, more potential for force and speed which was exactly what she wanted.
It was only a couple of minutes later that Rose clenched around his cock, coming with a shout as he continued pounding into her tight heat.
He followed a few strokes later and collapsed against her back, pressing her into the wall.
They spent a few seconds catching their breath and then separated, John stepping back to allow Rose to turn back around to face him. He pulled his pants and trousers back up, tucking himself away while Rose shimmied her skirt down into place.
She knew she probably looked well fucked and her mouth curled up in a smile at the thought. She grabbed her purse from where she'd dropped it on the ground and then looked up at John who was standing with his hands in his pockets, obviously unsure of what to do next.
Rose pulled him down into a kiss, quick and dirty just like the entire encounter had been.
"Thanks for giving me a good time," she whispered, voice husky. She gave him one last peck and then sauntered down the alleyway, not sparing a look back at the man whose eyes she could feel on her arse.
She regretted that later, not looking back. She hadn't expected to not be able to get the oddly familiar stranger off her mind after their liaison.
She thought about him often, found herself picturing him whenever she got herself off, even when she was in a relationship with someone else.
She wished she'd gotten his number or something, wished she'd had the foresight to make their connection more than a quick fuck in an alleyway. Because they'd had a connection and she hadn't realized at the time that such a thing was as rare as it was.
She wondered if she'd met him somewhere other than that club when she was half-drunk if they would have acted on that connection in a way that was conducive to their acquaintance lasting longer than half an hour, if they could have been something together.
She thought they might have been. Perhaps in another life.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
John didn't know who she was, not really. All he knew was that her name was Rose and she was always in his shop twice a week browsing the books that she rarely bought, that she had a smile brighter than the sun, and that there was a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand that told him she was very unavailable.
He always struck up a conversation with her once she'd been in the shop for a few minutes. His Rose, who was not really at all his but he called her that in his head anyways, loved books about travel and about fantastical worlds that weren't as dreary as old London town. He could always tell when she was there to buy something instead of just browsing because she walked in with a spring in her step and a grin on her lips.
John could tell that she was saving pennies to be able to afford the books, had noticed the careful, almost invisible mends in her otherwise good quality dresses during the numerous minutes he had spent memorizing her while she was lost in his book selection.
He spent more time than he cared to admit daydreaming about the woman. She fascinated him, tugged on his soul in some manner that he could not comprehend. He wanted to see her out in the sunshine where the rays would turn her blonde hair golden. He wanted to see her with that golden hair let down while relaxing in a home that they shared. He wanted to have a life with her outside of their twice weekly encounters, wanted to know her past and help shape her future and be there for so many moments of her present.
He didn't quite understand how he'd fallen in love with his customer when in actuality he knew so little about her, but it was undeniable that he was head over heels.
John saw her outside of the shop once when he was at the park closest to his flat for a Sunday walk. She was seated in an open buggy next to a tall, dark-haired man that John assumed was her husband.
He almost didn't recognize her for the lack of a smile or a sparkle in her eye. Rose always looked so happy and lively whilst in his shop - this miserable, almost afeared looking woman was not his Rose.
Unable to help himself, he walked up to the side of her stopped buggy and called up to her while her husband talked to someone in the buggy alongside them.
"Mrs. Stone," he said sticking his hands in his jacket pockets as he grinned up at her.
Rose startled and looked down, her usual vivacious smile blooming on her face. "Mister Smith! Fancy seeing you here! Thought you might live in your shop or something since you're always there when I wander in."
"Feels like it sometimes," he replied.
Rose was opening her mouth to say something else when the harsh voice of the man sitting next to her interrupted. "And who are you talking to?"
"Nobody James, just one of the merchants I know from doing the shopping."
John watched as the smile drained from her eyes as she spoke, gaze submissive and downward. He wished he could do something to make her happy again but it wasn't his place and he knew it.
"Then we'll be off," Mr. Stone declared, starting the horses into motion without even a nod at John. He could just barely hear her husband start berating her for starting to flirt with other men as soon as he turned his back as they pulled away.
Rose chanced a glance back at him and the scared look in her eyes would haunt John for many nights.
She didn't come into the shop that week.
The week after that she was back but her smile was hesitant and her gait awkward, like she was stiff or sore.
John's heart hurt but he continued to do his best to coax smiles out of her until they were coming more naturally again. He only wished that he could do more.
A couple months of visits was the only time he had remaining with her, though he didn't know it at the time. When she'd missed her visits for two weeks running, he started making inquiries about Mrs. Rose Stone, trying to determine if something had happened to her.
None of the other merchants on the street that she was a patron of had seen her either. The grocer down the way said that he hadn't even been called upon to make deliveries to the house in over a week.
John coaxed the address out of him and went to investigate.
The small townhouse was empty. Neither Rose nor her husband were home and there were no servants to answer the door either. He waited around until a maid left the neighboring home and hurried over to her to inquire about the absent couple.
"Oh them?" the maid asked with an arched eyebrow. "Didn't you hear? The master of the house was hauled away by the coppers going on a week and a half ago. Made a huge fuss, he did."
John's heart started pounding, the fear he'd been trying to deny choking him as he asked about the mistress of the house.
"That's why they took 'im away. Heard he pushed her down the stairs or something and there was a maid around who saw it happen so they could actually arrest him. 'Bout time if you ask me, that one was always screaming at the missus and hittin' her something fierce. They couldn't even keep a maid for longer than a month despite the missus being nicer than anythin'."
"Rose, Mrs. Stone, she…"
"She died from the fall. Broke her neck, poor thing. Bless her soul," the maid said with a sad twist of her lips.
John swayed on the spot, barely hearing the maid who was chattering worriedly at him. He confirmed vaguely that he had known Rose and let the woman help him to a seat on the steps of the abandoned house that had once been Rose's home.
He sat there long after the maid left, wondering how things could have been different. Thousands of possible lives flashed before his eyes as he thought about meeting her before she met the lout she had married, about realizing earlier that she was so unhappy in her marriage and life and actually doing something about it.
He thought about what might have been if he had told her that he loved her.
It was something he would never be able to know the answer to and it haunted him for the rest of his life.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Rose's lips curled up in a wicked smirk as she piloted her small craft into the spacedock. She had plans for the night and she couldn't wait to get started on them. There was a bartender at a club at this port that had expressed interest in her last time she was here and they'd exchanged contact information.
Talking with him for the past few months and imagining what his wild, brown hair would feel like between her fingers had kept her sane during her long trips through the black. Now she was back and had plans to meet him and no plans to be returning to her ship that night.
She slipped on her favorite dress, fluffed her hair, slicked a bit of color on her lips and then sauntered out into the night. Rose couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he saw her, she'd told him that she wouldn't be back in port for another week.
She walked into the club and quickly made her way to the bar, ignoring anyone who tried to talk to her or get her on the dance floor. She was ten feet away when she spotted him but the grin melted off her face when the blonde he was talking too suddenly threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down into a snog.
Rose didn't wait around to see if he reciprocated, just turned on her heel and left the club as quickly as she'd come. She hightailed it back to her ship, finished the refuel she was ostensibly there for, and took off.
The sheer absence of anything around her once she was away from the planet soothed her. There was no one around to judge her for getting her heart completely shattered by a man she barely knew.
There was no one around to see her cry.
When John messaged her later that night, Rose deleted the missive before opening it. When he continued to message her for the next week, trying to figure out if something was wrong and if she was okay, Rose proceeded to block him from contacting her ever again.
She wasn't willing to get her heart broken a second time.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
They never met each other at the right time. It was like some cosmic curse that kept playing out over and over again. In every life, across every reality, their paths crossed when they couldn't be together, when they couldn't bend to the will of their souls which longed to be together.
They were soulmates in the purest sense of the word, the two of them were, and they instinctively realized it whenever they met. There was a familiarity there, something that clicked between them and made the world seem brighter and better and more bearable, and yet they'd never managed to make it work.
There were countless lives in which they met, an infinity of chances and an infinity of obstacles.
There were spouses who'd come along first or twists of fate that led to misunderstandings. There were insurmountable differences in station or lifestyles. There was the ever looming spectre of death that often kept them apart.
Eventually, one day, they were bound to stumble upon the timeline, the universe in which they met each other at exactly the right time, where they found one another before fate conspired to make one of them unattainable.
Maybe in this reality, they would finally taste what true happiness and true love was like.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
They met in the middle of a crisis. Rose had almost resigned herself to death by mannequin, an ironic end for a shopgirl if she'd ever heard one, when someone slipped a hand into hers and told her to run.
She did and she never really stopped.
The Doctor and her argued and bristled at each other on a regular basis when their worldviews clashed but they also slotted together so easily, falling into a close friendship quicker than either of them would have imagined possible.
Rose tried to explain it sometimes ("He's not my boyfriend, Mickey," she'd insisted early on. "He's better than that.") but she couldn't put words to the way the Doctor just felt familiar, the way that his gravity seemed to pull her in, the way she wanted to know more and more about him.
For his part, the Doctor fell hard and fast. Rose was everything he didn't deserve after the war - bright and brilliant and kind and staying. She made him better. She was everything he didn't deserve but also everything he so desperately wanted. He felt drawn to her in a way that was both bafflingly familiar and exhilaratingly new.
He'd tried to parse the familiarity by stealing a peek at her timelines only to find that they were as heavily shrouded as his own. It was a mystery he didn't want to probe too deeply. He just wanted to memorize the way her hand fit in his and the way she looked at him with something like affection and trust in her gaze.
(Love, his battered hearts dared to whisper one night in the library when she had fallen asleep on his shoulder.)
(He ignored them. He'd already accepted that he had fallen in love with this human girl who was so much more that she seemed at a glance but he knew that whatever affection she might hold for him, it wasn't the kind of love he was feeling.)
(Still, he let himself begin to hope.)
(It was a mistake to forget that she had a boyfriend.)
So, they travelled and held hands and fought and talked and fell into each other's gravity more securely with every passing second. The Doctor and Rose, the best of friends, almost inseparable in many ways.
That is, they were inseparable until he sent her away to try and save her life, willing to die alone facing the enemy that still haunted his nightmares if it meant that she would live on.
Except, except he did not count on her stubbornness or her bravery. He didn't factor in the fact that she was willing to do anything to try and save the man she loved or at least be afforded the honor of dying by his side while they tried to save the universe.
He didn't factor in her love because he had never realized that it had grown to match his own in strength and meaning.
He kissed her for the first time to save her life at the expense of one of his own and tried not to wonder why kissing her felt as familiar as it did.
(For a moment they could both see all the timelines, all of their timelines and the lives they had lived in various eras and on various planets, could see all of the times that they didn't make it.)
(It was a boon to them both that they were not able to retain that knowledge, that they could still hope for a happy ending without knowing all of the ways they had already tried and failed.)
The Doctor regenerated and when he did, it was with a desperate hope that Rose would forgive him for not warning her, that she would still love, or at least like, the new him, that he would be better for her somehow.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
It was almost like starting over after his regeneration. Almost, but not quite. It took very little time for the gravity that existed between them to reassert itself, inexorably drawing them together.
It took a little bit longer for her to lose the wariness in her gaze.
This new him was younger looking, more talkative and bouncy. Some of the rough edges that had prevented Rose from getting too close to him had been smoothed out, had been reshaped to slot in perfectly against Rose's own jagged edges.
For Rose, the feeling of familiarity intensified as she got to know this new Doctor who was the same as her old Doctor. It was a lot to get used to but she trusted her heart and her heart was telling her that this new man was undeniably the Doctor.
They still ran across the universe together, hand in hand, getting into and out of trouble and flirting the whole time. That bit had intensified since the regeneration.
Another thing that stayed the same, though, was that they were both still dancing around their feelings and not addressing them or completely acting on them. Most of the people they ran into could tell that the pair was in love but Rose and the Doctor remained in their holding pattern of flirty best friends.
Then there was a kiss meant to turn stone back to flesh or to celebrate the return to sentience and their facade of mostly platonic regard began to crumble like pastry.
There were conversations when things were almost said. ("No, not to you.")
There were fights when one of them got scared and did something exceedingly stupid. ("You left me to go snog someone else! You're bloody well right I'm pissed.")
There were more long talks in the library or the media room than there were fights. Sometimes on those nights, talking turned into kissing, both of the reveling in this new development in their relationship, marveling at how it felt so right.
The Doctor and Rose took things slow. After all, they had all the time in the world. Forever.
Or so they thought.
Everything unraveled so quickly. One moment they were together and happy and just on a quick trip to the Estate to see Jackie and the next they were dealing with Torchwood and an army of ghosts that weren't ghosts and the Daleks.
Within the span of a few hours he went from leisurely kissing her good morning in the galley to pressing himself up against a white wall that was nothing more than drywall and rebar but represented so much more.
His throat was still hoarse from screaming for her to hold on.
Rose felt empty, pressing herself up against the same white wall in a different universe. Objectively, she knew she should be sad and she was but as her mum led her away from the wall, tears still streaming unchecked down her cheeks, all she felt was a vast emptiness welling up inside her.
She felt like she'd been set adrift in deep space, cut loose from the gravity that kept her and the Doctor orbiting each other, kept them both steady.
Neither of them knew quite what to do now that they'd lost each other.
For long days, for weeks and months, it seemed like this was yet another universe in which they were not destined to be together, another reality in which the timing was not quite right. The Doctor and Rose didn't remember the other universes and lives that had been theirs, didn't remember all the tragedies and missteps they'd lived through. All they knew was that things seemed hopeless and still terribly, horribly familiar.
They had a chance to say goodbye, one that was bought with the last stunning gasps of a dying sun. Fitting that, putting an end to a star's light so that they could put an end cap on the relationship that had burned brighter in their lives than any star ever could.
(A supernova extinguished for a mere two minutes of seeing each other again.)
(It was a price both of them would pay again in an instant.)
It was Rose who voiced the love that had laid unspoken between them for so long, choking the words out to hang in the cold, salty Norwegian air.
He didn't quite manage to say them back, losing track of time and running out of it before she could hear the words he wanted to give her.
It was in the aftermath of that moment, when Rose was piecing her heart back together bit by bit that she decided she was going to find her way back to him. She'd done it twice already and people always said that the third time was the charm.
Maybe this time it would stick and they would finally get their forever.
(When she found herself on that cold Norwegian beach once again, she knew the choice she had to make. Something in her heart whispered to her that in an infinity of universes, a chance to live a life with the man she loved was the best chance at a happy ending she could ever ask for.)
(In fact, it was the only one the universes had created for them in all of its permutations of different realities.)
(So, Rose grabbed onto it with both hands, pulling her blue-suited Doctor into a kiss, her heart singing and breaking at the same time.)
(There would be a Doctor out there without her, who would have lost her yet again and cracked his battered heart even more, who would go back to a universe that was now just one more in which they didn't make it. She knew it even before she heart the TARDIS start dematerializing.)
(She knew it but there was nothing she could do to stop it.)
(No story ever has a perfect happy ending, after all.)